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-^i 




THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



THOMAS MOOKE, 



EXPLANATORY NOTES, Etc. 



COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, 



NEW YORK : 
WOETHINGTON CO., 

747 Broadway. 



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TO THB 

MAEQUIS OF LANSDOWNE 

IK GBATEFUIi EEMEMBRA2TCE OF 

KEABLY FORTY YEARS OF MUTUAL ACQUAINTANCB 

AND FRIENDSHIP, 

THIS VOLUME 

IS INSCRIBED, 

WITH THE SINCEREST FEELINGS OF AFFECTION 

AND RESPECT. 

Bt 

THOMAS MOOBB, 



48 6555 

AUG 2-1 194? 




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MEMOIR OF THOMAS MOORE. 



Thomas Moore was bom in Dublin on the 28th May, 1779. The social circle in which \ui 
parents mored was neither elevated nor -vulgar. His father was a smali tradesman, of quiet, 
taciturn character, possessing a vein of humor which he occasionally did not scruple to exercise 
on the priests of his own faith. The poet's mother, good devout Catholic that she was, regarded 
these sallies of her husband with a pious hoiTor. Moore's gay, pleasure-loving disposition, passion 
for music, taste for all social enjoyment, and general zest of Ufe, were derived from liis mother. 
To her tact, also, was he indebted for that varied training which contributed so remarkably to his 
success in society. At a very early age the future poet was placed at school. Mr. "White, an 
eminent Dublin elocutionist, was his master. Richard B. Sheridan had been White's pupil. From 
this distinguished pedagogue Moore acquired that facility in declaiming which rendered him, 
while yet a mere boy, the delight of those domestic re-unions in which his mother taught her son— 
to associ.Tte social festivity with more refined and intellectual pleasures than the hard drinking 
with which enjoyment was then too often identified. Like Pope, Moore may almost, without 
hyperbole, be said to have lisped in numbers. The exact date of his earliest rhymes has not been 
preserved, but at the age of eleven we find him in print, and at the age of fourteen he has 
become a contributor of poetry to the Antliologia Hibernica, a Dublin magazine. Some of his 
verses then published as by "Master Moore" give no inadequate earnest of his style of song- 
writing. 

The acquisition of the showy accomplishments in which Moore already excelled was happily 
not purchased by the sacrifice of more substantial learning. His classical attainments were more 
than respectable, and his knowledge of the ancient languages was supplemented by a knowledge 
of the more important of the modern tongues of Europe. Italian he learned from the family priest, 
and a French emigrant taught him the tongue of France. By this varied preliminary training, 
Moore was fully prepared to reap all the advantages the removal of those restrictions which had 
closed the University of Dublin against the Catholics of Ireland was now about to confer. In 
the summer of 1793 that institution was opened to Koman Catiiolics, and in 1794 young Moore was 
entered at Ttmity College. At college lie prosecuted the usual studies with more than average 
success. The production of Latin hexameters was, however, a task from which on all conveni- 
ent occasions he was disposed to shrink. Sometimes he successfully substituted English for Latin 
verses, gaining the approval of the judges and the reward of merit. 

In the spring of 1799, University studies are finished. Moore, bidding adieu to Dublin scenes 
and Dublin friends, takes his way to London to enter himself a member of the Middle Temple. 
The money to accomplish this is supplied by his mother, who, ambitious to see her sou occupymg 
a conspicuous position at the Euglish bar, had long been saving every sixpence she could scrape 
togetlier for his legal education. Mrs. Moore appears to have oeen no believer in a paper cur- 
rency. Tom was' not troubled carrying any bank cheques to the metropolis. The needful guineas 
were sewed into the waistband of his pantaloons; and a scapular, which the priest had blessed, 
was stowed away in the same secure retreat. Thus equipped Tom reached London, and hires a 
lodging at six shillings per week. While yet a student at Trinity College, Dublin, in the hope of 
obtaining a classical premium, Moore had translated the Odes of Anacreon. A specimen of the 
work was laid before the Provost of the College. The Provost thought the translation good, biit 
the subject not one likely to be patronised by the board. This translation Tom carried with him 
to the great metropolis. Not long after settling there he has arranged for its publication, has 
made the friendship of Lord Moira, the Marquis of Lansdowne, the Duke of Bedford, and the 
Prince, all of whom have become subscribers for his work. Dr. Laurence reads the manuscript, 
and pronounces it in many parts elegaut and poetical. The English dress in which Moore pre- 
sented the Tean bard is, indeed, more accurate and faithful than the paraphrase of Cowley, but It 
is too studiously brilliant to convey the exact idea of the original. Moore's lines had, however, 
fallen in pleasant places and among partial critics. Everything (he writes) goes on delightfully. 
The full tide of London f^aiety roars around him, and never diu any son of the mnses take more 
kindly to the pomp and circumstance of the great Babel. " The first gentleman in Europe " has 
permitted Anacreon to be dedicated to him. The poet thanks the Prince for the honour, but is 
assured the honour is entirely his, in being allowed to out his name to a work of such merit. 
Everybody is charmed with Anacreon translated — everyoody, save the authorities of his college, 
who do not even so much as subscribe for the work. For this inability to anpreciate merit, Moore, 
with becoming modesty, denounces them as "a corporation of boobies, without even sense enough 
to thank Heaven for anything like an ertbrt of literature coming out of their le.iden body." 

Anacreon is followed by a volume of Poems under a feiji'ueil uumc, wuicU rellucled but little 



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MEMOIE OF THOMAS MOORE. 



credit on their author, though even so great a purist and so grave a moralist as Sir James 
Mackintosh recommends them. Moore's social and literary success go together. His singing is 
tlie rage in every fashionable circle. 

The great people begin to think something must be done for so very promising a young man. 
The translator of Anacreon and +Jie beautiful pianist has deserved Teell of his country. A laure- 
ateship is otfered him, but declined, in consequence of unseemly conditions with which the gift is 
clogged. The interest of Lord Moira procures him the office of Registrar in the Admiralty Court 
of Bermuda. This appointment necessitates a visit to the island. Bermuda was, however, a 
place but little to the taste of Moore, who tarried there just long enough to arrange for the per- 
formance of his duties by deputy. Before returning to London he visits America. Having re- 
turned from his Bermudian and American tour, "Epistle Odes and other Poems," by Thomas 
Moore, Esq., appeared in 1806. Fashionable London might go on mistaking the sparkle of sensu- 
ous fancy for the outpouring of celestial passion, but the " facile princeps " of British critics is 
not to be so deceived. In the .July number of the Edinburgh Review, Jeffrey denounced the work 
with even more than his wonted pimgency. Lord Cockburn, in his life of Jeffrey, has justly re- 
marked, that though meant to be restricted to the poetry, there was a cordiality and a personal 
application In the satire which made it natural for the pulilic, and nearly irresistible for the poet, 
to refer to the man. His scathing criticism is the talk of all Lonaon circles, ^'hen, to make mat- 
ters worse, Jeffrey arrives in the metropolis. This was more thaa ;\ie irate bard could bear. A 
hostile meeting was arranged, and, on the 11th August, 180P, poej ■^nd critic have met to obtain 
the satisfaction of gentlemen. " From information received, the j/olice discovered what was in- 
tended, and the belligerents are apprehended in the very act of proceeding to extremities. In a 
day or tsvo the duellists met amicably at Rogers'^, and are ever after friends. Jeffrey not only ad- 
mires the genius of his adversary, but formed a sincere affection for the man ; and Moore, in one of 
his prefaces, exultingly tells how, in the most formidable of all his censors, he found the most cor- 
dial of all his friends. Twenty years after this rencontre Moore visits Scotland, chiefly to visit 
Jeffrey; and is so often asked to sing his last new song, " Ship Ahoy," that in another preface he 
playfiuly tells how the upland echoes of Craigcrook ought long to have had its \urden by heart. 

In 1808, "Corruption and Intolerance," a satire, was published, and in tue following year 
" The Sceptic," a philosophical satire, appeared; but, it was in the singing robes of the troubadour, 
not the gown of the moralist, that Erin's bard shone most advantageously. In March, 1811, 
Moore, who had hitherto remained a mateless bird, man-led a girl of Kilkenny— Miss Bessy 
Dyke. The lady had acquired some distinction on the Irish stage, and possessed remarkable 
personal attractions. Rogers, the fastidious Rogers, calls her the " ^ladonna 'lella Sedia" — and 
"Psyche." No matrimonial union could possibly have been more suitable to the poet. Uniting 
great sweetness of disposition with great self-control and superior economical talent, Bessy ad- 
ministered Moore's resources with the utmost skill, while she made his home a heaven of rest, 
where, weary with the dissipation of London life, he could ever find a peaceful and secure repose. 

In 1812, Moore commenced another series of satirical effusions. The vein now adopted was 

incomparably better adapted to his genius than the solemn and heavy style formerly attempted. 

His quondam patron, the Prince, has broken with the Whigs, and Moore's parody on the Prince's 

letter throws Holland House into ecstacy. Nor is ic Holland House alone that laughs with the 

satirist. Fourteen editions of the " Twopenny Post Bag," in which Prince and Minister are 

satirized, are issued within the first year of its publication. In the pasquinades that compose that 

'oduction, Moore is elegant without being dull, and pungent without being truculent. The wit, 

iriety, ease and playfuless of the satire directed against Ministers were the talk and the charm 

every circle. The poet's popularity has now reached a point wher" ' ' ""an make his own terms 

ith publishers. His song- writing alone yields him £500 a year. 

London publishers have now discovered that Moore's name has become a thing to conjure 
ith. Murray offers him the editorship of a new Quarterly. The ou'er is ileclined, because the 
let is at work upon an Eastern romance. The record of the n-sgotiatiou for the publication of 
jis greatest effort of Moore's creative powers is worthy of perusal. Those who fancy the poet 
is never blessed with any more substantial reward of his industry and genius than the enjoyment 
of his own splendid visions, will Ije agreeably disappointed by this narrative, which we tran- 
scribe as Moore has given it. The poet, his publisher, and Mr. Perry, of the " Morning Chroni- 
cle" — who has kindly agreed, on behalf of Moore, to arrange the mutual terms, have met. " I 
am of opinion " said Mr. Perry, " that Mr. Moore ought to secure for his poem the largest price 
that has been given in our day for such a work." " That was," answered the Messrs. Longman, 
"three thousand guineas." " Exactly io," replied Mr. Perry, " and no less a sum ought he to re- 
ceive." It was then objected, and very reasonably, on the part of the firm, that they had never 
yet seen a single line of the poem, and that a perusal of the work ought to be allowed them be- 
fore they embarked so large a sum in the purchase. But no ; the romantic view my friend Perry 
took of the matter was, that this price should be given as a tiubute to reputation already acquired, 
without any condition for a previous perusal of the new work. This high tone, I confess, not a 
little startled and alarmed me ; but to the honor and glory of romance— as well on the publishers' 
as on the poet's side, this very generous view of the transaction was, without any difficulty, ac- 
ceded to, and the firm agreed before we separatad that I sliould receive three thousand guincvs 
for my poem. The bargain thus concluded, Moore, stimulated by the confidence reposed in his 
powers, retires from London society to a cottage in Derbyshire, gets crammed with all kinds of 
Oriental learning, and within some four years from the date of his negotiation with the Longmans, 
Lalla Rookh is got up. The success of the work fully justified the confidence of Perry. Within 
^ibrtnight after its publicaticm the first edition is exhausted, and before six months have passed 



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MEMOIR OF THOMAS MOOEE. 5 

a^-ny a sixth edition is demanded. Lalla Rookh was the marvel of old Indians. How a man, 
whohad never trod the Orient had been able to reproduce " its barbaric splendours " with so much 
faithfulness, was an enigma that baffled solution. 

What now are deemed the faults of Lalla Rookh, were, on its publication, the essentials of its 
success. Jeffrey hailed it as " the finest Orientalism we have had yet ; " and from every possible 
source, tributes to the genius of the bard are poured forth. Moore's poetical fame, had now 
reached its zenith ; but sadly and stenily he is soon to learn the secret of vicissitude. The death 
of his beloved Barbara is the first shadow that falls upon what is henceforth to bo a darkly che- 
quered domestic existence. The sharp grief which, with his daughter's loss, pierced his soul was 
yet unassuaged, when intelligence arrives that his deputy in Bermuda has been guilty of embezzle- 
ment, and Moore is responsilile for a loss of £fiOOO. In this emergency, Rogers and -Jeffrey have each 
£500 at his service. Lord Lansdowne will become his security. Lord John Russell offers to mortgage 
the Life of his patriotic ancestor, and the Longmans are willing to advance any sum necessary. 
Moore resolves to reject the kindness of friends, and rely exclusively on his own resources. At 
first matters wore a rather threatening aspect ; an attachment is issued against his person, ami 
the poet is compelled to retreat to Paris. Ultimately, however, the affair was compromised, and 
the £6000 reduced to £740. " Rhymes on the Road," " The Epicurean," a prose story, and " Thi 
Loves of the Angels," were the product of liis Parisian exile. " The Loves of the Angels," in its 
original form, was not quite a judicious production. 

Allusion has already been made to Moore's song- writing ; a more specific reference to that 
Bpeclal department of poetic effort in which he excelled is now necessary. In the last days ot 
his college curi'iculum, tlie poet's attention had been attracted to Bunting's collection of Irish 
Melodies. In 1807 he entered into an engagement with Mr. Power to produce a work founded on 
them, in which he was to adapt the airs and furnish the words, while Sir J. Stevenson was to pro- 
vide the accompanftnents. This work engaged him at intervals throughout more than a quarter 
of a century, and upon it his fame will permanently rest. In pathos, tenderness, play of wit, 
brilliancy of fancy, and rich adornment, the bard of Erin must ever claim a high, if not the high- 
est, place among our song-writers. It may, probably it must, be acknowledged that there is too 
great uniformity la the efforts of his muse, and that, more frequently than was meet, the poet lias 
been contented to hang the garland of his fancy over threadbare conventionalities. But to de- 
mand, as certain critics, in de|)reciating Moore, have demanded, from the lyrist some woudrously 
complex manifestation of passion, is to mistake the true functions of the song-writer. Moore is 
not the poet of the peopie in any wide sense of that word. He has not specially voiced the aspira- 
tions of the plough, the loom, or the forge. He has no song of which it can be said, as Carlyle has 
said of Burns' best known lyric, it might be sung by the tli'roat of the whirlwind. Yet, though in 
some respects Moore wants robustness, it is a gross exaggeration of his one weakness to describe 
him as a mere carpet poet. As the critic listens to "The Last Rose of Summer," "Rich and 
rare were the gems she wore," "Go where glory waits thee," sneers are transformed into admira- 
tion. Such soul-stirring, soul-melting effusions fully justify the boast of the bard : — 

Dear harp of my conntry I In darkness I found thee 

The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, 
When proudly, my own island harp, I unbound thee, 

And gave all thy chords to love, freedom, and song I 
The warm lay of love, and the light note of gladness. 

Have waken'd thy fondest, thy loveliest thrill ; 
But, so oft thou hast echo'd the deep sigh of sadness. 

That even in thy mirth it will steal from theo etill ) '' 

In 1823 Moore published his " Fables of the Holv Alliance." Almost immediately after the ap- 
pearance of this work, which certain timid friends feared might subject him to a government 
prosecution, he accompanied Lord Lansdowne on a tour through Ireland. On his return from the 
Green Isle, he published " Captain Rock, " a historical summary of the misgovernmeiit of his na- 
tive country, and an attack upon the Irish Church. In the Octoberof 1825, the " Life of Sheridan," 
on which he had long been occupied, appeared. This life is obviously the fruit of solid study; 
facts are carefully elucidated, and the compact narrative presents the reader with all the world 
cares to know of Sheridan. Where it fails, it ia not from any lack of industry, but from the lack 
of pictorial power. Moore could do admirable justice to a given range of sentiments, but lie Avas 
destitute of the capacity (so inv iluf-blfi in n biographer) which realizes a vivid image of charac- 
ter. The " Life ot Lord Byron ' wa.. Mcd'OV. :iext rose effort. Though not perhaps containing 
any single passages of equal power tc 2aoc that may be found in liis "Sheridan," the work ex- 
hibits a greater mastery of tht craft of the biographer. Byron was followed by "The Life ol 
Lord Edward Fitzgerald." Whig friends began to suspect that the guest of Belgravia was mak 
iug too near an approach to the "Croppy Boy." Disappointment has somewhat soured his spiriv, 
atid though he talks nothing but the truth of his patrons when chafing under supposed neglect, u 
is probable that, but for that imagined want of consideration, the truth would not have be'>:i so 
frankly told. In cherishing this petulant spirit, it soon became manifest that Moore was riJstakeu. 
Old friends had not forgotten him, as the following epistle from Lord John Russell, dated 7tb 
May, 1835, will prove : — 

" My dear Moore,— I have been too busy, since I last saw you, to be ahie to write on any but 
public concerns. Having, however, a little time to spare today, I wish to consult you on your 
own private affairs. I am now in a better position than I formerly wa? for serving my friends- 
still, there are very few opportvmities of finding any situation tliat will suit a gentleman who docs 
not belong to a profession. It has occurred to me that a pension for one or both of your sous 



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MEMOIR OF THOMAS MOORE. 



might be a source of comfort to yes in days of sickness or lassitude. But perhaps, on the con- 
trary, the offer might be displeasing to you, and I do not like to speak to Melbourne about it with 
out consulting you. If you have anything else to suggest which is more agreeable to your 
wishes, pray tell me freely as an old friend, and I will answer you as a friend, and not as a min 
ister." 

This kindly epistle was received by Moore with feelings of " surprise, joy, and thank fiUness." . 
Inhisreply, the poet intimates that be had begun to suspect Swift was right when he said "he 
never knew a ministry do anything for those whom they had made the companions of their 
pleasures." Lord John's letter, however, had shown him his mistake. After mentioning that his 
History of Ireland had been a very poor job, realizing only £750, from two years and a half of 
employment, Moore left matters entirely in the hands of Lord John Russell. The result was, 
that on the 24th August it was notified in the public prints that, in consideration of eminent 
literary services, Thomas Moore, Esq., had received a pension of £300. This pension brought 
joy to tlie heart of Bessy, who tlius writes from their cottage in Sloperton, on the news being first 
broken to her,—" My dearest Tom, can it really be true that you have a pension of £300 a year ; 
Mr., two Misses, andyoung Longman were here to-day, and tell me that they have seen it in two 
newspapers. If the good news be true, I shall then indulge in butter to potatoes. Mind you do 
not tell this piece of gluttony to any one." Three years after thla, the poet again visits Ireland. 
His great popularity has lost none of its freshness. When he go* -»j» boari the Dublin packet, at 
their united request he has to kiss all the ladies on board, not ejMwji/ting an elderly female, who 
had been left out of the calculation, and gallantly came to his eai>l« Jo repair the omission. "When 
he set foot on Irish soil, he was received with the most enthusiastiG welcome. His progresses 
through the country were everywhere ovations. He is called out at the Dublin Theatre ; "Come, 
show your Irish face, Tom," the galleries shout in chorus. At Bannow he is received by horse- 
men with banners, triumphal arches are erected in honor of tlie poet. The contagious enthusi- 
asm has even penetrated the serene regions of Quaktrdom. Some very beautiful ladies of tlie 
Society Friends "should like to have two lines of tliine with thy name to them." If the breath 
o-f popular applause could confer happiness, then had Moore reached the summit of earthly 
felicity. The post-horus of Europe are filled with his fame, peasant and peer are alike forward to 
do homaee to his genius; but happiness is not in all this. He has had his reward. What he 
aimed to "aceom plish he has accomplished. But something is yet wanting. Fashionable life at 
length begins to pall, and the poet begins to babI)lo of his ([uiet garden and study, where, in the 
mute society of his own thoughts and books, he is neither offended nor wearied. Alas ! Tom, it 
is now too late. At sixty a man does not easily revolutionise his tastes or his habits. The psalm- 
ist has with equal truth and poetry described In mm life as " like as yesterday wben it is past, or 
as a watch in the night." But brief as is mans a. lotted span,— ere he goes hence, he has ofter 
lived long enough to" iiave outlived the eapaciy lor enjoyment. "The butterfly-wing is fadt^ 
before the summer is over, and the humming-bee droops in the heart of the roses." So was it 
with Moore. 

We noted the first shadow that fell upon his household in the death of his beloved Barbara. 
Since that day, once, twice, thrice has the insatiate arclier plunged that liousehold iu gloom; and 
now. in 1846, we find this sad entry in his diary: " The last of our five children is gone, and we 
are left desolate and alone. Not a single relative have I now left in the world." The blow sent 
him weeping to the earth. Health was aflfeoted, spirits crushed, and mind impaired. In that last 
sad year of Sonthey's existence, we read of how the poor scholar, whose mind had become an utter 
blank, would still walk round his library, gaze intently on his darling books, take them down 
mechanically, affect to read them, and put them bad; again unread. The last days of Moore are 
in a certain sense even still more melancholy. " His memory was perpetually at fault, and 
nothing seemed to rest upon his mind. He made engagements to dinners and parties, but usually 
forgot the half of them. Wlien he did appear, his gay flow of spirits, happy application of 
humorous stories, and consta:it and congenial ease, were all wanting. The brilliant hues of his 
varied conversation had failed, and the strong powers of his intellect had manifestly sunk. There 
was something peculiarly sad in the change. It is not unusual to observe the faculties grow 
weaker with age; and in the retirement of a man's own home there may be no " unpleasing 
melancholy " in the task of watching such a decline; but when, in the midst of the gay and con- 
vivial, tlie" wit appeared without liis gaiety, and the guest witliout his conviviality — when the fine 
fancy appeared not so much sobered as saddened, it was a cheerless sight, 

" The harp that once in Tara's halls 
The soul of music shed. 
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, 
As if that soul was fled." 

The great darKness which had settled on his spirit continued to deepen, and on the 25th 
February 185J he died. The churchyard of Brotahajn. a vilhiare af "WUtshire. is tba last resthur 
place of "the bard. 




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CONTENTS. 



Memoir 

Prefaces to the 



Collected EDITION in Ten Volumes. Pubusmd in 1841, 1842., 



ODES OF ANACKEON. 

translated into ENGLISH VERSE, WITH NOTES. 
PAGE 

Index to the Odes • ^1 

An Ode by the Translator ■ • o^ 

Corrections of the preceding Ode, suggest- 

ed by an eminent Greek scholar bJ 

Kemarks on Anacreon d3 

odes. 
I. I saw the smiling bard of 

pleasure 68 

II. Give me tlie harp of epic song 69 

ni. Listen to the Muse's lyre 69 

IV. Vulcan 1 hear your glorious 70 

^g^Sk. "^^ 

V. Sculptor, wouldst thou glad 

my soul '''•^ 

yi. As late I sought the span- 
gled bowers '^^ 

Vn. The women tell me every day 71 

VIII. I care not for the idle state. . . 71 

IX. I pray thee by the gods above 75 

X. How am I to puiiish thee 7£ 

XI. " Tell me, gentle youth, I pray 

thee " •. • • '^ 

Xn. They tell how Atys, wUd with 

love •••■ • 

Xni. I will, I will, the conflict's past 

XIV. Count me, on the summer trees 

XV. Tell me, why, my sweetest 

dove 

XVI. Thou, whose soft and rosy hues 
XVn. And now, with all thy pencil's 

truth 

XVIII. Now the star of day is high. . 
XIX. Here recline yon, gentle maid 
XX. One day the Muses twined the 

hands •.• 

XXI. Observe when mother earth is 

dry 

XXn. The Phrygian rock, that 

braves the storm 

XXm. I often wish this languid lyre. 
XXIV, To all that breathe the au- of 

heaven 

XXV. Once in each revolving year. . 

XXVI. Thy harp may sing of Troy s 

alarms 



PAGB 

XXVn. We read the flying courser's 



xxvni. 

XXIX. 
XXX. 

XXXI. 

xxxu. 
xxxni. 

XXXIV. 
XXXV. 
XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXV m. 

XXXIX. 
XL. 

XLI. 

XLII. 
XLIIL 
XLIV. 

XLV. 

XL VI. 

XLVII. 

XLVm. 
XLIX. 



As, by his Lemnian forgo s 
flame •• ' 

Tes— loving is a painful thrill. 

'Twas in a moclung dream of 
night ••• 

Arm'd with hyacinthine rod. . 

Strew me a fragrant bed of 
leaves • • • 

'Twas noon of night, when 
round the pole 

Oh thou, of all creation blest. . 

Cupid once upon a bod. •••••• 

If hoarded gold possess'd the 
power .•• 

'Twas night, and many a cir- 
cling bowl ;,••,•••■, 

Let us drain the nectar d bowl 

How I love the festive boy . . . 

I know that Heaven hath sent 
me here • 

When Spring adorns the dewy 

Tes, be the glorious revel mine 

While our rosy fillets shed 

Buds of roses, virgin flowers. . 

Within this goblet, rich and 
deep 

Behold the young, the rosy 
Spring ••• 

'Tis true, my fading years ae- 
cline ••••• 

When my thirsty soul I steep. 

When Bacchus, Jove's immor- 
tal boy • • ; • V 

When wine I quaff, before my 



LI. 
LIL 
LIII. 
LIV. 



eyes : 

Ely not thus, my brow ot snow 
Away, away, ye men ot rules. 
When I beliold the festive train 
Methinks, the pictured bull we 

LV. While we invoke the wreathed 

LVL Hefwho'l'iistructs tiie youtiifiil 

LVn. Whose'was " the artist-haad 
that spread 



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C0NTE2?-TS. 



PAGE 

"When Gold, as fleet as zeph- 
yr's piuion 100 

Ripen d by the solar beam. ... 101 

Awake to life, my sleeping 
shell 101 

Youth's endearing charms are 
fled 102 

Fill me, boy, as deep a draught 103 

To Love, the soft and bloom- 
ing chUd 103 

Haste thee, nymph.whose well- 
aim'd spear 103 

Like some wanton tilly sport- 
ing 104 

To thee, the Queen of nymphs 
divine 104 

Hichiubliss, I proudly scorn. 104 

Kow Neptune's mouth our sky 
deforms 105 

They wove the lotus band to 
deck 105 

A broken cake with honey 
sweet 105 

With twenty chords my lyre 
is hung 105 

Fare thee well, perfidious maid 105 

Awhile I bloom'd, a happy 
flower 105 

Monarch Love, resistless boy. 106 

Spirit of Love, whose looks un- 
roU'd 106 

Hither, gentle Muse of mine. . 106 

"Would that I were a tuneful 
lyre 106 

"When Cupid sees how thickly 
now 106 



Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray 106 

Let me resign this wretched breath 106 



LIX. 
LX. 



LXIL 
LXnL 

LXIV. 

LXV. 

LXVL 

■Lxm. 
Lxvni. 

LXIX. 
LXX. 
LXXI. 

Lxxn. 

LXXIII. 

LXXIV. 
LXXV. 

LXXVI. 
LXXVIL 



I know thou lov'st a brimming measure. 

I fear that love disturbs my rest 

From dread Leucadia's frowning steep. 
Mix me, child, a cup divine 



epigrams from the anthologia. 

Notice 1 07 

AfTiTTttTpou 'S.i.Stavi.ov, CIS AvaKpeovra 107 

Tou avTOv, eis rov avTOv 108 

Tou avTou, €t9 Toi' avTOV 109 

Tov auTov, ei? toi" avTov 109 

JUVENILE POEMS. 

Fragments of College Exercises 112 

Is there no call, no consecrating cause. . . . 112 

, Variety 112 

To a Boy with a "Watch. Written for a 

friend 113 

113 



113 

113 

114 

A Tale of Romance. . . 114 
115 



To . . 

Song 

Song 

ReuDen and ] 

Did not 

To 115 

To Mrs on some calumnies 

against her character 115 

Anacreontic 116 

To 116 

To Julia, in allusion to some illiberal criti- 
cisms 116 

To Julia 116 



PAGE 

The Shrine. To 116 

To a Lady, with some manuscript Poems, 

on leaving the country 117 

To Julia 117 

To 117 



Nature's Labels. A fragment. 

To Julia. On her birthday 

A Reflection at Sea 

Cloris and Fanny 

The Shield 

To Julia, weeping 

Dreams. To 



To Rosa. Written during illness. 
Song. 



. 117 
118 
. 118 
. 118 
. 118 
. 119 
. 119 
. 119 
. 120 

The^Sale of Loves 120 

To 120 

To 121 

On the Death of a Lady 121 

Inconstancy 121 

The Natal Genius. A dream. To , 

the morning of her birthday 121 

Elegiac Stanzas, supposed to be written by 

Julia, on the death of her brother 122 

To the large and beautiful Miss 

in allusion to some partnership in a lot- 
tery share. Impromptu 122 

A Dream 12i 



To 

Anacreontic 123 

To Julia 123 

Hymn of a Virgin of Delphi, at the tomb of 



her mother. 



Svmpathy. To Julia. 
The Te 



ear i'^4 

The Snake 124 

To Rosa . 124 

Elegiac Stanzas 124 

Love and Marriage 125 

Anacreontic 125 

The Surprise 125 

To Miss on her asking the 

author why she had sleepless nights. . . 125 

The Wonder 125 

Lying 126 

Anacreontic 126 

The Philosopher Aristippus to a Lamp, 

which had been giveu him by Lais 126 

To Mrs. , on her beautiful translation 

of Voiture's Kiss . 127 

Rondeau 12^ 

Song... 128 

To Rosa 128 

Written in a commonplace book, called 

"The Book of Follies" 128 

To Rosa 129 

Light sounds the Harp.... 129 

From the Greek of Meleager 129 

Song 130 

The Resemblance 130 

Fanny, dearest 130 

The Ring. To . . . , 131 

To the invisible Girl 131 

TheRmg. A tale 132 

To on seeing her with 

a white veil and a rich girdle 135 

Written on the blank leaf ot a Lady's com- 
monplace book 135 

To Mrs. Bl— , written in her album 135 

To Cara, after an interval of absence 136 

To Cara, on the dawning of a new-year's 

day i3e 




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CONTElfTS. 



PAGE 

To , 1801 136 

The Genius of Harmony. An irregular ode 137 

I found her not — the chamber seem'd 139 

To Mrs. Henry Tighe, on reading her 

" Psyche" 139 

From the High Priest of Apollo to a Virgin 

of Delphi 140 

I^agmeut 141 

AKight Thought 141 

The Kiss 141 

Song 142 

The Catalogue 142 

Imitation of Catullus to himself. 142 

Oh woman, if through sinful wile 143 

Nonsense 143 

Epigram, from the French 143 

On a squinting Poetess 143 

To 143 



To Kosa. . . 
ToPhilUs. 



143 

143 

To a Lady on her singing 143 

Song. On the birthday ol Mrs. . Writ- 
ten in Ireland, 1799 144 

Song 144 

Morality. A familiar epistle. Addressed 

to J. Atkinson, Esq., M. K. LA 144 

The Tell-tale Lyre 145 

Peace and Glory. Written on the approach 

of war 146 

Song 146 

Love and Reason 147 

Nay, do not weep, my Fanny dear 147 

Aspasia 147 

The Grecian Girl's Dream of the Blessed 

Islands. To her lover 148 

To Cloe. Imitated from Martial 150 

The Wreath and the Chain 150 

To 151 

To 's Picture 151 

Fragment of a Mythological Hymn to Love 151 
To His Serene Highness the Duke of Mout- 
pensier, on his portrait of tlie Lady 

Adelaide P'orbes 1.'52 

The Full of Hebe. A dithyrambic ode 1.52 

Rings and Seals 155 

To Miss Snsan B — ckf — d. On her singing 155 

Impromptu, on leaving some friends 156 

A Warning. To 156 

To 156 

Woman 157 

To 157 

A Tision of Philosophy 157 

To Mrs 161 

ToLady Heathcote, on an old ring found 

at Tunbridge Wells 161 

The Devil among the Scholars. A frag- 
ment 162 

POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 

To Lord Viscount Strangford. Aboard the 
Phaeton frigate, off the Azores, by 
moonlight 166 

Stanzas 167 

To the Flying-fish 168 

To Miss Moore. From Norfolk, in Vir- 
ginia, Nov., 1803 168 

A Ballad. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp. 
Written at Norfolk, in Virginia 170 

To the Marchioness Dowager of Donegal. 

■ From Bermuda, 1804 170 



PACK 

To George Morgan, Esq., of Norfolk, Vir- 
ginia. From Bermuda, January, 1804. 172 

Lines written in a storm at sea 174 

Odes toNea:— 

Nay, tempt me not to love again 174 

I pray you, let us roam no more 175 

You read it in these spell-bound eyes 175 

A Dream of Antiquity 175 

Well— peace to thy heart, though anoth- 
er's it be 1T( 

If I were yonder wave, my dear 177 

The Snow Spirit 178 

I stole along the flowery bank 178 

A Study from the Antique 179 

There's not a look, a word of thine 179 

To Joseph Atkinson, Esq. From Ber- 
muda 179 

The Steersman's Song. Written aboard 

the Boston fl'igate, 28th of April 181 

To the Fire-fly 181 

To tlie Lord Viscount Forbes. From the 

city of Washington 181 

To Thomas Hume, Esq., M.D. From the 

city of Washington 1 84 

Lines written on leaving Philadelphia 186 

Lines written at the Cohoes, or Falls of the 

Mohawk river 187 

Song of the Evil Spirit of the Woods 187 

To the Honorable W. R. Spencer. From 

Buffalo, upon Lake Erie ]8£ 

Ballad Stanzas 190 

A Canadian Boat Song. Written on the 

river St. Lawrence 190 

To the Lady Charlotte Rawdon. From 

the banks of the St. Lawrence 191 

Impromptu, after a visit to Mrs , of 

Montreal 194 

Written on passing Deadman's Island, in 
the Gult of St. Lawrence, late in the 

evening, September, 1804 194 

To the Boston frigate, on leaving Halifax 
for England, October, 1804 195 

CORRUPTION AND INTOLERANCE. 

Two Poems. Addressed to an English- 
man BY AN IkISHMAN. 

Corruption 197 

Intolerance. A Satire 204 

Appendix 208 

THE SKEPTIC : A Philosophical Satire. 210 

TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 

By Thomas Brown the Tounger. 

Dedication. ToStephen Woolriche, Esq.. 215 

Preface 216 

Preface to the Fourteenth Edition. By a 
Fi-iend of the Author 216 

intercepted letters, etc. 

Letter I. From the Pr— nc— ss Ch— rl -e 
of W— 1— 8 to the Lady B— rb— a Ash- 
ley 217 

Letter II. From Col. M'M— h— n to 

G— IdFr— nc-8 L— ckie, Esq 218 

Postscript 219 

Letter 111. From G— ge Pr— ce R— gt 
to theE— of Y th 220 




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CONTEN-TS. 



PAGE 

Letter IV. From the Right Hon. P— tr- 
ek D— gen— n to the Right Hon. Sir 

J-hn N— ch— 1 221 

Letter V. From the Countess Dowager 

of C— rlito Lady 222 

Postscript 222 

Letter VI. From Abdallah in London 

to Mohassan in Ispahan 223 

Gazel 224 

Letter VII. From Messrs. L— ck— gt— n 

and Co. to , Esq 224 

Letter VIII. From Colonel Th— m— s to 

S— ff-ngt— n, Esq 225 

Appendix 226 

Letter IV. Page 221 226 

Letter VH. Page 224 227 

SATIRICAL AND [HUMOROUS POEMS. 

The Insurrection of the Papers. A Dream. 230 

Parody of a celebrated Letter 230 

Anacreontic to a Plumassier 232 

Extracts from the Diary of a Politician. . 233 

Epigram 233 

King Crack and his Idols. Written after 
the late negotiation for a new M — n — 

stry 234 

What's my Thought Like ? 234 

Epigram. Dialogue between a Catholic 
Delegate and His R— y— 1 H— ghn— ss 

the D-e of C-b-l-d 234 

Wreaths for the Ministers. An Anacreon- 
tic 234 

Epigram. Dialogue between a Dowager 
and her Maid on the night of Lord 

Y— nn— th 's fete 235 

Horace. Ode XI. Lib. II. Freely trans- 
lated by the Pr— ce R— g— t 235 

Horace. <)de XXn. Lib. I. Freely trans- 
lated by Lord Eld— n 236 

The New Costume of the Ministers 237 

Correspondence between a Lady and Gen- 
tleman, upon the advantage of (what 
is called) "having Law on one's side." 237 
Occasional Address for the Opening of the 
New Theatre of St. St— ph— n, in- 
tended to have been spoken by the 
Proprietor in full Costume, on the 24th 

of November, 1812 238 

The Sale of the Tools 239 

Little Man and Little Soul. A Ballad 240 

Reinforcements for Lord Wellington 240 

Horace. Ode I. Lib. III. A Fragment.. 241 
Horace. Ode XXXVHI. Lib. I. A Frag- 
ment. Translated by a Treasury 
Clerk, while waiting dinner for the 

Right Hon. G— rge R— so 241 

Impromptu. Upon being obliged to leave 
a pleasant party from the want of a 
pair of breeches to dress for dinner in. 241 
Lord Wellington and the Ministers 241 

IRISH MELODIES. 

Dedication to the Marchioness Dowager 

of Donegal 242 

Preface 242 

Go where Glory waits thee 242 

War Song. Remember the glories of Brien 

the Brave 243 

Erin! the Tear and the Smile in Thine 
Eyes 243 



PAGE 

Oh ! breathe not his Name 243 

When he who adores thee 243 

The Harp that once through Tara's halls.. 244 

Fly not yet 244 

Oh, think not my spirits are always as 

right 244 

Though the last glimpse of Erin with sor- 
row I see 245 

Rich and rare were the gems she wore 243 

As a beam o'er the face of the waters may 

glow 245 

The meeting of the Waters 245 

How dear to me the hour 246 

Take back the virgin page. Written on 

returning a blank book 246 

The Legacy 246 

How oft has the Benshee cried ? 247 

We may roam through thia world 247 

Eveleen's Bower 247 

Let Erin remember the days of old »8 

The Song of Fionnuala 248 

Come, send round the wine 249 

Sublime was the warning 249 

Believe me, if all those endearing young 

charms 249 

Erin, oh Erin 250 

Drink to her 250 

Oh, blame not the Bard 250 

While gazing on the moon's light 251 

ni Omens 251 

Before the Battle 252 

After the Battle 252 

'Tis sweet to think 252 

The Irish Peasant to his Mistress 253 

On Music 253 

It is not the tear at this moment ehed 253 

The Origin of the Harp 254 

Love's young Dream 254 

The Prince's Day 254 

Weep on, weep on 255 

Lesbia hath a oeaming eye 2.55 

I saw thv form in youthful pilme 256 

By that lake, whose gloomy shore 256 

She is far from the land 256 

Nay, tell me not, dear 257 

Avenging and bright 257 

What the bee is to the floweret 257 

Love and the Novice 268 

This life is all checker'd with pleasures and 

woes 258 

Oh, the shamrock 258 

At the mid hour of night 259 

One bumper at parting 259 

'Tis the last rose of summer 259 

The young May moon 260 

The Minstrel-boy 260 

The Song of O'Ruark, Prince of BreflFni. ... 260 
Oh, had we some bright little isle of our 

own 261 

Farewell ! but whenever you welcome the 

hour 261 

Oh, doubt me not 262 

You remember, Ellen 262 

I'dmournthe hopes 262 

Come o'er the sea 262 

Has sorrow thy young days shaded 263 

No, not more welcome 263 

When first I met thee 263 

While history's muse 264 

The time I've lost in wooing 264 

Where is the slave ? 265 



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CON"TEN-TS. 



11 



PAOE 

Come, rest in this bosom 2ti5 

'Tis gone, and forever 265 

I saw from the beach 2G5 

Fill the bumper fair 266 

Dear harp of my country 266 

My gentle harp 267 

In the morning of life 267 

As slow our ship 267 

When cold in the earth 268 

Kemember thee 268 

"Wreath the bowl 268 

Whene'er I see those smiling eyes 269 

If thou'ltbe mine 269 

To Ladies' Eyes 269 

Forget not the field 270 

They may rail at this life 270 

Oh lor the swords of former time 270 

St. Senanus and the Lady 270 

Ne'er ask the hour 271 

Sail on, sail on 271 

The Parallel 271 

Drink of this cup 272 

The Fortime-teUer 273 

Oh, ye dead 273 

O'Donohue's Mistress 273 

Echo 274 

Oh, banquet not 274 

Thee, thee, only thee 274 

Shall the harp, then, be silent 274 

Oh, the sight entrancing 275 

Sweet Innisfallen 275 

'Twas one of those dreams 276 

Fairest ! put on awhile 276 

Quick! we have but a second 277 

And doth not a meeting like this 277 

The Mountain Sprite 278 

As vanquish'd Erin 278 

Desmond's Song 278 

They know not my heart 279 

I wish I was by that dim lake 279 

She sung of love 279 

Sing, sing — Music was given 280 

Though humble the banquet 280 

Sing, sweet Harp 280 

Song of the Battle Eve 281 

The wandering Bard 281 

Alone in crowds to wander on 281 

I've a secret to tell thee 282 

Song of Innisfail 282 

The Night Dance 282 

There are sounds of mirth 283 

Oh ! Arranmore, loved Arranmore 283 

Lay his sword by his side 283 

Oh, could we do with this world of ours. . . 284 

The wine-cup is circling 284 

The dream of those days 284 

From this hour the pledge is given 284 

Silence is in our festal halls 285 

Appendix : 
Advertisement prefixed to the First and 

Second Numbers 285 

Advertisement to the Third Number. ... 286 
Letter to the Mnrcliioness Dowager of 
Donegal, prefixed to the Third Num- 
ber 288 

Advertisement to the Fourth Number. . . 291 

Advertisement to the Fifth Number 292 

Advertisement to the Sixth Number 292 

Advertisement to the Seventh Number.. 293 
Dedication to the Marchioness of Head- 
fort, prefixed to the Tenth Number 293 



NATIONAL AIRS. 

PAr.E 

Advertisement 294 

A I'emple to Friendship. (Spanish Air) . . 294 
Flow on, thou shining river. (Portuguese 

Air) 294 

All that's bright must fiUle. (Indian Air.) 295 

So warmly we met. (Hungarian Air) 295 

Those evening bells. (Air— The Bells of 

St. Petersburgh) 295 

Should those fond hopes. (Portuguese Air.) 295 
Reason, Folly, and Beauty. (Italian Air).. 296 
Fare thee well, thou lovely one I (Sicilian 

Air) 296 

Dost thou remember. (Portuguese Air).. 296 
Oh, come to me when daylight sets. (Vene- 
tian Air) 296 

Oft, in the stilly night. (Scotch Air) 297 

Hark ! the vesper hymn is stealing. (Rus- 
sian Air) , 297 

Love and Hope. (Swiss Air) 297 

There comes a time. (German Air) 298 

My harp has one unchanging theme. (Swed- 
ish Air) 298 

Oh, no— not even when first we loved. (Cash- 

merian Air) 298 

Peace be around thee. (Scotch Air) 298 

Common Sense and Genius. (French Air) 298 
Then fare thee well. (Old English Air) ... 299 
Gayly_ sounds the castanet. (Maltese Air) 299 
Love ia a hunter-boy. (Languedocian Air) 299 
Come, chase that starting tear awuy. 

(French Air) 300 

Joys of Youth, how fleeting. (Portuguese 

Air) 300 

Hear mo but once. (French Air) 300 

When Love was a child. (Swedish Air) . . 300 
Say, wliat shall be our sport to-day ? (Si- 
cilian Air) 300 

Bright be thy dreams. (Welsh Air) 301 

Go, then — 'tis vain. (Sicilian Air) 301 

The Crystal Hunters. (Swiss Air) 301 

Row gently here. (Venetian Air) 301 

Oh, days of youth. (French Air) 302 

When first that smile. (Venetian Air) 302 

Peace to the slumberers ! (Catalonian Air) 302 
When thou shalt wander. (Sicilian Air) . . 302 
Who'll buy my Love-knots ? (Portuguese 

Air) 302 

See, the dawn from heaven. (To an Air 

sung at Rome, on Christmas Eve) 303 

Nets and Cages. (Swedish Air) 303 

When through the Piazzetta. (Venetian 

Air) 303 

Go, now, and dream. (Sicilian Air) 304 

Take hence the bowl. (Neapolitan Air). . 304 

Farewell, Theresa ! (Venetian Air) 304 

How oft, when watching stars. (Savoyard 

Air) 304 

Wlien the first summer bee. (German Air) 305 
Though 'tis all but a dream. (French Air) 305 
When the wine-cupis smiling. (Italian Air) 305 
Where shall wo bury our shame ? (Nea- 
politan Air) 305 

Ne'er talk of wisdom's gloomy schools. 

(Mahratta Air) 305 

Here sleeps the bard. (Highland Air) 3ii6 

Do not say that life is waning 306 

The GazeUe 306 

No — leave my heart to rest 306 

Where are the visions 306 

Wind thy horn, my hunter- boy 306 



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CONTEN"TS. 



PAGE 

Oh, guard our afiFection 307 

Slumber, oh slumber < 307 

Bring the bright garlands hither 307 

If iu loving, singing 307 

Thonlov'st no more 307 

When abroad in the world 308 

Keep those eyes still purely mine 308 

Hope comes again 308 

O say, thou best and brightest 308 

When night brings the hour 308 

Like one who, doom'd 309 

Fear not that, while around thee 309 

"When Love is kind 309 

The garland I send thee 309 

How shall I woo? 309 

Spring and Autumn 310 

Love alone 310 

SACRED SONGS. 

Dedication to Edward Tutte Dalton, Esq. 311 

Thou art, O God. (Air.— Unknown) 311 

The bird, let loo.=e. (Air —Beethoven) .... 311 

Fallen is thy throne. (Air.— Martini) 311 

Who is the maid i St. Jerome's love. (Air. 

—Beethoven) 311 

This world is all a fleeting show. (Air.— 

Stevenson) 312 

Oh Thou who dry'st the mom-ner's tear. 

(Air —Haydn.) 313 

Weep not for those. (Air- Avison) 313 

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine. (Air. 

—Stevenson.) 313 

Sound the loud timbrel. Miriam's song. 

(Air. — Avison) 314 

Go, let me weep. (Air.— Stevenson) 3i4 

Come not, O Lord. (Air.— Haydn) ali 

Were not the sinful Mary's tears. (Air. — 

Stevenson 314 

As down in the sunless retreats. (Air. — 

Haydn) 315 

But who shall see. (Air.— Stevenson) ... . 315 
Almighty God. Chorus of priests. (Air. 

—Mozart) 315 

Oh fair ! oh purest ! St. Augustine to his 

sister. (Air— Moore) 315 

Angel of Charity. (Air.— H£,ndel) 316 

Behold the sun. (Air. — Lord Mornington) 316 
Lord, who shall bear that day. (Air.— Dr. 

Boyoe) 316 

Oh, teach me to love thee. (Air.— Haydn) 317 
Weep, children of Israel. (Air. — Steven- 
son) 317 

Like morning, when her early breeze. (Air. 

—Beethoven ) 317 

Come, ye disconsolate. (Air.— GeriBan).. 317 

Awako, arise, thy Light is come. (Air 

I Stevenson) 318 

iThere is a bleak desert. (Air.- Crescen- 

tini) 318 

Since first Thy word. (Air.— Nicholas 

Freeman) 319 

Hark ! 'tis the breeze. (Air.— Rousseau; . 319 
Where is your dwelling, ye sainted 2 (Air. 

— Hasse) 319 

How lightly mounts the muse's wing. (Air. 

—Anonymous) 319 

Go forth to the mount. (Air. — Stevenson) 320 
Is it not sweet to think, hereafter. (Air.— 

Haydn) 320 

War againet Babylon. ( Air.— Novello) ... 320 



PAGE 

The Summer FSte. 321 

Dedication to the Hon. Mrs. Norton.... 321 
EVENINGS IN GREECE. 

First Evening 331 

Second Evening , 339 

LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

Dedication to the Miss Fieldings 349 

The Voice 349 

Cupid and Psyche 349 

Hero and Leander 350 

The Leaf and the Fountain 350 

Cephalus and Procris 351 

Youth and Age 351 

The Dying WaiTior 351 

The Magic Mirror 351 

The Pilgrim 352 

The high-born Ladye 352 

The Indian Boat 353 

The Stranger 353 

A Melologue upon National Music 354 

Advertisement 354 

SET OF GLEES. 

MUSIC BY MOOKE. 

The Meeting of the Ships 356 

Hip, hip, hurrah! 356 

Hush, hush ! 357 

The Parting before the Battle 357 

The Watchman. A Trio .357 

Say, what shall we dance? 357 

The Evening Gun 358 

BALLADS, SONGS, MISCELLANEOUS 
POEMS, &.C. 

To-day, dearest ! is ours 358 

When on the lip the sigh delays 358 

Here, take my heart 358 

Oh, call it by some better name 359 

Poor wounded heart .. 359 

The East Indian 359 

Poor broken flosver 359 

The pretty rose-tree 359 

Shine out, stars ! 3G0 

The young Muleteers of Granada 360 

Tell her, oh, tell her 360 

Nights of music 360 

Ourfirst young love 360 

Black and blue eyes 361 

Dear Fanny 361 

From life without freedom 361 

Here's the bower 361 

I saw the moon rise clear. (A Finland 

love song) 362 

Love and the Sun-dial 362 

Love and Time 362 

Love's light Summer-cloud 362 

Love, wand'ring through the golden maze. 363 
Merrily every bosom boundeth. (The Ty- 

rolese song of liberty) '.. 363 

Remember the time. (The Castilian maid) 333 

Oh, soon return 363 

Love thee ? 364 

One dear smOe 364 

Yes, yes, when the bloom 364 

The daj; of love ; 364 

Lusitanian War Song 364 

The young Rose ■. . . . 365 

When 'midst the gay I meet 365 

When twilight dews 365 



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CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Youngf Jessica 365 

How happy, once 365 

I love but thee 365 

Lot joy aloDe be remember'd now 366 

Love thee, dearest 3 love thee ? 366 

My heart and lute 366 

Peace, peace to him that's gone 366 

Eoseofthe desert 367 

'Tis aU for thee 367 

The song of the olden time 367 

"Wake thee, my dear 367 

The Boy of the Alps 368 

For thee alone , 368 

H?r last words, at parting 368 

Let's take this world as some wide scene. . 369 

Love's Victory 369 

Song of Hercules to his Daughter 369 

The Dream of Home 369 

They tell me thou'rt the favor'd guest 370 

The youug Indian Maid 370 

The Homeward March 370 

Wake up, sweet melody 370 

Calm be thy sleep 371 

The Exile 371 

The Fancy Fair 371 

If thou wouldst have me sing and play 371 

Still when daylight 372 

The Summer Webs 372 

Mind not though daylight ; 372 

They met but once ! 372 

With moonlight beaming 372 

Child's Song. From a Masque 373 

The halcyon hangs o'er ocean 373 

The world was hushed 373 

The two Loves 373 

The Legend of Puck the Fairy 374 

Beauty and Song 374 

When thou art nigh 374 

Song of a Hyperborean 374 

Thou bidd'st me sing 375 

Cupid arm'd 375 

Eound the world goes 375 

Oh, do not look so bright and blest 376 

TheMusicalBox 376 

When to sad music silent you listen 376 

The Language of Flowers 376 

The dawn is breaking o'er us 377 

SONGS FKOM THE GREEK ANTHOL- 
OGY. 

Here at thy tomb. (By Meleager) 377 

Sale of Cupid. (By Meleager) 377 

To weave a garland for the rose. (By Paul 

the Silentiary) 378 

WTiy does she so long delay 1 (By Paul the 

Silentiary) 378 

Twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy brow. 

(By Paul the Silentiary) 378 

When the sad word. (By Paul the Silenti- 
ary) 379 

My Mopsa is little. (By Philodemus) 379 

Stdl, like dew in silence falling. (By Me- 
leager) 379 

Up, sailor boy, 'tis day 379 

In Myrtle wreaths. (By Alcseus) 380 

UNPUBLISHED SONGS, &c. 

Ask not if stmilove 380 

Dear? ves 380 

Unbiid thee, love 381 

There's something strange. (A buifo song) 381 



PAGE 

Not from thee , 381 

Guess, guess 381 

When Love, who ruled 381 

Still thou fliest 382 

Then first from Love 382 

Hush, sweet lute 382 

Bright moon 383 

Long years have pass'd 383 

Dreaming forever 383 

Though lightly sounds the song I sing. (A 

song of the Alps) 383 

The Kussian lover 384 

LALLA KOOKH. 

Dedication 384 

The Veiled Prophet of Khokassan 387 

PakADISE AND THE PERI 425 

The Fike-Worshippeks 436 

The Light of the Haram 466 

POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 

Lines on the Death of Mr. P— re— v— 1 479 

Fum and Hum, the two birds of royalty. . . 480 

Lines on the Death of Sh — r — d — n 481 

Epistle from Tom Crib to Big Ben concern- 
ing some foul play in a late transaction 482 

THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 

Preface 483 

Letter I. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss 

Dorothy , of Clonkilty, in Ireland. 483 

Letter II. From Phil. Fudge, Esq., to the 

Lord Viscount C— st— r— gh 485 

Letter III. From Mr. Bob Fudge to Rich- 
ard , Esq 487 

Letter IV. From Pholim Connor to .. 489 

Letter V. From Miss Biddy Fudge to 

Miss Dorothy 491 

Letter VI. From Phil. Fudge, Esq., to 

his brother Tim Fudge, Esq., barrister- 

at-law 493 

Letter VII. From Phelim Connor to . 496 

Letter VIII. From Mr. Bob Fudge, to 

Richard , Esq 499 

Letter IX. From Phil. Fudge, Esq., to 

the Lord Viscount C— st— r— h 501 

Letter X. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss 

Dorothy 505 

Letter XI. From Phelim Connor to . . 508 

Letter XII. From Miss Biddy Fudge to 

Miss Dorothy 509 

FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 

Dedication. To Lord Byron 512 

Preface 512 

Fable I. The Dissolution of the Holy Al- 
liance. A dream 512 

Fable II. The Looking-glasses 514 

Fable III. The Torch of Liberty 515 

Fable IV. The Fly and the BuUock 516 

Fable V. Church and State 517 

Fable VI. The Little Grand Lam a 519 

F.able VII. The Extinguishers 520 

Fable VTU. Louis Fourteenth's Wig. ... 522 

RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 

Introductory Rhymes 524 

Extract 1 625 

Extract n 526 

Extract HI 526 




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COl^TEN-TS. 



PAGE 

Extract rV 527 

Extract V 528 

Extract VI 528 

Extract VII 530 

Extract Vin 53] 

Extract IX 532 

Extract X 533 

Extract XI , 533 

Extract XII 634 

Extract XIII 535 

Extract XIV 537 

Extract XV 539 

Extract XVI 540 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
Occasional Epilogue, spoken by Mr. Corry, 
in the character of Vapid, after the 
play of the Dramatist, at the Kilkenny 

Tlieatre 542 

Extract from a Prologue written and 
spoken by the Author, at the Opening 
of the Kilkenny Theatre, October, 

1809 542 

The Sylph's Ball 543 

Remonstrance 544 

My Birth-day 545 

Fancy 545 

Song. Fanny, dearest ! 545 

Translation from Catullus 545 

Tibnllus to Sulpicia 546 

Imitation. From the French 546 

Invitation to Dinner, addressed to Lord 

Lansdowne 547 

Verses to the Poet Crabbe's Inkstand. 

Written May, 1832 547 

To Caroline, Viscountess Valletort. "Writ- 
ten at Lacock Abbey, January, 1832.. 548 

A SpeciUation 548 

To my Mother. Written in a Pocketbook, 

1822 549 

Love and Hymen 549 

Lines on the Entry of the Austrians into 

Kaples, 1821 549 

Skepticism 650 

A Joke Versified 550 

On the Death of a Friend 550 

To James Corry, Esq., on his making me a 

Present of a Wine-strainer 550 

Fragment of a Character 551 

What shall I sing thee ? To 551 

Country Dance and Quadrille 551 

Gazel 553 

Lines on the Death of Joseph Atkinson, 

Es^., of Dublin 554 

Genius and Criticism 554 

To Lady J*r**y, on being asked to write 

something in her Album 555 

To the same, on looking tlu-ough her 

A Ibum 555 

At night 555 

To Lady Holland. On Napoleon's Legacy 

of a Snuflf-box 555 

Epilogue. Written for Lady Dacre's Trag- 
edy oflna 555 

The Day-dream 556 

Song 557 

Song of the Poco-curante Society 557 

Anne Boleyn. Translation from the met- 
rical " Histoire d'Anno Boleyn" 557 

The Dream of the Two Sisters. From 
Dante 558 



PAGE 

Sovereign Woman. A Ballad 558 

Come play me that simple Air again. A 
Ballad 558 

THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 

Preface 559 

First Angel's Story 561 

Second Angel's Story 565 

Third Angel's Story 577 

SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 

To Sir Hudson Lowe 581 

Amatory Colloquy between Bank and Gov- 
ernment 581 

Dialogue between a Sovereign and a One 

Pound Note 582 

An Expostulation to Lord King 582 

The Sinking Fund cried 583 

Ode to the Goddess Ceres. By Sir Th— m— s 

L— th— br— e 584 

A Hymn of Welcome after the Recess 585 

Memorabilia of Last Week 685 

All in the Family Way. A new Pastoral 

Ballad .586 

Ballad for the Cambridge Election 686 

Mr. Roger Dodsworth 587 

Copy of an Intercepted Dispatch. From 
his Excellency Don Strepitoso Diabolo, 
Envoy Extraordinary to his Satanic 

Majesty 587 

The Millennium. Suggested by the late 
Work of the Rev. Mr. Irv— ng " on 

Prophecy " 588 

The Three Doctors 689 

Epitaph on a Tuft-hunter 590 

Ode to a Hat 590 

News for Country Cousins 590 

A Vision. By the Author of Christabel 591 

The Petition of tlie Orangemen of Deland. 592 

Cotton ami Corn. A Dialogue 593 

T'lie Canonization of Saint B — tt — rw — rth. 593 
Au Incantation. Sung by the Bubble 

Spirit 594 

A Dream of Turtle. By Sir W. Curtis.. 595 
The Donkey and his Panniers. A Fable. . 596 

Ode to the Sublime Porte 596 

Corn and Catholics 597 

A Case of Libel 597 

Literary Advertisement 598 

The Irish Slave 599 

Ode to Ferdinand 600 

Hat versus Wig 600 

The Periwinkles and the Locusts. A Sal- 

magundian Hymn 601 

New Creation of Peers. Batch the Fii-st. . 602 
Speech on the Umbrella Question. By 

Lord Eld— n 603 

A Pastoral Ballad. By John Bull 603 

A late Scene at Swanage 604 

Wo! Wo! 604 

Tout pour la Tripe 605 

Enigma 605 

Dog-day Reflections. By a Dandy kept in 

Town 606 

The " Living Dog" and the "Dead Lion." 607 

Ode to Don Miguel 607 

Thoughts on the present Government of 

Ireland 608 

The Limbo of lost Reputations. A Dream. 60^ 
How to AVrite by Proxy 609 




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OONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Imitation o^the Infemo of Dante 610 

Lament for* he Loss of Lord B— th— st's 

Tail 611 

TheCherries. A Parable 612 

Stanzas written in Anticipation of Defeat. 612 
Ode to the Woods and Forests. By one of 

the Board 613 

Stanzas from the Banks of the Shannon. . . . 613 

The Annual PiU 614 

"If" and "Perhaps" 615 

"Write on, Write on. A Ballad 615 

Song of the Departing Spirit of Tithe 616 

The Euthanasia of Van 617 

To the Reverend . One of the six- 
teen Kequisitionists of Nottingham.... 617 

Irish Antiquities 618 

A curious Fact 618 

New-fashioned Echoes 619 

Incantation. Prom the New Tragedy of 

"The Brunswickers " 620 

How to make a good Politician 620 

Epistle of Condolence. From a Slave Lord 

to a Cotton Lord 621 

The Ghost of Miltiades 621 

Alarming Intelligence — Revolution in the 

Dictionary— One Qalt at the Head of it. 6S2 
Eesolutions passed at a late Meeting of 

Reverends and Right Reverends 623 

Sir Andrew's Dream 624 

A Blue Love Song. To Miss 625 

Sunday Ethics. A Scotch Ode 625 

Awful Event 625 

The Numbering of the Clergy. Parody 
on Sir Charles Han. Williams' famous 

Ode 626 

ASad Case 626 

A. Dream of Hindostan 627 

The Brunswick Club 628 

Proposals for a Gvna3cocracy. Addressed 

to a late Radical Meeting 628 

Lord H— nl— y and St. Cecilia 629 

Advertisement 629 

Missing 63 ) 

The Dance of Bishops; or. The Episcopal 

Quadrille. A Dream 630 

Dick « * * *. A Character 631 

A Corrected Report of some late Speeches. 632 

Moral Positions. A Dream 633 

The Mad Tory and the Comet. Founded 

on a late Distressing Incident 633 

From the Hon. Henry to Lady 

Emma 634 

Triumph of Bigotry 63.) 

Translation from the Gull Language 635 

Notions on Reform. By a Modern Re- 
former 636 

Tory Pledges 637 

St. Jerome on Earth. First Visit 637 

St. Jerome on Earth. Second Visit 638 

Thoughts on Tarbarrels (Vide Descrip- 
tion of a late Fete) 639 

The Consultation 649 

To the Rev. Ch— rl— 8 Ov— rt— n, Curate of 

Romaldkirk 640 

Scene from a Play, acted at Oxford, called 

" Matriculation " 641 

Late Tithe Case 641 

Fool's Paradise. Dream the First 642 

The Rector and his Curate; or, One Pound 

Two 643 

Paddy's Metamorphosis 643 



TAGB 

Cocker on Church Reform. Founded upon 

some late Calculations C44 

Les Hommes Automates 644 

How to make One's Self a Peer, According 
to the newest Receipt, as disclosed in a 

late Heraldic Work 645 

The Duke is the Lad 645 

Epistle from Erasmus on Earth to Cicero 

in the Shades 646 

Lines on the Departure of Lords C— st — 

r— gh and St— w— rt for the Continent. 647 
To the Ship in which Lord C— st— r- gh 

sailed for the Continent 648 

Sketch of the First Act of a new Romantic 

Drama 648 

Animal Magnetism 649 

The Song of the Box 650 

Announcement of a new Thalaba. Ad- 

di'essed to Robert Southey, Esq 651 

Rival Topics. An Extravaganza 652 

The Boy Statesman. By a Tory 652 

Letter from Larry O'Branigan to the Rev. 

Murtagh O'Mulligan 653 

Musings of an Unreformed Peer 653 

The Reverend Pamphleteer. A Romantic 

Ballad 654 

A Recent Dialogue 654 

The Wellington Spa 655 

ACharacter 655 

A Ghost Story 656 

Thoughts on the late destructive Propo&i- 
tions of the Tories. By a Common 

Councilman 656 

Anticipated Meeting of the British Asso- 
ciation in the year 2836 657 

Songs of the Church. No. 1 658 

Epistle from Henry of Ex— t— r to John of 

Tuam 6.59 

Song of Old Puck 660 

Police Reports. Case of Imposture 660 

Reflections. Addressed to the Author of 
the Article of the Church, in the last 

Number of the Quarterly Review 661 

New Grand Exhibition of Models of the 

two Houses of Parliament 662 

Announcement of a new grand Accelera- 
tion Company for the Promotion of the 

Speed of Literature 663 

Some Account of the late Dinner to Dan. . 664 

New Hospital for Sick Literati 664 

Religion and Trade 665 

Musmgs, suggested by the late Promotion 

of Mrs. Nethercoat 665 

Intended Tribute to tho Author of an Ar- 
ticle in the last Number of the Quar- 
terly Review, entitled, "Romanism in 

Ireland " 666 

Grand Dinner of Type and Co. A poor 

Poets Dream 667 

Church Extension 6*>8 

Latest Accounts from Olympus 669 

The Triumphs of Farce 669 

Thoughts on Patrons, Puffs and other Mat- 
ters. In an Epistle from T. M. to S. 

R 670 

Thoughts on Mischief. By Lord St— nl— y 

(His first A ttempt in Verse) 671 

Epistle from Captain Rock to Lord L— 

ndh-t 672 

Captain Rock in London. Letter from tho 
Captain to Terry Alt, Esq 673 




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CONTENTS. 



THE FUDGES IN EJTGLAND. 

BEING A SEQUEL TO THE " FUDGE FAMILT IK 

PAnis." 

PAGE 

Preface 674 

Letter I. From Patrick Magan, Esq., to 

the Rev. Richard , Curate of , 

in Ireland 674 

Letter II. From Miss Biddy Fudge, to 
Mrs. Elizabeth 676 

Letter m. From Miss Fanny Fudge, to 

her cousin. Miss Kitty . Stanzas 

(enclosed) to my Shadow ; or. Why ?— 
What?— How? 678 

Letter IV. From Patrick Magan, Esq., 
to the Rev. Richard 681 

Letter V. From Larry O'Branigan, in 
England, to his wife Judy, at Mullina- 
fad 682 

Letter TI. From Miss Biddy Fudge, to 
Mrs. Elizabeth —— ■-■684 



PAGF 

Letter VH. From Miss Fanny Fudge, to 

her cousin. Miss Kitty . Irregular 

Ode 681 

Letter VIII. From Bob Fudge, Esq., to 
the Rev. Mortimer O'MulUgan 689 

Letter IX. From Larry O'Branig.an to 
his wife Judy 690 

Letter X. From the Rev. Mortimer 
O'MuUigan, to the Rev. 692 

Letter XI. From Patrick Magan, Esq., 
to the Rev. Richard 694 

SONGS FROM M. P.; OR, THE BLUE 
STOCKING. 

Songs 69.5, 696 

Boat Glee 696 

Cupid's Lottery 696 

Song 696 

THE EPICUREAN: A TALE 697 

ALCIPHRON : A Fragment 772 




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PREFACES 

TO 

THE COLLECTED EDITION OF TEN VOLUMES, 

PUBLISHED IN 1841, 1842. 



PEEFACE 

TO THE 

FIRST VOLUME, 



Finding it to be the wish of my Pub- 
lishers that at least the earlier volumes 
of this collection should each be accom- 
panied by some prefatory matter, illus- 
trating, by a few biographical memo- 
randa, the progress of my humble liter- 
ary career, I have consented, though 
not, I confess, without some scruple and 
hesitation, to comply with their request. 
In no country is there so much curios- 
ity felt respecting the interior of the 
lives of public men as in England ; but, 
on the other hand, in no country is he 
who ventures to tell his own story so 
little safe from the imputation of van- 
ity and self-display. 

The whole of the poems contained in 
the first, as well as in the greater part of 
the second volume of this collection 
were written between the sixteenth and 
the twenty-third year of the author's 
age. But I had begun still earlier, not 
only to rhyme but to publish. A sonnet 
to my schoolmaster, Mr. Samuel "Whyte, 
written m my fourteenth year, appeared 
at the time in a Dublin magazine, called 
the Anthologia, — the first, and, I fear, 
almost only, creditable attempt in peri- 
odical literature of which Ireland has to 
boast. I had even at an earlier period 
(1793) sent to this magazine two short 
pieces of verse, prefaced by a note to the 
editor, requesting the insertion of the 



"following attempts of a youthful muse;" 
and the fear and trembling with which 
I ventured upon this step were agreea- 
bly dispelled, not only by the appear- 
ance of the contributions, but still more 
by my finding myself, a few months 
after, hailed as " Our esteemed corre- 
spondent, T. M." 

It was in the pages of this publica- 
tion,. — where the whole of the poem was 
extracted,— that I first met with the 
Pleasures of Memory ; and to this day, 
when I open the volume of the Antho- 
logia which contains it, the very form of 
the type and color of the paper brings 
back vividly to my mind the delight 
with which I first read that poem. 

My schoolmaster, Mr. Whyte, though 
amusingly vain, was a good and kind- 
hearted man ; and, as a teacher of pub- 
lic reading and elocution, had long en- 
joyed considerable reputation. Nearly 
thirty years before I became his pupil, 
Richard Brinsley Sheridan, then about 
eight or nine years of age, had been 
placed by Mrs. Sheridan under his care ;* 
and, strange to say, was, after about a 
year's trial, pronounced, both by tutor 
and parent, to be "an incorrigible 
dunce." Among those who took les- 
sons from him as private pupils were sev- 
eral young ladies of rank, belonging to 
some of those great Irish families who 
still continued to lend to Ireland the en- 
livening influence of their presence, and 

* Some confused notion of this fact has led 
the writer of a Memoir prefixed to the " Pocket 
Edition " of my Poems, printed at Zwickau, to 
state that Brinsley Sheriduu was my tutor !— 
" Great attention was paid to his educatiou by 
his tutor. Sheridan." 



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18 



PREFACE. 



made their country-seats, through a 
great part of the year, the scenes of re- 
fined as well as hospitable festivity. The 
Miss Montgomerys, to whose rare beauty 
the pencil of Sir Joshua has given im- 
mortality, were among those whom my 
worthy preceptor most boasted of as pu- 
pils ; and his description of them, I re- 
member, loii^ haunted my boyish imag- 
ination, as though they were not earthly 
women, but some spiritual "creatures 
of the element." 

About thirty or forty years before the 
period of which I am speaking, aneager 
taste for private theatrical performances 
had sprung up among the higher ranks 
of society in Ireland; and at Carton, the 
seat of the Duke of Leinster, at Castle- 
town, Marley, and other great houses, 
private plajs were got up, of which, in 
most instances, the superintendence was 
intrusted to Mr. Whyte, and in general 
the prologue, or the epilogue, contributed 
by his pen. At Marley, the seat of the 
Latouches, where the Masque of Comus 
was performed m the year 1776, while 
my old master supplied the prologue, no 
less distinguished a hand than that of 
our " ever-glorious Grattan,"* furnished 
the epilogue. This relic of his pen, too, 
is the more memorable, as being, I be- 
lieve, the ouly poetical composition he 
was ever known to produce. 

At the time when I first began to at- 
tend his school, Mr. "V7hyte still con- 
tinued, to the no small alarm of many 
parents, to encourage a taste for acting 
among his pupils. In this line I was 
long his favorite s/iow-scholar ; and 
among the play-bills introduced in his 
volume, to illustrate the occasions of his 
own prologues and epilogues, there is 
one of a play got up in the year 1790, 
at Lady Borrowes's private theatre in 
Dublin, where, among the items of the 
evening's entertainment, is " An Epi- 
logue, A Squeeze to St. Paul's, Master 
Moore." 

With acting, indeed, is associated the 
very first attempts at verso-making to 
which my memory enables me to plead 
guilty. It was at a period, I think, even 
earher than the date last mentioned, 

' Byron. 



that, while passing the summer holidays 
with a number of other young people, 
at one of those bathing-places, in the 
neighborhood of Dublin, which ailord 
such fresh and healthful retreats to its 
inhabitants, it was proposed among us 
that we should combine together iu 
some theatrical performance ; and the 
Poor Soldier and a Harlequin Panto- 
mime being the entertamments agreed 
upon, the parts of Patrick and the 
Motley hero fell to my share. I was 
also encouraged to write and recite an 
appropriate epilogue on the occasion ; 
and the following lines, alluding to our 
speedy return to school, and remarkable 
only for their having lived so long in my 
memory, formed part of this juvenile 
effort : 

Our Pantaloon, who did so aged look, 

II list now resume his youth, his taslf, his book: 

Our Harle(iuiu, who skipp'd, laugh'd, danced 

and died. 
Must now stand trembling by his master's 

side. 

I have thus been led back, step by 
step, from an early date to one still ear- 
lier, with the view of ascertaining, for 
those who take any interest in hterary 
biography, at what period I first showed 
an aptitude for the now common craft 
of verse-making ; and the result is — so 
far back in childhood lies the epoch — 
that I am really unable to say at what 
age I first began to act, sing and rhyme. 

To these different talents, such as they 
were, the gay and social habits prevail- 
ing in DubUn afibrded frequent oppor- 
tunities of display; while, at home, a 
most amiable father, and a mother such 
as in heart and head has rarely been 
equalled, furnished me with that purest 
stimulus to exertion— the desne to please 
those whom we, at once, most love and 
most respect. It was, I think, a year 
or two after my entrance into college, 
that a masque written by myself, and of 
which I had adapted one of the songs 
to the air of Haydn's Spirit-Song, was 
acted, imder our own humble roof in 
Aungier street, by my elder sister, my- 
self, and one or two other young per- 
sons. The little drawing-room over the 
shop was our grand place of representa- 
tion, and young , now an eminent 




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IK^I^fitP' 





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PEEFACE. 10 



firofessor of music in Dublin, enacted 
or us the part of orchestra at the piano- 
forte. 

It will be seen from all this, that, 
however imprudent and premature was 
my first appearance in the London world 
as au author, it is only lucky that I had 
not much earlier assumed that responsi- 
ble character ; in which case the public 
would probably have treated my nursery 
productions in much the same manner 
in which that sensible critic, my Uncle 
Toby, would have disposed of the "work 
which the great Lipsius produced on the 
day he was bom." 

While thus the turn I had oO early 
shown for rhyme and song was, by the 
gay and sociable circle in which I lived, 
called so encouragingly into play, a far 
deeper feeling— and, I should hope, 
power— was at the same time awakened 
in me by the mighty change then work- 
ing in the political aspect of Europe, and 
the stirring influence i-t had begun to 
exercise on the spirit and hopes of Ire- 
land. Bom of Catholic parents, I had 
come into the "world with the slave's 
yoke around my neck ; and it was all in 
vain that the fond ambition of a mother 
looked forward to the Bar as opening a 
career that might lead her son to honor 
and affluence. Against the young Papist 
all such avenues to distinction were 
closed ; and even the University, the pro- 
fessed source of public education, was to 
him " a fountain sealed." Can any one 
now wonder that a people thus wronged 
and trampled upon should have hailed 
the first dazzling outbreak of the French 
Revolution as a signal to the slave, 
wherever suffering, that the day of his 
deliverance was near at hand. I remem- 
ber being taken by my father (1792) to 
one of the dinners given in honor of that 
great event, and sitting upon the knee of 
the chairman while the following toast 
was enthusiastically sent round :— " May 
the breezes from France fan our Irish 
Oak into verdure." 

In a few months after was passed the 
memorable Act of 1793, sweeping away 
some of the most monstrous of the 
remaining sanctions of the penal code ; 
and I was myself among the first of the 
young Helots of the land, who hastened 



to avail themselves of the new privilege 
of being educated intheii- country's Uui- 
versity, — though still excluded from ail 
share in those college honors and emolu- 
ments by which the ambition of the 
youths of the ascendant class was stimu- 
lated and rewarded, ^s I well knew 
that, next to my attaining some of these 
distinctions, my showing that I deserved 
to attain them would most gratify my 
anxious mother, I entered as candidate 
for a scholarship, and (as far as the result 
of the examination went) successfully. 
But, of course, the mere barren credit 
of the effort was all I enjoyed for my 
pains. 

It was in this year, (1794,) or about 
the beginning of the next, that I remem- 
ber having, for the first time, tried 
my hand at political satire. In their 
very worst times of slavery and suffering, 
the happy disposition of my countrymen 
had kept their cheerfulness still un- 
broken and buoyant ; and, at the period 
of which I am speaking, the hope of a 
brighter day dawning upon Ireland had 
given to the society of the middle classes 
in Dublin a more than usual flow of 
hilarity and life. Among other gay 
results of this festive spirit, a club, or 
society, was instituted by some of our 
most convivial citizens, one of whose ob- 
jects was to burlesque, good-humoredlj-, 
the forms and pomps of royalty. With 
this -^iew they estabhshed a sort of mock 
kingdom, of which Dalkey, a small 
island near Dublin, was made the seat, 
and an eminent pawnbroker, named 
Stephen Armitage, much renowned for 
his agreeable singing, was the chosen 
and popular monarch. 

Before pubhc affairs had become too 
serious for such pastime, it was usual to 
celebrate, yeariy, at Dalkey, the day of 
this sovereign's accession; and, among 
the gay scenes that still live in m.y mem- 
ory, there are few it recalls with more 
freshness than the celebration, on a fine 
Suudaj^ in summer, of one of these ani- 
versaries of King Stephen's coronation. 
The picturesque sea- views from that spot, 
the gay crowds along the shores, the m- 
numerable boats, full of life, floating 
about, and, above all, that true spirit 
of mu-th which the Irish temperament 



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20 



PKEFACE. 



never fails to lend to such meetings, ren- 
dered the whole a scene not easily for- 
gotten. The state ceremonies of the day 
were performed, with all due gravity, 
within the ruins of an ancient church 
that stands on the island, where his mock 
majesty bestowed the order of knight- 
hood upon certain favored personages, 
aud among others, I recollect, upon 
Incledon, the celebrated singer, who 
aros3 from under the touch of the royal 
sword with the appropriate title of Sir 
Charles Melody. There was also se- 
lected, for the favors of the crown on 
that day, a lady of no oi'diuary poetic 
talent, Mrs. Battier, who had gained 
much fame by some spirited satires in 
the manner of Churchill, aud whose kind 
encouragement of my early attempts in 
versification were to me a source of 
much pride. This lady, as was officially 
announced in the course of the day, had 
been appointed his majesty's poetess 
laureate, under the style and title of 
Henrietta, Countess of Laurel. 

There could hardly have been devised 
an apter vehicle for Mvely political sat- 
ire than this gay travesty of monarchical 
power, and its showy appurtenances, so 
temptingly supphed. The very day, in- 
deed, after this commemoi-ation, there 
appeared, in the Dalkey state-gazette, 
an amusing proclamation from the king, 
offering a large reward, in cronehancs* 
to the finder or finders of his majesty's 
crown, which, owing to his "having 
measured both sides of the road" in his 
pedestrian progress on the preceding 
night, had unluckily fallen from the 
royal brow. 

It is not to be wondered at, that what- 
ever natm-al tium I may have possessed 
for the lighter skirmishing of satire 
should have been called into play by so 
pleasant a field for its exercise as the 
state affairs of the Dalkey kingdom 
afforded; and, accordingly, my first 
attempt in this line was an Ode to his 
Majesty, King Stephen, contrasting the 
happy state of security in which he lived 
among his merry Meg"s, with the ' ' metal 
coach," and other such precautions 
against mob violence, which were said 
to have been adopted at that time by 
* Irish halfponce, so-called. 



his royal brother of England. Some 
portions of this juvenile squib still live 
in my memory ; but they fall far too 
short of the lively demands of the sub- 
ject to be worth preserving, even as 
juvenilia. 

In college, the first circumstance that 
drew any attention to my rhyming 
powers was my giving in a theme, in 
English verse, at one of the quarterly bk- 
aminations. As the sort of short essays 
required on those occasions were con- 
sidered, in general, as a mere matter of 
fonn, aud were written, invariably, I 
beUeve, in Latin prose, the appearance 
of a theme in English verse could hardly 
fail to attract some notice. It was, 
therefore, with »j small anxiety that, 
when the moment for judging of the 
themes arrived, I saw the exammers of 
the different divisions assemble, as 
usual, at the bottom of the hall for that 
pui-pose. Still more trying was it when 
I perceived that the reverend inquisitor, 
in whose hands was my fate, had left 
the rest of the awful group, and was 
bending his steps towards the table 
where I was seated. Leaning across to 
me, he asked suspiciously, whether the 
verses which I had just given him were 
my own ; and. on my answering in the af- 
firmative, added these cheeiing words, 
'' They do you great credit ; and I shall 
not fail to recommend them to the notice 
of the Board." This result of a step, 
ventured upon with some little fear aud 
scrapie, was of course very gratifying 
to me ; and the premium I received 
from the Board was a well-bound copy 
of the Travels of Anacharsis, together 
with a certificate, stating, in not very 
lofty Latin, that this reward had been 
confeiTod upon me, "propter laudabilem 
in versibus componendis progi'essum." 

The idea of attempting a version of 
some of the Songs or Odes of Anacreon 
had very early occun'ed to me ; and a 
specimen of my first ventures in this un- 
dertaking may be found in the Dublin 
Magazine already referred to, where, in 
the number of that work for February, 
1794, appeared a "Paraphrase of Ana- 
creon's Fifth Ode, by T. Moore." As it 
may not be uninteresting to future and 
better translators of the poet to compare 



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C*";^— ^ 




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PKEFACE. 



21 



this schoolboy experiment Tritb my later 
and more labored version of the same 
ode, I shall here extract the specimen 
found in the Anthologia : — 

" Let us, -with the clusterina: vine, 
The rose. Love's blusliing flower, entwine. 
Fancy's hand ourcUapIets wi-eathing, 
Yerual sweets aronmi us breatUinar, 
AVe'll pnyly drink, full p:ol)k'ts (luafiing, 
At frig-hleil Care securely liuguing. 

"Rose! thou balmy scented flower, 
Kear'd by Spring's most fostering power, 
Thy dewy blossoms, opoiiing brii^ht. 
To ffods themselves can give delight ; 
And Cypria's child, witli roses crown'd. 
Trips with each Grace the mazy round. 

" Bind my brows,— I'll tune the lyre. 
Love my rapturous strains shall fire, 
Near Bacchus' grape-encircled shrine, 
While roses fresh my brows entwine, 
Led by the wijigcd train of Pleasures, 
I'll dance with nymphs to sportive measures." 

In pursuing further this light task, the 
only object I had for some tmie in view 
■was to lay before the Board a select 
number of the odes I had then trans- 
lated, with a hope, — suggested by the 
kind encouragement I had ah'eady re- 
ceived,— that they might be considered 
as deserving of some honor or reward. 
Having experienced much hospitable 
attention from Dr. Kearney, one of the 
senior fellows,* a man of most amiable 
character, as well as of refined scholar- 
ship, I submitted to his perusal the man- 
uscript of my translation as far as it had 
then proceeded, and requested his ad- 
vice respecting my intention of laying it 
before the Board. On this latter point 
his opinion was such as, with a little 
more thought, I might have anticipated, 
namely, that he did not see how the 
Board of the University could lend their 
sanction, by any public reward, to writ- 
ings so convivial and amatory as were 
almost all those of Anacreon. ' He very 
good-naturedly, however, lauded my 
translation, and advised me to complete 
and publish it ; adding, I well recollect, 
"young people will like it " I was 
also indebted to him for the use, during 
my task, of Spaletti's curious publica- 
tion, giving a facsimile of those pages of 

* Appointed Provost of the TTuiversity in the 
year 1799 and made afterwards Bishop of Os- 
sory. 



a MS. in the Vatican Library which con 
tain the Odes, or " Symposiacs," attrib- 
uted to Anacreon. t And here I shall 
venture to add a few passing words on a 
point which I once should have thought 
a profanation to question, — the authen- 
ticity of these poems. The cry raised 
against their genuineness by liobertel- 
lus and other enemies of Henry Stephen, 
when that eminent scholar first intro- 
duced them to the learned world, may 
be thought to have long since entirely 
sub.sided, leaving their claim to so an- 
cient a paternity safe and unquestioned. 
But I am forced, however reluctantly, 
to confess that there appear to me strong 
grounds for pronouncing these light and 
beautiful lyrics to be merely modem fab- 
rications. Some of the reasons that in- 
cline me to adopt this unwelcome con- 
clusion are thus clearly stated by the 
same able scholar, to whom I am in- 
debted for the emendations of my own 
juvenile Greek ode: — "I do not see 
how it is possible, if Anacreon had 
written chiefly in Iambic dimeter verse, 
that Horace should have wholly neg- 
lected that metre. I may add that, of 
those fragments of Anacreon, of whose 
genuineness, from internal evidence, 
there can be no doubt, almost all are 
written in one or other of the lighter Ho- 
ratian metres, and scarcely one in Iam- 
bic dimeter verse. This may be seen 
by looking through the list in Fischer." 
The unskilful attempt at Greek verse 
fi"om my own pen, which is found pre- 
fixed to the Translation, was intenaed 
originally to illustrate a picture, repre- 
senting Anacreon conversing with the 

t "When the monument to Provost Baldwin, 
which stands in the hall of the College of Dub- 
lin, arrived from Ita^y, there came in the same 
packing case with it two copies of this work of 
SpalettX one of which was presented by Dr. 
Troy, the Roman Catholic Archbishop, as a 
gift from tlio Pope to the Library of the Univer- 
sity, and the other (of which I was subsequently 
favored with the use) he presented, in like man- 
ner, to my friend. Dr. Kearney. Thus, curi- 
ously enough, while Anacreon in English was 
considered— and, I grant, on no unreasonable 

1 grounds— as a work to which grave collegiate 
authorities could not openly lend their sanc- 
tion, Anacreon in Greek was thought no unfit- 
ting present to be received by a Protestant 
bishop, through the medium of a Catholic arch- 

I bishop, from the hands of his holiness, the Popo. 




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22 



PEEFACE. 



Goddess of "Wisdom, from which the 
frontispiece to the first edition of the 
■work -was taken. Had I been brought 
np with a due fear of the laws of prosody 
before my eyes, I certainly should not 
have dared to submit so untutored 
d production to the criticism of the 
trained prosodiaus of the English schools. 
At the same time, I cannot help adding 
that, as far as music, distinct from 
metre, is concerned, I am much inclined 
to prefer the ode as originally written to 
its present corrected shape ; and that, at 
all events, I entertain but very httle 
doubt as to loMch of the two a composer 
would most willingly set to music. 

For the means of collecting the mate- 
rials of the notes appended to the Trans- 
lation, I was chiefly indebted to the old 
library adjoining St. Patrick's Cathedi'al, 
called, from the name of the archbishop 
who founded it, Marsh's Library. 
Through my acquaintance with the 
deputy librarian, the Kev. Mr. Cradock, 
I enjoyed the privilege of constant access 
to this collection, even at that period of 
the year when it is always closed to the 

f)ublic. On these occasions I used to be 
ocked in there alone ; and to the many 
solitary hours which, both at the time I 
am now speaking of and subsequently, I 
passed in hunting through the dusty 
tomes of this old library, I owe much of 
that odd and out-of-the-way sort of 
reading which may be found scattered 
through some of my earlier writings. 

Early in the year 1799, while yet in 
my nineteenth year, I left Ireland for the 
first time, and jiroceeded to London, 
with the two not very congenial objects 
of keeping my terms at the Middle Tem- 
ple, and pablishing, by subscription, my 
Translation of Anacreon. One of those 
persons to whom, through the active 
zeal of friends, some part of my manu- 
script had been submitted before it went 
to press, was Doctor Laurence, the able 
friend of Burke ; and, as an instance, 
however slight, of that ready variety 
of learning— as well the lightest as the 
most solid — for which Laurence was so 
remarkable, the following extract from 
the letter written by him, in returning 
the manuscript to my friend, Dr. Hume, 
may not be without some interest :— 



"Dec. 20, 1799. 

" I return you the four odes which you 
were so kind to communicate for my 
poor opinion. They are, in many parts, 
very elegant and poetical ; and, in some 
passages, Mr. Mcore has added a pretty 
turn not to be found in the original. To 
confess the tmth, however, they are, in 
not a few places, rather more paraphras- 
tical than suits my notion (perhaps an 
incorrect notion) of translation. 

" In the fifty-third ode there is, in my 
judgment, a no less sound than beautiful 
emendation suggested — would you sup- 
pose it 'l—hy a Dutch lawyer. Mr. M. 
possibly may not be aware of it. I have 
endeavored to express the sense of it in 
a couplet interlined with pencU. "Will 
you allow me to add, that I am not cer- 
tain whether the translation has not 
missed the meaning, too, in the fonner 
part of that passage which seems to me 
to intend a distinction and climax of 
pleasure :— ' It is sweet even to prove it 
among the briery paths; it is sweet 
again, plucking, to cherish with tender 
hands, and carry to the fair, the flower 
of love.' This is nearly literal, including 
the conjectural correction of Mynheer 
Medenbach. If this be right, instead of 
' 'Tis sweet to ciare the tangled fence,' 

I would propose something to this ef- 
fect:— 

'Tis sweet the rich perfume to prove, 
As bj' the dewy bush you rove ; 
"lis sweet to dare the tangled fence, 
To cull the timid beauty thence, 
To wipe with tender hands away 
The tears that on its blushes lay ;' 
Then, to the bosom of the fair, 
The flower of love in triumph bear. 

•' T would drop altogether the image 
of the stems 'dropping with gems. ' I 
believe it is a confused and false meta- 
phor, unless the painter should take the 
figure of Aurora from Mrs. Hastings. 

"There is another emendation of the 
same critic, in the following line, which 
Mr. M. may seem, by accident, to have 
sufficiently expressed in the phrase of 
'roses shed their ligliV 

••Query, if it ought not to be lie? The line 
might run, 

With tender hand the tears to brush, 
That give new softness to its blush (or, its flush.) 



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PEEFACE. 



23 



" I scribble tbis in very great baste, 
but fear tbat you aud Mr. Moore will 
find me too long, minute and imper- 
tinent. Believe me to be, very sincerely, 
" Your obedient, humble servant, 
"F. Laurence." 



PBEFACE 

TO THE 



SECOND VOLUME 



The Poems suggested to me by my 
visit to Bermuda, in the year 1803, as 
vrell as by the tour which I made sub- 
sequently, through some parts of North 
America, have been hitherto very in- 
judiciously arranged ;— any distinctive 
character they may possess having been 
disturbed and confused by their being 
mixed up not only with trifles of a much 
earlier date, but also with some portions 
of a classical story, in the form of Letters, 
which I had made some progress in 
before my departm-e from England. In 
the present edition, this awkward jumble 
has been remedied ; and all the Poems 
relating to my Transatlantic voyage will 
be found classed by themselves. As, in 
like manner, the line of route by which 
I proceeded through some parts of the 
States and the Canadas has been left 
hitherto to be traced confusedly through 
a few detached notes, I have thought 
that, to future readers of these poems, 
some clearer account of the course of 
that journey might not be unacceptable, 
• — together with such vestiges as may 
still linger in my memory of events now 
fast fading into the background of time. 

For the precise date of my departure 
from England, in the Phaeton frigate, I 
am indebted to the Jfaval Kecollections 
of Captain Scott, then a midshipman of 
that ship. " We were soon ready," says 
this gentleman, "for sea, and a few 
days saw Mr. Merry and suite embarked 
on board. Mr. Moore likewise took his 
passage with us on his way to Bermuda. 
We quitted Spithead on the 25th of Sep- 
tember, (1803,) and in a short week lay 
becalmed under the lofty peak of Pico. 



In this situation the Phaeton is depicted 
in the frontispiece of Moore's Poems." 

During the voyage I dined very fre 
quently with the officers of the gun- 
room ; and it was not a little gratifying 
to 'me to learn, from this gentleman's 
volume, that the cordial regard these 
social and open-hearted men inspired in 
me was not wholly unre turned on their 
part. After mentioning our arrival at 
iSTorfolk, in Yu-ginia, Captain Scott says, 
" Mr. and Mrs. MeiTy left the Phaeton, 
under the usual salute, accompanied by 
Mr. Moore ;" — then, adding some kmd 
compliments on the score of talents, &c., 
he concludes with a sentence which it 
gave me tenfold more pleasure to read, — 
" The gun-room mess witnessed the day 
of his departure with genuine sorrow." 
From Norfolk, after a stay of about ten 
days, under the hospitable roof of the 
British Consul, Colonel Hamilton, I pro- 
ceeded, in the Driver sloop of war, to 
Bermuda. 

There was then on that station another 
youthful sailor, who has since earned for 
himself a distinguished name among 
Enghsh writers of travels. Captain Basil 
Hall,— then a midshipman on board the 
Leander. In his Fragments of Yoyages 
and Travels, this writer has called up 
some agreeable reminiscences of that 
period; in perusing which, — so full of 
life and reality are his sketches, — I 
found all my own naval recollections 
brought freshly to my mind. The very 
names of the different ships, then so fa- 
miliar to my ears, — the Leander, the 
Boston, the Cambrian, — transported me 
back to the season of youth and those 
Summer Isles once more. 

The testimony borne by so competent 
a witness as Captain Hall to the truth of 
my sketches of the beautiful scenery of 
Bermuda is of far too much value to me, 
in my capacity of traveller, to be here 
omitted by me, however conscious of 
but ill deserving the praise he lavishes 
on me, as a poet. Not that I mean to 
pretend indifference to such kind trib- 
utes ;— on the contrary, those are always 
the most alive to praise, who feel in- 
wardly the least confidence in the sound- 
ness of their own title to it. In the pres- 
ent instance, however, my vanity (for s« 




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^4 



PEEFACB. 



this uneasy feeling is always called) 
seeks its food in a difl'erent direction. It 
is not as a poet I invoke the aid of Cap- 
tain Hall's opinion, but as a traveller 
and observer; it is not to my invention 
I ask him to bear testimony, but to my 
matter-of-fact. 

" The most pleasing and most exact 
description which I know of Bermuda, ' ' 
says this gentleman, " is to be found in 
Moore's Odes and Epistles,, a work pub- 
Ushed many years ago. The reason why 
his account excels in beauty as well as 
in precision that of other men probably 
is, that the scenes described He so much 
beyond the scope of ordinary observa- 
tion in colder cUmates, and the feelings 
which they excite in the beholder are so 
much higher than those produced by the 
scenery we have been accustomed to 
look at, that, unless the imaguiatiou be 
deeply drawn upon, and the diction sus- 
tained at a correspondent pitch, the 
words alone strike the ear, while the lis- 
tener's fancy remains where it was. In 
Moore's account there is not only no ex- 
aggeration, but, on the contrary, a won- 
derful degree of temperance in the midst 
of a feast which to his rich fancy must 
have been peculiarly tempting. He has 
contrived by a magic peculiarly his own, 
yet without departing from the truth, 
to sketch what was before him with a 
fervor which those who have never been 
on the spot might well be excused for 
setting down as the sport of the poet's 
invention."* 

How truly politic it is in a poetto con- 
nect his verse with well-known and in- 
teresting localities,— to wed his song to 
scenes already invested with fame, and 
thus lend it a chance of sharing the 
charm which enckcles them, — I have 
myself, in more than one instance, very 
agreeably experienced. Among the 
memorials of this description, which, as 
I learn with pleasure and pride, still 
keep me remembered in some of those 
beautiful regions of the West which I 
visited, I shall mention but one slight 
instance, as showing how potently the 
Genius of the Place may lend to song a 
life and imperishableness to which, in 

* Fragments of "Voyages and Travels, vol. 1. 
chap. vi. 



itself, it boasts no claim or pretension. 
The following lines in one of my Ber- 
mudian poems, 

'Twas there, in the shade of the Calabash Tree, 
With a few who could feel and remember like 
me, 

stiU live in memory, I am told, on those 
fairy shores, connecting my name with 
thepicturesque spot they describe, and 
the noble old tree which I beheve still 
adorns it.f One of the few treasures 
(of any kind) I can boast the possession 
of, is a goblet formed of one of the fruit- 
shells of this remarkable tree, which was 
brought from Bermuda, a few years 
since, by Mr. Dudley Costello, and which 
that gentleman, having had it tastefully 
mounted as a goblet, very kmdly pre- 
sented to me; the following words being 
part of the inscription which it bears : — 
" To Thomas Moore, Esq., this cup, 
formed of a calabash which grew on the 
tree that bears his name, near Walsiug- 
ham, Bermuda, is inscribed by one who," 
&c. &c. 

From Bermuda I proceeded in the 
Boston, with my friend Captain (now 
Admiral) J. E. Douglas, to New York, 
from whence, after a short stay, we sail- 
ed for Norfolk, in Ynginia; and about 
the beginning of June, 1804, I set out 
from that city on a tour through part of 
the States. At Washington, I passed 
some days with the English minister, 
Mr. Merry; and was, by him, presented 
at the levee of the President, Jefferson, 
whom I found sitting with General Dear- 
bom and one or two other officers, and 
in the same homely costume, comprising 
slippers and Connemara stockings, in 
which Mr. Merry had been received bv 
him— much to that formal minister's 
horror — when waiting upon him, in full 
dress, to deliver his credentials. My 
single interview with this remarkable 
person was of very short duration; but 
to have seen and spoken with the man 
who drew up the Declaration of Ameri- 
can Independence was an event not to 
be forgotten. 

t A representation of this calabash, taken 
from a drawing of it made on the spot, by Dr. 
Savage of the Royal Artillery, has been intro- 
duced in the vignette prefixed to the second 
volume of the edition in ten volumes. 



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PREFACE. 



25 



At Philadelphia, the society I was 
chiefly made acquainted with, aud to 
which (as the verses addressed to " Dela- 
ware's green banks " * sufficiently testi- 
fy) I was indebted for some of my most 
agreeable recollections of the United 
States, consisted entu-ely of persons of 
the Federalist or Anti-Democratic party. 
Pew and transient, too, as had been my 
opportunities, of judging for myself of 
the political or social state of the coun- 
try, my mind was left open too much to 
the influence of the feelings and preju- 
dices of those I chiefly consorted with ; 
aud, certainly, iu no quarter was I so 
sure to find decided hostility, both to 
the men and the principles then domi- 
nant throughout the Union, as among 
officers of the British navy, aud in the 
ranks of an angry Federalist opposition. 
For any bias, therefore, that, under such 
circumstances, my opinions and feelings 
may be thought to have received, full 
allowance, of course, is to be made in 
appraising the weight due to my authori- 
ty on the subject. All I can answer for, 
is the perfect sincerity and earnestness 
of the actual impressions, whether true 
or erroneous, under which my Epistles 
from the United States were written; 
and so strong, at the time, I confess, 
were those impressions, that it was the 
only period of my past life during which 
I have found myself at all skeptical as to 
the soundness of that Liberal creed of 
pohtics, in the profession and advoca- 
cy o:f which I may be almost literally 
said to have begun life, and shall most 
probably end it. 

Reaching, for the second time, N'ew 
York, I set out from thence on the now 
familiar and easy enterprise of visiting 
the Falls of Niagara. It is but too true 
of all grand objects, whether in nature 
or art, that facility of access to them 
much diminishes the feeling of reverence 
they ought to inspire. Of this fault, 
however, the route to Niagara, at that 
period— at least the portion of it which 
led through the Genesee country — could 
not justly be accused. The latter part 
of the journey, which lay chiefly through 
yet but half-cleared wood, we were 

* See Epistle to Mr. "W. K. Spencer, p. 188 of 
this editioa. 



obliged to perform on foot ; and a slight 
accident I met with, in the course of 
our rugged walk, laid me up for some 
days at Buflalo. To the rapid growth, 
in that wonderful region, of, at least, the 
materials of civilization,— however ulti- 
mately they may be turned to account, — 
this flourishing town, which stands on 
Lake Erie, bears most ample testi- 
mony. Though little better, at the time 
when I visited it, than a mere village, 
consisting chiefly of huts and wigwams, 
it is now, by aU accounts, a populous 
and splendid city, with five or six 
churches, town-hall, theatre, and other 
such appurtenances of a capital. 

In adverting to the comparatively rude 
state of Buflalo at that period, I should 
be ungrateful were I to omit mention- 
ing, that, even then, on the shores of 
those far lakes, the title of " Poet,''— 
however tmworthily in that instance be- 
sViwed, — bespoke a kind and distin- 
f^aishing welcome for its wearer; and 
that the captain who commanded the 
packetiu which I crossed Lake Ontario, t 
in addition to other marks of courtesy, 
begged, on parting with me, to be allow- 
ed to decline payment for my passage. 

"When we arrived, at length, at the 
inn, in the neighborhood of the Falls, it 
was too late to think of visiting them 
that evening ; and I lay awake almost 
the whole night with the sound of the 
cataract in my ears. The day following 
I consider as a sort of era in my life ; 
and the first glimpse I caught of that 
wonderful cataract gave me a feeling 
which nothing in this world can ever 
awaken again.t It was through an 
opening among the trees, as we ap- 
proached the spot where the full view 
of the Palls was to burst upon us, that 
I caught this glimpse of the mighty 
mass of waters folding smoothly over 
the edge of the precipice ; and so over- 
whelming was the notion it gave mo 
of the awful spectacle I was approach- 
ing, that, during the short interval that 
followed, imagmation had far outrun the 

tTlie Commodore of the Lakes, as he is 
styled. 

I The two first sentences of the above para- 
graph, as well as a passage that occurs iu the 
subsequent column, stood originally as part of 
the Notes on one of the American Poems. 



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26 



PREFACE. 



reality ; and, vast and wonderful as was 
the scene that then opened upon rue, 
my first feeling was that of disappoint- 
ment. It would have been impossible, 
indeed, for any thing real to come up to 
the vision I had, in these few seconds, 
formed of it ; and those awful scriptural 
words, "The fountams of the great 
deep were broken up," can alone give 
any notion of the vague wonders for 
which I was prepared. 

But, in spite of the start thus got by 
imagination, the triumph of reality was, 
in the end, but the gi-eater; for th^ 
gradual glory of the scene that opened 
upon me soon took possession of my 
whole mind ; presenting, from day to 
day, some new beauty or wonder, and, 
like all that is most sublime in nature 
or art, awakening sad as well as ele- 
vating thoughts. I retain in my mem- 
ory but one other dream — for such do 
events so long past appear — which can 
in any respect be associated with the 
grand vision I have just been describ- 
ing ; and, however different the nature 
of their appeals to the imagination, I 
should find it difficult to say on which 
occasion I felt most deeply affected, 
when looking on the Falls of Niagara, 
or when standing by moonlight among 
the ruins of the Coliseum. 

Some changes, I understand, inju- 
rious to the beauty of the scene, have 
taken place in the shape of the Falls 
since the time of my visit to them ; and 
among these is the total disappearance, 
by the gradual crumbling away of the 
rock, of the small leafy island which 
then stood near the edge of the Great 
Fall, and whose tranquillity and uu- 
approachableness, in the midst of so 
much turmoil, lent it an interest which 
I thus tried to avail myself of, in a Song 
of the Spirit of that region : * — 

There, amid the island-sedge, 
Just above the cataract's edge, 
Where the foot of living man 
Never trod since time began. 
Lone I sit at close of day, &c. &c. 

Another characteristic feature of the 
vicinity of the Falls, which, I mider- 
stand, no longer exists, was the inter- 

*Introduced in the Epistle to Lady Char- 
lotte Kawdon, p. 191 of this edition. 



esting settlement of the Tuscarcra In- 
dians. "With the gallant Brock, t who 
then commanded at Fort George, I 
passed the greater part of my time dur- 
ing the few weeks I remained at 
Niagara: and a visit I paid to thc^e 
Indians, in company with him and his 
brother officers, on his goiug to dis- 
tribute among them the customary pres- 
ents and prizes, was not the least curious 
of the many new scenes I witnessed. 
These people received us in all their an- 
cient costume. The young men exhib- 
ited for our amusement in the race, the 
bat-game, and other sports, while the old 
and the women sat in groups under the 
surrounding trees ; and the whole scene 
was as pictm-esque and beautiful as it 
was new to me. It is said that West, 
the American painter, when he first saw 
the Apollo at Kome, exclaimed instant- 
ly, "A young Indian warrior !"— and, 
however startling the association may 
appear, some of the graceful and agile 
forms which I saw that day among the 
Tuscaroras were such as would aocount 
for its arising in the young yainter's 
mind. 

After crossing j'the fresh -water 
ocean " of Ontario, i passed down the 
St. Lawrence to Montreal and Quebec, 
staying for a short time at each of these 
places ; and this part of my journey, as 
well as my voyage on from Quebec to 
Halifax, is sufficiently traceable through 
the few pieces of poetry that were sug- 
gested to me by scenes and events on 
the way. And here I must again ven- 
ture to avail myself of the valuable tes- 
timony of Captain Hall to the truth of 
my descriptions of some of those scenes 
through which his more practised eye 
followed me ; — taking the liberty to omit 
in my extracts, as far as may be done 
without injury to the style or context, 
some of that generous surplusage of 
praise in which friendly criticism de- 
lights to indulge. 

t This brave and amiable officer was killed 
at Queenston. in Upper CaQad.i, Boon after 
the commencement of the war wild America, 
in the year ISl'^J. He was in the act of clieer- 
ing on his men when he fell. T'le iiwcription 
on the monument raised to hJa memory, on 
Queenston Heights, does but <i ae honor to his 
manly character. 




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PREFACE. 



27 



In speaking of an excursion he had 
made up the river Ottawa, — " a stream," 
he adds, " which has a classical place in 
every one's imagination from Moore's 
Canadian Boat Song," Captain Hall 
proceeds as follows :— " While the poet 
above alluded to has retained all that is 
essentially characteristic and pleasing 
in these boat songs, and rejected all that 
is not so, he has contrived to borrow his 
inspiration from numerous surroundtag 
circumstances, presenting nothing re- 
markable to the dull senses of ordinary 
travellers. Yet these highly poetical 
images, drawn in this way, as it were 
carelessly and from every hand, he has 
combined with such graphic— I had al- 
most said geographical — truth, that the 
effect is great, even upon those who 
have never, -nith their own eyes, seen 
the 'Utawa's tide,' nor ' flown down the 
Eapids,' nor heard the 'bell of St. 
Anne's toll its evening chime;' while 
the same lines give to distant regions, 
previously consecrated in our imagina- 
tion, a vividness of interest, when 
viewed on the spot, of which it is diffi- 
cult to say how much is due to the 
magic of the poetry, and how much to 
the beauty of the real scene."* 

While on the subject of the Canadian 
Boat Song, an anecdote connected with 
that once pupular ballad may, for my 
musical readers at least, possess some 
interest. A few years since, while 
stajang in Dublin, I was presented, at 
his own request, to a gentleman who 
told me that his family had iu their 
possession a curious relic of my youthful 
da_ys,— being the first notation I had 
made, iu pencilling, of the air and words 
of the Canadian Boat Song, while on 
my way down the St. Lawrence, — and 
that it was their wish I should add my 
signature to attest the authenticity of 
tho autograph. I assured him with 

* " It is singularly pratifyiup." the author 
adds, "to discover that, to this hour, the 
Canadian voyageurs never omit their offerings 
to tlie shrine of St. Ame before engapinf; in 
any enterprise ; and that during its perform- 
ance, they omit no opportunity of keeping up 
so propitious an intercourse. The flourishing 
vilhige which surrounds the church on the 
'Green Isle' in question owes its existence and 
support entirely to these pious contributions." 



trath that I had wholly forgotten even 
the esi.stence of such a memorandum ; 
that it would be as much a cm-iosit}^ to 
myself as it could be to any one else, 
aud that I should feel thanklul to be al- 
lowed to see it. In a day or two after 
my request was complied with, and the 
following is the history of this musical 
" reUc." 

In my passage down the St. Law- 
rence, I had with me two travelhng 
companions, one of whom, named Hark- 
ness, the son of a wealthy Dublui mer- 
chant, has been some years dead. To 
this young friend, on parting with him 
at Quebec, I gave, as a keepsake, a 
volume I had been readmg on the way, — 
Priestley's Lectures on History ; aud it 
was upon a fly-leaf of this volume I 
found I had taken down, in pencilling, 
both the notes and a few of the words 
of the original song by which my own 
boat-glee had been suggested. The 
following is the form of my memo- 
randum of the original air: — 




Then follows, as pencilled down at 
the same moment, the first verse of my 
Canadian Boat Song, with air and words 
as they are at present. From all this 
it will be perceived, that, iu my own 
setting of the air, I departed in almost 
every respect but the time from tho 
strain our voyageurs had sung to us, 
leaving the music of the glee neariy as 
much my own as the words. Yet how 
strongly impressed I had become with 
the notion that this was the identical 
air sung by the boatmen, — how closely 
it linked itself in my imagination witb 
the scenes and sounds amidst which it 
had occurred to me,— may be seen by 
reference to a note appended to the glee 
as first published, which will be found 
in the following pages.* 

To the few desultory, and, perhaps, 
valueless recollections I have thus called 
•Pago 190 of this edition. 



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28 



PEEFACB. 



up, respecting the contents of our second 
volume, I have only to add, that the heavy 
storm of censure and criticism — some of 
it, I fear, but too well deserved — which, 
both in America and in England, the 
publication of my " Odes and Epistles" 
drew down upon me, was followed by 
results which have far more than com- 
pensated for any pain such attacks at the 
time may have inflicted. In the most 
formidable of all my censors, at that 
period, — the great master of the art of 
criticism, in our day, — I have found ever 
since one of the most cordial and highly 
valued of all my friends; while the good- 
will I have experienced from more than 
one distinguished American sufficiently 
assures me that any injustice I may have 
done to that land of freemen, if not long 
since wholly forgotten, is now remem- 
bered only to be forgiven. 

As some consolation to me for the on- 
sets of criticism, I received, shortly after 
the appearance of my volume, a letter 
from Stockholm, addressed to " the 
author of Epistles, Odes, and other 
poems," and informing me that " the 
Princes, Nobles, and Gentlemen, who 
composed the General Chapter of the 
most Illustrious, Equestrian, Secular and 
Chapteral Order of St. Joachim," had 
elected me as a Kni^t of this Order. 
Notwithstanding the grave and official 
style of the letter, I regarded it, I own, 
at first, as a mere ponderous piece of 
pleasantry ; and even suspected that in 
the name of St. "Joachim" I could 
detect the low and in-everent pun of St. 
Jokehim. 

On a little inquuy, however, I learned 
that there actually existed such an order 
of knighthood ; that the title, insignia, 
<fec. , confeiTed by it had, in the instances 
of Lord Nelson, the Duke of Bouillon, 
and Colonel Imhoff, who were all 
Knights of St. Joachim, been authorized 
by the British com*t ; but that since then, 
this sanction of the order had been with- 
drawn. Of course, to the reduction thus 
caused in the value of the honor was \ 
owing its descent in the scale of distinc- 
tion to "such small deer" of Parnassus 
as myself. I wrote a letter, however, 
full of grateful acknowledgment, to 
Monsieur Hansson. the Vice-Ohancellor 



of the Order, saying that I was uncon- 
scious of having entitled myself, by any 
public service, to a reward due only to 
the benefactors of mankind ; and there- 
fore begged leave most respectfully to 
decline it. 



PREFACE 



THIRD VOLUME 



The three satirical Poems, with which 
this volume commences, were published 
originally without the author's name ; 
" Corruption" and " Intolerance" in the 
year 1808, and " The Skeptic" in the 
year following. The political opinions 
adopted in the first of these Satires— the 
Poem on Corruption — were chiefly 
caught up, as is intimated in the original 
Preface, from the writings of Bohng- 
broke, Sir William "Wyndham, and other 
statesmen of that factious period, when 
the same soi-t of alliance took place 
between Toryism and what is now called 
Eadicalism, which is always likely to 
ensue on the ejection of the Tory party 
from power.* In the somewhat rash 
elfusion, it will be seen that neither of 
the two great English parties is handled 
with much respect, and I remember 
being taken to task, by one of the few of 
my Whig acquaintances that ever looked 
into the poem, for the following allusion 
to the silencing effects of official station 
on certain orators :— 

As bees, on flowers alighting, cease their hum. 
So, settling upon places, Whigs grow dumb. 

But these attempts of mine in the 
stately, Juvenalian style of satke, met 
with but little success, -never having 
attained, I beUeve, even the honors of 
a second edition ; and I found that lighter 
form of weapon, to which I afterwards 
betook myself, not only more easy to 
wield, but, from its very lightness, per- 
haps, more sure to reach its mark. 

*BoIingbroke himself acknowledges that 
" both parties were become factious, in the 
strict sense of the word." 




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PEEFACB. 



29 



It -would almost seem, too, as if the 
same unembittered spirit, the same free- 
dom from all real malice with which, in 
most instances, this sort of squib war- 
fare has been waged by me, was felt, in 
some degree, even by those who were 
themselves the object of it, — so gener- 
ously forgiving have I, in most instan- 
ces, found them. Even the high per- 
sonage against whom the earliest and 
perhaps most successful of my lighter 
missiles were launched, could refer to 
and quote them, as I learn from an inci- 
dent mentioned in the Life of Sir Walter 
Scott,* with a degree of good-humor 
and playfulness which was creditable 
alike to his temper and good sense. At 
a memorable dinner given by the Re- 
gent to Sir Walter m the year 181.5, 
Scott, among other stories with which 
his royal host was much amused, told 
of a sentence passed by an old friend of 
his, the Lord Justice Clerk Braxheld, at- 
tended by circumstances in which the 
cruelty of this waggish judge was even 
more conspicuous than his humor. " The 
Regent laughed heartily," says the biog- 
rapher, " at this specimen of Braxfield's 
brutal humor; and, 'I' faith, Walter,' 
said he, ' this old big-wig seems to have 
taken things as coolly as my tyrannical 
self. Don't you remember Tom Moore's 
description of me at breakfast i — 
' The table spread with tea and toast, 
Death-warrants and the Morning Post.' " 

In reference to this, and other less ex- 
alted instances, of the good-humored 
spirit in which my " uinocui sales " have 
in general been taken, I shall venture 
to cite here a few flattering sentences 
which, coming as they did from a politi- 
cal adversary and a stranger, touched 
me far more by their generosity than 
even by their praise. In speaking of 
the pension which had just then been 
confeiTcd upon me, and expressing, in 
warm terms, his approval of the grant, 
the editor of a leading Tory journal t 
thus liberally expresses himself: — "We 
know that some will blame us for our 
prejudice — if it be prejudice, in favor of 
Mr. Moore ; but we cannot help it. As 
lie tells us himself, 

' Wit a diamond brings 
That cuts its bright way through ' 

* Vol. iii. p. 342. 

) The Standard, August 24, 1835. 



the most obdurate political antipathies. 
* * * We do not believe that any one was 
ever hurt by libels so witty as those of Mr. 
Moore : — great privilege of wit, which 
renders it impossible even for those 
whose enemies wits are, to hate them ! " 
To retm-n to the period of the Regen- 
cy : — In the numerous attacks from the 
government press, which my occasional 
volleys of small shot against the Court 
used to draw down upon me, it was con- 
stantly alleged, as an aggravation of my 
misdeeds, that I had been indebted to 
the Royal personage thus assailed by me 
for many kind and substantial services. 
Luckily, the list of the benefits shower- 
ed upon me from that high quarter may 
be dispatched in a few sentences. At 
the request of the Earl of Moira, one of 
my earliest and best friends, his Royal 
Highness graciously permitted me to 
dedicate to him my Translation of the 
Odes of Auacreon. I was twice, I think, 
admitted to the honor of dining at Carl- 
ton House; and when the Prince, on 
his being made Regent in 1811. gave his 
memorable fete, I was one of the crowd 
—about 1500, I believe, in number — 
who enjoyed the privilege of being his 
guests on the occasion. 

There occur some allusions, indeed, in 
the Twopenny Post-Bag, to the absurd 
taste displayed in the ornaments of the 
Royal supper-table at that fete ; \ and 
this violation — for such, to a certain ex- 
tent, I allow it to have been — of the 
reverence due to the rights of the Hos- 
pitable Jove,$ which, whether adminis- 
tered by prince or peasant, ought to be 
sacred from such exposure, I am by no 
means disposed to defend. But, whatev- 
er may be thought of the taste or pru- 
dence of some of these satires, there ex- 
I "The same fauteuils and girandoles — 
Tlie same gold asses, pretty souls. 
That, in this rich and classic dome, 
Appear so perfectly at home; 
The same bright nver, 'raong the dishes. 
But not — ah ! not the same dear fishes. 
Late hours and claret kill'd the old cues-— 
So, stead of silver and ol gold ones, 
(It being rather hard to raise 
Fish of that specie now-a-days) 
Some sprats liave been, by X — rm — h'swish. 
Promoted into silver tish, 
And gudgeons (so V— ns— tt— t told 
The Keg — t) are ns good as gold.'' 

Twopenny Pout- Bag, p 137. 
§ " Ante fores stabat Jovis llospitis ura." 
Ovid. 




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30 



PEEFACE. 



ists no longer, I apprehend, much differ- 
ence of opinion respecting the character 
of the Eoyal personage against whom 
they were aimed. Already, indeed, has 
the stern verdict which the voice of His- 
tory cannot but pronounce upon him, 
been in some degree anticipated, * in a 
sketch of the domestic events of his reign, 
supposed to have proceeded from the pen 
of one who was himself an actor in some 
of its most painful scenes, and who, from 
his professional position, commanded a 
near insight into the character of that 
exalted individual, both as husband and 
father. To the same high authority I 
must refer for an account of the mysteri- 
ous "Book,"t to which allusion is more 
than once made in the following pages. 
One of the earliest and most success- 
ful of the numerous trifles I wrote at 
that period, was the Parody on the 
Eegent's celebrated Letter, announcing 
to the world that he " had no predilec- 
tions," &c. This very opportune squib 
was, at first, circulated privately; my 
friend, Mr. Perry, having for some time 
hesitated to pubUsh it. He got some 
copies of it, however, printed off for me, 
which I sent round to several members 
of the "Whig party ; and, having to meet 
a number of them at dinner imrnediately 
after, found it no easy matter to keep 
my countenance while they were dis- 
cussing among them the merits of the 
Parody. One of the party, I recollect, 
having quoted to me the following de- 
scription of the state of both King and 
Eegent, at that moment, — 

"A strait waistcoat on hivi, and restrictions on 
me, 
A more limited monarchy could not well be," 

* Edinburgli Review, No. cxxxv., George the 
Fourth and Queen Caroline. — " "When tlie 
Priuce entered upon public life he was found to 
liave exhausted the resources of n career of 
pleasure: to have gained followers without 
making friends; to have acquired much envy 
iind some admiration among tlie unthinking 
multitude of polished society ; but not to com- 
mand in any quarter either respect or esteem. 
* ' ' The portrait which we have painted of 
him IS undoubtedly one of the darkest shade 
and most repulsive form." 

t " There is no doubt whatever that The Book 
written by Mr. Perceval, and privately printed 
at liis house, under Lord Eldon's supenntond- 
enue and his own, was prepared in ouneert 
with tlie King, and was intended to sound the 
alarm against Carlton House and the Whigs." 
— Ed. tteview, ib. 



grew rather provoked with me for not 
enjoying the fun of the parody as much 
as himself. 

While thus the excitement of party 
feeling lent to the political trifles con- 
tained in this volume a relish and pun- 
gency not their own, an efl'ect has been 
attributed to two squibs, wholly uncon- 
nected with politics— the Letters from 
the Dowager Countess of Cork, and from 
Messrs. Lackiugton & Co.};— of which I 
had myself not the slightest notion till I 
found it thus alluded to in Mr. Lock- 
hart's Life of Sir Walter Scott. In 
speaking of the causes which were sup- 
posed to have contributed to the com- 
parative failure of the poem of 
" Eokeby," the biographer says, " It is 
fan- to add, that, among the London 
circles, at least, some sarcastic flings, in 
Mr. Moore's Twopenny Post-Bag, must 
have had an unfavorable influence on 
this occasion. "§ 

Among the translations that have ap- 
peared on the Continent, of the greater 

; Twopenny Post-Bag, pp. 153. 155. I avail 

myself of the mention here of this latter squib. 

to recant a correction which I too hastily made 

in the two following lines of it : — 

" And, though statesmen may glory in being 
unbought, 
In an author, we think, sir, that's rather a 
fault.'' 

Forgetting that Pope's ear was satisfied witli 

the sort of rhyme here used, I foolishly altered 

(and spoiled) the whole couplet to get rid of it. 
§ ' See, for instance," says Mr. Lockhart, 

"The Epistle of Lady Cork ; or that of Messrs. 

Lackington, booksellers, to one of their dandy 

authors : — 
" ' Should you feel any touch oi poetical glow. 

"We've a scheme to suggest : — Mr. Sc— tt. you 
must know, 

(Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the 
Row.*) 

Having quitted the Borders, to seek new re- 
nown, 

Is coming, by long Quarto stages, to Town ; 

And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to 
pay) 

Means to do all the Gentlemen's Seats on the 
way. 

Now, the scheme is (though none of our hack- 
neys can beat liim) 

To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to 
meet him ; 

Who. by means of quick proofs — no revises — 
long coaches — 

May do a few villas, before. Sc— tt approaches. 

Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby, 

He'll reach, without found'ring, at least Wo 
burn Abbey.' " 

•Paternoster Row. 




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PREFACE. 



l)iirt of mj poetical \'-orks, there has 
liL'on no attempt, as far as I can learn, 
I.) pve a version of any of my satirical 
■^vritinfjs, — vrith the single exception of 
a squib contained in this volume, en- 
titled "Little Man and Little Soul,"" of 
which there is a translation into German 
verse, by the late distinjruished orien- 
tal scholar, Professor Von Bohleu.t 
Though unskilled, myself, in German, I 
i-an yet perceive— suificiently to marvel 
at it — the dexterity and ease with which 
the Old Ballad metre of the original is 
adopted and managed m the translation. 
As this trifle may be considered curious, 
nut only in itself, but still more as con- 
nected with so learned a name, I shall 
here present it to my readers, premising 
that the same eminent Professor has 
left a version also of one of my very 
caiij facctiee, " The Rabbinical Origin of 
Woman." 

"THERE WAS A LITTLE MAN." 
(Translated by Professor von Bohlen 
Es -n-ar oin kleiner Mann 
Und dcr hatt'u kleinen Geist 
Und crspracb: kleiner Geist sehn wirzu, zu, zn, 
Ob uus moglicli wohl wird seyn 
So cin kleines Redelein 
Das wir hulten, kleiuer ich und kleiner du, du, 
du, 
Das wir halten, kleiner ich und kleiner du. 
Und der kleine Geist, der brach 
A us dsm Locbe nun und sprach : 
Ich behaupte, kleiner Mann, du bistkeck, keck, 
keck, 
Ximin nicht iibel meine Zweifel, 
Aber sage rair, zum Teufel, 
Hat die kleine kleine Red' einen zweck, zweck, 
zweok, 
Hat die kleine kleine Red' einen zweck? 
Der kleine Mann darauf 
Bliess de Backen maehtig anf, 
Und er sprach ; kleiner Geist sey gcscheut, 
schcut, scheut; 
Kleiner ich und kleiner du 
Sind beriifen ja dazu 
Zu yerdammeu und bekehren alle Leut', Leuf, 
Lent', 
Zu verdammen und bekehren alle Leut'. 
Un sie fingen beide an 
Der kleine Geist und kleine Mann, 
Paukten ab ihre Rede so klein, klcin, klein ; 
Und die ganze Welt fiir wahr 
Meint, das aufgeblas'ne Paar 
!Muss ein winziges Pfaffelein nur seyn, seyn, 
seyn. 
Muss ein wir^ziges Piaffelein, nur seyn. 
* Alluding to a speech delivered in the year 
1813 by the Right Hon. Charles Abbott (then 
.'Speaker) against Mr. Grattan's motion for a 
Committee on the claims of the Catholics. 
I Author of " The Ancient Indian." 



Having thus brought together, as 
well from the records of others, as from 
my own recollection, whatever inci- 
dental lights could be thrown from those 
sources, on some of the satirical effu- 
sions contained in these pages, I shall 
now reserve all such reminiscences and 
notices as relate to the Irish Melodies 
for our next volume. 

It is right my readers should here be 
apprized, that the plan of classing my 
poetical works according to the order of 
their first publication is pursued no 
further than the Second Volume of this 
Collection ; and that, therefore, the ar- 
rangement of the contents of the suc- 
ceeding Volumes, though jiot, in a gen- 
eral way, departing much from this rule, 
is not to be depended upon as observ- 
ing it. 

PEEFACE 



FOURTH VOLUME. 



The recollections connected, in my 
mind, with that early period of my life, 
when I first thought of interpretiug in 
verse the touching language of my 
country's music, tempt me again to 
advert to those long-past days ; and 
even at the risk of being thought to in- 
dulge overmuch in what CoUey Cibljer 
calls "the great pleasure of writing 
about one's self all day," to notice 
briefly some of those impressions and 
influences under which the attempt to 
adapt words to our ancient Melodies 
was for some time meditated by me, 
and, at last, undertaken. 

There can be no doubt that to the 
zeal and mdustry of Mr. Bunting his 
country is indebted for the preservation 
of her old national au-s. During the 
prevalence of the Penal Code, the 
music of Ireland was made to share m 
the fate of its people. Both were alike 
shut out from the pale of civilized life ; 
and seldom anywhere but in the huts of 
the proscribed race could the sweet 
voice of the songs of other days be 
heard. Even of that class, the itinerant 
harpers, among whom for a long period 
our ancient music had been kept alive, 
there remained but few to continue the 



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32 



PEEFACE. 



precious tradition ; and a great music- j 
meeting held at Belfast in the year ' 
1792, at -which the two or three still re- , 
lAaining of the old race of wandering j 
hai-pers assisted, exhibited the last , 
pubhc effort made by the lovers of Irish '■ 
music, to preserve to their country the ! 
only grace or ornament left to her, out j 
of "the wreck of all her liberties and 
hopes. Thus what the fierce legislature 
of the Pale had endeavored vainly 
through so many centuries to effect, — 
the utter extinction of Ireland's Mm- 
strelsy,— the deadly pressure of the 
Penal Laws had nearly, at the close of 
the eighteenth century, accomplished ; 
and, but for the zeal and intelligent re- 
search of Mr. Bunting, at that crisis, the 
greater part of our musical treasures 
would probably have been lost to the 
world. It was in the year 1796 that 
this gentleman pubhshed his first vol- 
ume ; and the national spirit and hope 
then wakened in Ireland, by the rapid 
spread of the democratic principle 
throughout Europe, could not but in- 
sure a most cordial reception for such a 
work ; — flattering as it was to the fond 
dreams of Erin's early days, and con- 
taining in itself, indeed, remarkable tes- 
timony to the truth of her claims to an 
early date of civilization. 

It was in the year 1797 that, through 
the medium of Mr. Bunting's book, I 
was first made acquainted with the 
beauties of our native music. A young 
friend of our family, Edward Hudson, 
the nephew of an eminent dMitist of that 
name, who played with much taste and 
feeUng on the flute, and, unluckily for 
himself, was but too deeply warmed 
with the patriotic ardor then kindling 
around him, was the first who made 
known to me this rich mine of our 
country's melodies; -a mine, from the 
working of which my humble labors as a 
poet have since then derived their sole 
lustre and value. 

About the same period I formed an 
acquaintance, which soon grew into 
intimacy, with young Robert Emmet. 
He was my senior, I think, by one class, 
m the University ; for when, in the first 
year of my course, I became a member 
of the Debating Society— a sort of 
nursery to the authoi-ized Historical 
Society — I found him in full reputation. 



not only for his learning and eloquence, 
but also for the blamelessnessof his life, 
and the grave suavity of bis manners. 

Of the political tone of this minor 
school of oratory, which was held weekly 
at the rooms of difl'erent resident mem- 
bers, some notion may be formed from 
the nature of the questions proposed 
for discussion, — one of which I recollect 
was, ""WTiether an Aristocracy or a 
Democracy is most favorable to the ad- 
vancement of science and literature?" 
while another, bearing even more 
pointedly on the relative position of the 
government and the people, at this crisis, 
was thus significantly propounded : — 
"WTiether a soldier was bound, on all 
occasions, to obey the orders of his com- 
manding officer V On the former of these 
questions, the effect of Emmet's elo- 
quence upon his young auditors was, I 
recollect, most striking. The prohibition 
against touching upon modem politics, 
vrhich it was subsequently found neces- 
sary to enforce, had not yet been Intro 
duced; and Emmet, who took, of course, 
ardently the side of democracy in the 
debate, after a brief review of the repub- 
lics of antiquity, showing how much they 
had all done for the advancement ot 
science and the arts, proceeded, lastly, 
to the grand and perilous example, then 
passing before all eyes, the young Re- 
public of France. Referring to the cir- 
cumstance told of CfBsar, that, in swim- 
ming across the Rubicon, he contrived 
to carry with him his Commentaries and 
his sword, the young orator said, " Thus 
France wades through a sea of storm and 
blood; but while, in one hand, she 
wields the sword against her aggressors, 
with the other she upholds the glories of 
science and literature unsullied by the 
ensanguined tide through which she 
struggles." In another of his remark- 
able speeches, I remember his saying, 
" When a people, advancing rapidly in 
knowledge and power, perceive at last 
how far their government is lagging 
behind them, what then, I ask, is to be 
done in such a case ? "What, but to pull 
the government up to the people ?" 

In a few months after both Emmet and 
myself were admitted members of the 
greater and recogmsed institution, called 
the Historical Society; and even here the 
political feeling so nfe abroad contrived 



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PEEFACE. 



to mix up its restless spirit with all our 
debates and proceedings ; notwithstand- 
ing the constant watchi'ulness of the col- 
lege authorities, as well as of a strong 
party within the Society itself, devoted 
adherents to the policy of the govern- 
ment, and taking iuvanably part vrith 
the Provost and Fellows in all their 
restrictive and inquisitorial measures. 
The most distmguished and eloquent of 
these supporters of power were a young 
man named Sargent, of whose fate in 
after-days I know nothing, and Jebb, 
the late Bishop of Limerick, who was 
then, as he continued to be through life, 
much respected for his private worth 
and learning. 

Of the popular side, in the Society, 
the chief champion and ornament was 
Robert Emmet ; and though every care 
v\'as taken to exclude from the subjects 
of debate all questions verging towai'ds 
the politics of the day, it was always 
easy enough, by a side-wind of digression 
or allusion, to bring Ireland, and the 
prospects then opening upon her, within 
the scope of the orator's view. So 
exciting and powerful, in this respect, 
were Emmet's speeches, and so little 
were even the most eloquent of the 
adverse party able to cope with his 
powers, that it was at length thought 
advisable, by the higher authorities, to 
send among us a man of more advanced 
standing, as well as belonging to aformer 
race of renowned speakers, in that 
Society, in order that he might answer 
the speeches of Emmet, and endeavor to 
obviate the mischievous impression they 
were thought to produce. The name of 
this mature champion of the higher 
powers it is not necessaiy here to record ; 
but the object of his mission among us 
was in some respect gained ; as it was in 
replying to a long oration of his, one 
night, that Emmet, much to the mortifi- 
cation of us who gloried in him as our 
leader, became suddenly embarrassed in 
the middle of his speech, and, to use the 
parhamentary phrase, broke down. 
Whether from a momentary confusion in 
the thread of his argument, or possilily 
from diffidence in encountering an ad- 
versary so much his senior,— for Emmet 
was as modest as he was high-minded 
and brave, — he began, in the full career 
of his eloquence, to hesitate and repeat 



his words, and then, after an effort oi 
two to recover himself, sat down. 

It fell to my own lot to be engaged, 
about the same time, in a brisk struggle 
with the dommant party in the Society, 
in consequence,, of a burlesque poem 
which I gave in as candidate for the 
Literary Medal, entitled "An Ode upon 
ISTothing, with Notes, by Trismegistus 
Rustifustius, D.D.," &c. &c. For this 
squib against the great Dons of learning, 
the medal was voted to me by a triumph- 
ant majority. But a motion was made 
in the following week to rescind this 
vote ; and a fierce contest between the 
two parties ensued, which I at last put 
an end to by voluntarily withdrawing 
my composition from the Society's 
Book. 

I have already adverted to the period 
when Mr. Bunting's valuable volume 
first became knowu to me. There 
elapsed no very long time before I was 
myself the happy proprietor of a copy of 
the work ; and, though never regularly 
instracted in music, could play over the 
airs with tolerable facility on the piano- 
forte. Robert Emmet used sometimes 
to sit by me, when I was thus engaged ; 
and I remember one day his starting up 
as from a revery, when I had just fin- 
ished that spnited tune called the Red 
Fox,* and exclaiming, "Oh that I were 
at the head of twenty thousand men, 
marching to that air !" 

How little did I then think that in one 
of the most touching of the sweet airs I 
used to play to him, his own dying 
words would find an uiterpreter so ^ror- 
thy of their sad but proud feeling;! or 
that another of those mournful strains t 
would long be associated, in the hearts 
of his countrymen, with the memory of 
her§ who shared with Ireland his last 
blessing and prayer. 

Though fully ahve, of course, to the 
feeUngs which such music could not but 
inspire, I had not yet undertaken the 
task of adapting words to any of the airs ; 
and it was, I am ashamed to say, in 
dull and turgid prose, that I made my 
first appearance in print as a champion 

* " Let Erin remember the days of old." 

♦ "Oh, breathe uot his name." 

J " She is far from the land wkero li«r young 

hero sleeps." 
§ Miss Curran. 



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34 



PEEPACE. 



of the popular cause. Towards the lat- 
ter end of the year 1797, the celebrated 
newspaper called "The Press" was 
set up by Aithur O'Connor, Thomas 
Addis Emmet, and other chiefs of the 
United Irish conspiracy, with the view 
of preparing and rip'feliing the public 
mind for the great crisis then fast ap- 
proaching. This memorable journal, 
according to the impression I at present 
retain of it, was far more distinguished 
for earnestness of purpose and intrepid- 
ity, than for any great display of Uterary 
tarlent;— the bold letters written by 
Emmet, (the elder,) under the signatui-e 
of "Montanus," being the only composi- 
tions I can now call to mind as entitled 
to praise for their literary merit. It re- 
quired, however, but a small sprinkling 
of talent to make bold writing, at that 
time, palatable ; and, from the experi- 
ence of my own home, I can answer for 
the avidity with which every hue of this 
daring journal was devoured. It used 
to come out, I think, twice a week, and, 
on the evening of publication, I always 
read it aloud to our small circle after 
supper. 

It may easily be conceived that, what 
with my ardor for the national cause, 
and a growing consciousness of some 
little turn for authorship, I was natur- 
ally eager to become a contributor to 
those patriotic and popular columns. 
But the constant anxiety about me which 
I knew my own family felt,— a feeling 
far more wakeful than even their zeal 
in the public cause, — withheld me from 
hazarding any step that might cause 
them alarm. I had ventured, indeed, 
one evening, to pop privately into the 
letter-box of The Press, a short Frag- 
ment in imitation of Ossian. But this, 
though inserted, passed off quietly ; and 
nobody was, in any sense of the phrase, 
the wiser for it. I was soon tempted, 
however, to try a more daring flight. 
Without communicating my secret to 
any one but Edward Hudson, I address- 
ed along Letter, in prose, to the ***** 
of * * * *, in which a profusion of bad 
flowers of rhetoric was enwreathed plen- 
tifully with that weed which Shakspeare 
calls " the cockle of rebellion," and, in 
the same manner as before, committed 
it tremblingly to the chances of the let- 
ter-box. I hardly expected my prose 



would be honored with insertion, when, 
lo, on the next evening of publication, 
when, seated as usual in my little cor- 
ner by the fire, I imfolded the paper for 
the purpose of reading it to my select 
auditory, there was my own Letter 
staring me full in the face, being honored 
with so conspicuous a place as to be one 
of the iirst articles my audience would 
expect to hear. Assuming an outward 
appearance of ease, while every nerve 
within me was trembling, I contrived to 
accomplish the reading of the Letter 
without raising in either of my auditors 
a suspicion that it was my own. I en- 
joyed the pleasure, too, of hearing it a 
good deal praised by them ; and might 
have been tempted by this welcome 
tribute to acknowledge myself the au- 
thor, had I not found that the language 
and sentiments of the article were con- 
sidered by both to be "very bold." * 

I was not destined, however, to re- 
main long undetected. On the follow- 
ing day, Edward Hudson, t— the only 
one, as I have said, intrusted with my 
secret, called to pay us a morning visit, 
and had not been long in the room, con- 
versing with my mother, when, looking 
significantly at me, he said, " Well, you 
saw — — " Here he stopped; but the 
mother's eye had followed his, with the 
rapidity of lightning, to mine, and at 
once she perceived the whole truth. 
" That Letter was yours, then 1 " she 
asked of me eagerly ; and, without hesi- 
tation, of course, I acknowledged the 
fact ; when in the most earnest manner 
she entreated of me never again to have 
any connection with that paper; and, 
as every wish of hers was to me law, I 

* So thought also higher authorities ; for 
among the extracts from The Press brought 
forward by the Secret Committee of the House 
of Commons, to show how formidable had been 
the designs of the United Irishmen, there are 
two or tliree paragraphs cited from this re- 
doubtable Letter. 

t Of tlic depth and extent to which Hudson 
had involved himself in the conspiracy, none of 
our family had harbored the least notion ; till, 
on the seizure of the thirteen Leinster dele- 
gates, at Oliver Bond's, in the month of March, 
1798, we found, to our astonishment and sorrow, 
that ho was one of the number. 

To those utiread in the painful history of this 
period, it is right to mention that almos't all the 
loaders of the United Irish conspiracy were 
Protestants. Among those companions of my 
own alluded to in these pages, I scarcely re- 
member a single Catholic. 



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PREFACE. 



35 



readily pledged the solemn promise she 
requii-ed. 

Though well aware how easily a sneer 
may be raised at the simple details of 
this domestic scene, I have yet veutm'ed 
to put it on record, as aflording au in- 
stance of the gentle and womanly watch- 
fulness,— the Providence, as it may be 
called, of the little world of home,— by 
which, although placed almost m the 
very cm-rent of so headlong a movement, 
and hving familiarly with some of the 
most daring of those who propelled it, I 
yet was guarded from any participation 
in their secret oaths, counsels, or plans, 
and thus escaped all share in that wild 
struggle to which so many far better 
men than myself fell victims. 

In the mean while, this gi'eat conspir- 
acy was hastening on, with fearful pre- 
cipitancy, to its outbreak ; and vague 
and shapeless as are now known to have 
been the views, even of those who were 
engaged practically in the plot, it is not 
any wonder that to the young and un- 
initiated like myself it should have 
opened prospects partaking far more of 
the wild dreams of poesy than of the 
plain and honest prose of real life. But 
a crisis was then fast approaching, when 
such self-delusions could no longer be 
indulged ; and when the mystery which 
had hitherto hung over the plans of the 
consphators was to be rent asunder by 
the stem hand of power. 

Of the horrors that fore-ran and fol- 
lowed the frightful explosion of the year 
1798, I have neither inchnation nor, 
luckily, occasion to speak. But among 
those introductory scenes, which had 
somewhat prepared the public mind for 
such a catastrophe, there was one, of a 

Eaiuful description, ' which, as having 
een myself an actor in it, I may be al- 
lowed briefly to notice. 

It was not many weeks, I think, be- 
fore this crisis, that, owing to informa- 
tion gained by the college authorities of 
the rapid spread, among the students, 
not only of the principles but the organ- 
isation of the Irish Union,* a solemn 
* In the Report from the Secret Committee 
of the Irish House of Lords, this extension of 
the plot to the College is noticed as " a des- 
perate project of the same faction to corrupt 
the youth of the country by introducing their 
M-gauized system of treason into the Univer- 
sity." 



Visitation was held by Lord Clare, the 
vice-chancellor of the University, with 
the view of inquiring into the extent of 
this branch of the plot, and dealing sum- 
marily with those engaged in it. 

Imperious and harsh as then seemed 
the policy of thus setting up a sort of 
inquisitorial tribunal, armed with thy 
power of examining witnesses on oath, 
and in a place devoted to the instructioa 
of youth, I cannot but confess that the 
facts which came out m the course of 
the evidence went far towards justifying 
even this arbitrary proceeding; and to 
the many who, like myself, were ac- 
quainted only with the general views of 
the Union leaders, without even know- 
ing, except from conjecture, who those 
leaders were, or what their plans or ob- 
jects, it was most startling to hear the 
disclosures which every succeeding wit- 
ness brought forth. There were a few, 
— and among that number poor Robert 
Emmet, John Brown, and the two 
****** s,t whose total absence 
from the whole scene, as well as the dead 
silence that, day after day, followed the 
calling out of their names, proclaimed 
how deep had been their share in the 
unlawful proceedings inquired into by 
this tribunal. 

But there was one young friend of 
mine, ****** *^ whose appearance 
among the suspected and examined as 
much surprised as it deeply and pain- 
fully interested me. He and Emmet 
had long been intimate and attached 
friends; — their congenial fondness for 
mathematical studies having been, I 
think, a far more binding sympathy be- 
tween them than any arising out of 
then- political opinions. From his being 
called up, however, on this day, when, 
as it appeared afterwards, all the most 
important evidence was brought for- 
ward, there could be little doubt that, 
in addition to his intimacy with Emmet, 

t Oue of these brothers has long been a gea- 
oral in tlie French army ; having taken a part 
in all those great enterprises of Napoleon wliitU 
have now become matter of history. Should 
these pages meet the eye of General* * * * ' ', 
they will call to his mind the days we passed to- 
gether in Normandy, a few summers since ; — 
more especially our excursion to Bayeus, when, 
as -we talked on the way of old college times 
and friends, all the eventful and stonny scenes 
ho had passed through sinee seemed quite 
forgotten. 




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36 



PREFACE. 



the college authorities must have pos- 
sessed some information which led them 
to suspect him of being an accomplice 
in the conspiracy. In the course of his 
examination, some questions were put 
to him Avhieh he refused to answer, — 
most probably from their tendency to 
involve or inculpate others ; and he was 
accordingly dismissed, with the melan- 
choly certainty that his future prospects 
in life were "blasted; it being already 
known that the punishment for such 
contumacy was not merely expulsion 
from the University, but also exclusion 
from all the learned professions. 

The proceedings, indeed, of this 
whole day had been such as to send me 
to my hoine iu the evening with no very 
agreeable feelings or prospects, I had 
heard evidence given aii'ecting even the 
hves of some of those friends whom I 
had long regarded with admiration as 
well as afFeetion ; and what was still 
worse than even their danger,— a danger 
ennobled, I thought, by the cause in 
which they suffered, — was the shameful 
spectacle exhibited by those who had 
appeai-ed in evidence against them. Of 
these witnesses, the greater number had 
been themselves involved in the plot, 
and now came forward either as volun- 
tary informers, or else were driven by 
the fear of the consequences of refusal 
to secure their own safety at the ex- 
pense of companions and friends. 

I well remember the glooni, so un- 
usual, that hung over our family circle 
on that evening, as, talking together of 
the events of the day, we discussed the 
likelihood oi my being among those 
who would be called up for examination 
on the morrow. The deliberate conclu- 
sion to which my dear honest advisers 
came, was that, overwhelming as the 
consequences were to all their plans and 
hopes ibr me, yet, to the questions 
leading to criminate others, which had 
been put to almost all examined on that 
lay, and which poor ******* alone 
lad refused to answer, I must, in the 
;ame manner, and at all risks, return a 
similar refusal. I am not quite certain 
ivhether I received any intimation, on 
.he following morning, that I was to be 
one of those examined in the com-se of 
the day ; but I rather think some such 
notice had been conveyed to me,— and, 



at last, my awful turn came, and I 
stood in presence of the formidable 
tribunal. There sat, with severe look, 
the vice-chancellor, and, by his side, the 
venerable Doctor Duigenan, — memora- 
ble for his eternal pamphlets against 
the Catholics. 

The oath was proffered to me. "I 
have an objection, my Lord," said I, 
"to taking this oath." " WTiat is your 
objection?" he asked sternly. " I have 
no fears, my Lord, that any thing I 
nught say would criminate myself; but 
it might tend to involve others, and I 
despise the character of the person who 
could be led, under any such cu-cum- 
stances, to inform against his associ- 
ates." This was aimed at some of the 
revelations of the preceding day ; and, 
as I learned afterwards, was so under- 
stood. "How old are you. Sir?" be 
then asked. " Between seventeen and 
eighteen, my Lord." He then turned to 
his assessor, Duigenan, and exchanged 
a few words with him, in an under tone 
of voice. "We cannot," he resumed, 
again addressing me, "suffer any one 
to remain m our University who refuses 
to take this oath." "I shall, then, mv 
Lord," I rephed, "take the oath,— still 
reserving to myself the power of refus- 
ing to answer any such questions as I 
have just described. " "We do not sit 
here to argue with you, Six," he rejoined 
shai-ply ; upon which I took the oath, and 
seated myself in the wituesses'chair. 

The following are the questions and 
answers that then ensued. After ad- 
verting to the proved existence of United 
Irish Societies, m the University, he 
asked, " Have you ever belonged to any 
of these societies?" "No, my Lord." 
"Have you ever known of any of the 
proceedings that took place in them?" 
"No, my Lord." "Did you ever hear 
of a proposal at any of their meetmgs, 
for the purchase of arms and ammuni- 
tion?" "Never, my Lord." "Did you 
ever hear of a proposition made, in one 
of these societies, with respect to the ex- 
pediency of assassination ?" " Oh no, 
my Lord." He then turned again to 
Duigenan, and, after a few words with 
him, said to me :— " When such are the 
answers you are able to give,* pray what 

* There had been two questions put to all 
those examined oil the first day,— "Were yoa 



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PREFACE. 



37 



•was the cause of yoiir great repugnance 
to taking the oath?" "I have already 
told your Lordsliip my chief reason ; in 
addition to vrhich, it was the first oath 
I ever toolc, and the hesitation was, I 
think, natural."* 

I was now dismissed without any fur- 
ther questioning; and, however trying 
had been this short operation, was 
amply repaid for it by the kind zeal 
with which my young friends and com- 
panions flocked to congratulate me ; — 
not so much, I was incHned to hope, on 
my acquittal by the court, as on the 
manner in which I had acquitted myself. 
Of my reception, on returning home, 
after the fears entertained of so very 
dtfi'erent a result, I will not attempt any 
description ; — it was all that such a home 
alone could furnish. 

I have continued thus down to the 
very verge of the warning outbreak of 
1798, the slight sketch of my early days 
which I ventured to commence in the 
I'irst Yolume of this Collection: nor 
could I have famished the Irish Mel- 
odies with any more pregnant illustra- 
tion, as it was in those times, and 
among the events then stirring, that the 

ever asked to join any of these societies ?"— 
and " By whom were you asked ?" — which I 
should have refused to answer, and must, of 
course, have abided the consequences. 

* For the correctness of the above report of 
this short examination, I can pretty confiden- 
tially answer. It may amuse, therefore, mv 
readers,— as showing the manner in which 
biographers make tLe most of small facts,— to 
see an extract or two from another account of 
this affair, published not many years since, by 
an old and zealous friend of our" family. After 
statuig with tolerable coiTcctness one or two of 
my answers, the writer thus proceeds: — "Upon 
this, Lord Clare repeated the question, and 
young Moore made such an appeal as caused 
his lordship to relax, austere and rigid as he 
was. The words I cannot exactly remember ; 
the substance was as follows:— that he entered 
coilege to receive the education of a scholar 
and a gentleman ; tliat he knew not how to 
compromise these characters by informing 
against his college companions; that his own 
speeches in the debating society had been ill 
construed, when the worst that could be said 
of them was, if the truth had been spoken, that 
Ihcy were patriotic .... that he was aware 
of the high minded nobleman he had the 
honor of appealing to, and if his lordship could 
lor a moment condescend to step from his high 
station and place himself in his situation, then 
say how he would act under such circumstan- 
ees, it would be his guidance."— Hekbeut's 
Irish Varieties. London, 1836. 



feeling which afterwards found a voice 
m my country's music, was born and 
nurtured. 

I shall now string together such de- 
tached notices and memoranda respect- 
ing this work, as I think may be likely 
to interest my readers. 

Of the few songs written with a con- 
cealed poHtical feeling, — such as ''When 
he who adores thee," and one or two 
more, — the most successful, in its day, 
was " When first I met thee wann and 
young," which alluded, in its hidden 
sense, to the Prince Regent's desertion 
of his political friends. It was little 
less, I own, than profanation to disturb 
the sentiment of so beautiful an air by 
any connection with such a subject. 
The great success of this song, soon 
after I wrote it, among a large party 
staying at Chatsworth, is thus alluded 
to in one of Lord Byron's letters to me : 
— " I have heard from London that you 
have left Chatsworth and all there fuU 
of ' entusymusy ' and, in par- 
ticular, that ' When first I met thee * 
has been quite overwhelming in its 
eifect. I told you it was one of the 
best things you ever wrote, though that 
dog * * * * wanted you to omit part 
of it." 

It has been sometimes supposed that 
" Oh, breathe not his name," was meant 
to allude to Lord Edward 'Fitzgerald : 
but this is a mistake ; the song having 
been suggested by the well known pas- 
sage in Robert Emmet's dying speech, 
" Let no man write my epitaph .... 
let my tomb remain uninscribed, till 
other times and other men shall learn to 
do justice to my memory." 

The feeble attempt to commemorate 
the glory of our great Duke— "When 
History's Muse," <fec. — is in so fai* re- 
markable, that it made up amply for its 
want of poetical spirit, by an outpomiug, 
rarely granted to bards in these days, of 
the spirit of prophecy. It was in the 
year 1815 that the following lines first 
made their appearance : — 

And still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, 
The grandest, the purest, cv'n thou, hast yet 
known ; 
Though proud was thy task, other nations un- 
chaining. 
Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy 
own. 



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38 



PEEFACE. 



At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou 
hast stood. 
Go, plead for the laud that first cradled thy 
tame, &.c. 

About fourteen years after these lines 
were written, the DuKe of Wellington 
recommended to the throne the great 
measure of Catholic Emancipation. 

The fancy of the " Origin of the Irish 
Harp," was (as I have elsewhere ac- 
knowledged*) suggested by a drawing 
made under peculiarly painful circum- 
stances, by the friend so often mentioned 
in this sketch, Edward Hudson. 

In connection with another of these 
matchless airs, — one that defies all poet- 
ry to do it justice, — I find the follow- 
ing singular and touching statement in 
an article of the Quarterly Review. 
Speaking of a young and promising po- 
etess, Lucretia Davidson, who died very 
early from nervous excitement, the Re- 
viewer says, " She was particularly sen- 
sitive to music. There was one song 
(it was Moore's Farewell to his Harp) 
to which she took a special fancy. She 
wished to hear it only at twilight, — 
thus (with that same perilous love of 
excitement which made her place the 
^olian harp in the window when she 
was composing) seeking to increase the 
effect which the song produced upon a 
nervous system, ah-eady diseasedly sus- 
ceptible ; for it is said that, whenever 
she heard this song, she became cold, 
pale, and almost fainting ; yet it was 
her favorite of all songs, and gave occa- 
sion to those verses addressed in her 
fifteenth year to her sister. " t 

With the Melody entitled " Love, 
Valor, and Wit," an incident is con- 
nected, which awakened foeUngs in me 
of proud, but sad pleasure — as showing 

* " "When, in consequence of the compact en- 
tered into between government and the chief 
leaders of the conspiracy, the State Prisoners, 
before proceeding into exile, were allowed to 
see their friends, I paid a visit to Henry Hud- 
son, in the jail of Kilmainham, where he had 
thenlain immured for four or five months, hear- 
ing of friend after friend being led out to death, 
and expecting every week his own turn to 
come. I found that to amuse his solitude he 
had made a largo drawing with charcoid on 
the wiill of his prison, representing that fancied 
origin of the Irish Harp which, some years af- 
ter. I adopted as the subject of one of the ' Mel- 
odies.' " — Life and Death of Lord Edward Fitz- 
gerald, vol. i. 

t Quarterly Review, vol. xli. j). 294, 



that my songs had reached the hearts of 
some of the descendants of those great 
Irish families, who found themselves 
forced, in the dark days of persecution, 
to seek in other lands a refuge from the 
shame and ruin of their own ; — those, 
whose story I have thus associated with 
one of their country's most characteristic 
au-s : — 

Te Blakes and O'Donnells, whose fathers rc- 

sign'd 
The green hills of their youth, among stranger* 

to find 
That repose which at home they had sigh'd for 

in vain. 

From a foreign lady, of this ancient ex- 
traction, — whose names, could I venture 
to mention them, would lend to the in- 
cident an additional Iri.-3h charm, — I re- 
ceived, about two years since, through 
the hands of a gentleman to whom it 
had been intrusted, a large portfolio, 
adorned inside with a beautiful drawing, 
representing Love, Wit, and Yalor, as 
described in the song. In the border 
that surrounds the drawing are intro- 
duced the favorite emblems of Erin, the 
harp, the shamrock, the mitred head of 
St. Patrick, together with scrolls con- 
taining each, inscribed in letters of gold, 
the name of some favorite melody of the 
fair artist. 

This present was accompanied by the 
following letter from the lady herself; 
and her Irish race, I fear, is but too dis- 
cernible in the generous indiscretion 
with which, in this instance, she allows 
praise so much to outstrip desert : — 

"Le25Aout, 1836. 
"Monsieur, 

" Si les poetes n'etoient en quelque 
sorte ime propricte intellectuelle dont 
chacun prend sa part k raison de la puis- 
sance qu'Us exercent, je ne sam'ois en 
v6rit6 comment faire pour justifier mon 
courage ! — car il en falloit beaucoup pour 
avou- os6 consacrer mon pauvre talent 
d'amateur k vos delicieuses poesies, et 
plus encore pour en renvoyer le pale 
reflet k son veritable auteur. 

" J'espere toutefois que ma sympathie 
pour rirlande vous fera. juger ma foible 
production avec cette heureuse partiahte 
qui impose silence k la critique : car, si 
je n'appartiens pas k I'lle Verte par ma 
naissance, ni mes relations, je puis dii"e 
que je m'y int6resse avec un ccem- Irian- 




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PREFACE. 



39 



dais, et que j'ai couseiTo plus que le 
nom de mes peres. Cela seul me fait 
esperer que mea petits vojageui-s ne 
subirout pas le triste noviciat des 
etraugcrs. Puissent-ils remplir leur 
mission sur le sol natal, en agissant con- 
jointement et toujours pour la cause 
Irlaudaise, et amener eufin une dro 
nouvelle pour cette h6roique et mal- 
hem-euse nation;— le moyeu de vaincre 
de tels advevsan-es s'ils ne font qu'un ? 

"Vous dirai-je, Monsieur, les doux 
monients que je dois h vos ouvrages ? ce 
seroit rt^pfeter une fois de plus ce que 
vous entendez tons les jours et de tons 
les coins de la terre. Aussi j'ai garde 
de vous ravir un terns trop prucieux par 
Techo de ces vieilles verites. 

"Si jamais mon 6toile mo conduit en 
Irlande, je ne m'y croirai pas t'trangere. 
Je sais que le pass6 y laisse de longs 
souvenii-s, et que la confonnit6 des d6sirs 
et des esperances rapproche en depit de 
I'espace et du terns, 

"Jusque 1^, recevez, je vous prie, 
Tassm-ance de ma parfaite consideration, 
avec laquelle j'ai I'honneur d'etre, 
"Monsieur, 
"Votre tres-humble Servante, 

"LaComtesse • *■ » » »." 

Of the translations that have appeared 
of the Melodies in different languages, I 
shall here mention such as have come to 
my knowledge. 

Latin.—" Gantus Hibemici," Mcholas 
Lee Torre, London, 1835. 

Italian.— G. Flechia, Torino, 1836.— 
Adele Custi, Milano, 1836. 

French. — Madame Belloc, Paris, 1823. 
— Loeve Veimars, Paris, 1829. 

Russian. — Several detached Melodies, 
by the popular Russian poet Kozlof. 



PREFACE 

TO THE 



FIFTH VOLUME 



In spite of the satmst's assertion that 

'•next to singing, the most foolish thing 
Is gravely to harauguo on what we sing," — 

I shall yet venture to prefix to this 
Volume a few introductory pages, not 
relating so much to the Songs which it 



contains, as to my own thoughts ami 
recollections respecting song- writing in 
general. 

The close alliance known to have 
existed between poetry and music, 
dming the infancy of both these arts, 
has sometimes led to the conclusion that 
they are essentially kindred to each 
other, and that the true poet ought to 
be, if not practically, at least in taste 
and ear, a musician. That was the case 
in the early times of ancient Greece, and 
that her poets then not onl^^ set their 
own verses to music, but sung them at 
])ublic festivals, there is every reason, 
from all we know on the subject, to 
believe. A similar union between the 
two arts attended the dawn of modem 
literatm-e in the twelfth century, and 
was, in a certain degree, continued down 
as far as the time of Petrarch, when, as 
it appears from his own memorandums, 
that poet used to sing his verses, in com- 
posing them ;* and when it was the cus- 
tom with all writers of sonnets and 
canzoni to prefix to their poems a sort of 
key-note, by which the intonation of 
reciting or chanting them was to be regu 
lated. 

As the practice of uniting in one indi- 
vidual, — whether Bard, Scald, or Trou- 
badom', — the character and functions 
both of musician and poet, is known to 
have been invariably the mark of a rude 
state of society, so the gradual separa- 
tion of these two callings, in accordance 
with that great principle of Political 
Economy, the division of labor, has 
been found an equally sm-e index of im- 

{)roving civilization. So far, in Eug- 
and, indeed, has this partition of work- 
manship been carried, that, with the 
signal exception of Milton, there is not 
to be found, I believe, among all the 
eminent poets of England, a siugle 
musician. It is but fair, at the same 
time, to acknowledge, that out of the 
works of these very poets might be pro- 
duced a select number of songs, surpass- 
ing, in fancy, grace and tenderness, all 

*The following is a specimen of these mem- 
orandums, asgivenby Foscolo : — " I must make 
these two verses over again, singing them, and 
I must transpose them— :5 o'clock, a. m., li)th 
October." Frequently to sonnets of th.it time 
such notices as the following were i)re;ixcd : — 
'^ Jntonatum, per Francum" — " Scriptor dedit 
sonum." 




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PREFACE. 



ttiat the language, perhaps, of any other 
country could furnish. 

We witness, m our times, — as far as 
the knowledge or practice of music is 
concerned, — a similar divorce between 
the two arts; and my friend and neigh- 
bor, Mr. Bowles, is the only distin- 
guished poet of our day whom I can 
call to mind as being also a musician.* 
jSTot to dwell further, however, on living 
writers, the strong feeling, even to tears, 
with which I have seen Byron listen to 
some favorite melody, has been else- 
where described by me ; and the musical 
taste of Sir "Walter Scott I ought to be 
the last person to call in question, after 
the very cordial tribute he has left on 
record to my own untutored minstrelsy, t 
But I must say, that, pleased as my il- 
lustrious friend appeared really to be, 
when I first sung lor him at Abbotsford, 
it was not till an evening or two after, at 
his own hospitable supper-table, that I 
saw him in his true sphere of musical 
enjoyment. No sooner had the quoigh 
taken its round, after our repast, than 
his friend. Sir Adam, was called lapon, 
with the general acclaim of the whole 
table, for the song of " Hey tuttie tat- 
tle," and gave it out to us with all the 
true national relish. But it was during 
the chorus that Scott's delight at this 
festive scene chiefly showed itself. At 
the end of every verse, the whole com- 
pany rose from their seats, and stood 
round the table with arms crossed, so 
as to grasp the hand of the neighbor on 
each side. Thus interlinked, we con- 
tinued to keep measm-e to the strain, by 
moving oiur arms up and down, all chant- 
ing forth vociferously, ''Hey tuttie 
tattle. Hey tuttie tattie." Su* "Walter's 
enjoyment of this old Jacobite chorus, — 
a little increased, doubtless, by seeing 
how I entered into the spirit of it, — 
gave to the whole scene, I confess, a 
zest and charm in my eyes such as the 

* The late Rev. "William Crowe, author of the 
noble poem of "Lewisdeu Hill," was likewise 
a musician, and has left a Treatise on English 
versification, to which his knowledge of the 
sister art lends a peculiar interest. 

So little does even the origin of the word 
"lyrick," as applied to poetry, seem to be 
present to the mmds of some writers, that the 
poet. Young, has left us an Essay on Lyric 
Poetry, in which there is not a single allusion 
to Music, from beginning to end. 

1 Lata oj Lockhm-i, ^ oL r.. p. i2&. 



finest musical performance could not 
have l)estowed on it. 

Having been thus led to allude to this 
visit, I am tempted to mention a few 
other circumstances connected with it. 
From Abbotsford I proceeded to Edin- 
burgh, whither Sir "Walter, in a few 
days after, followed; and during my 
short staym that city an incident oc- 
curred which, though already mentioned 
by Scott, in his Diary,}: and owing its 
chief interest to the connection of his 
name with it, ought not to be omitted 
among these memoranda. As I had ex- 
pressed a deske to visit the Edinbiu-gh 
theatre, which opened but the evening 
before my departiu-e, it was proposed to 
Sir Walter and myself, by our friend 
Jefiirey, that we should dine with him at 
an early hour for that purpose, and both 
were good-uatm-ed enough to accom- 
pany me to the theatre. Having found, 
in a volume^ sent to me by some anony- 
mous correspondent^ a more circum- 
stantial account of the scene of that 
evening than Sir "Walter has given in 
his Diary, I shall here avail myself of 
its graphic and (with one exception) ac- 
curate details. After adverting to the 
sensation produced by the appearance 
of the late Duchess of St. Alban's in one 
of the boxes, the writer thus proceeds ; 
"There was a general buzz and stare, 
for a few seconds; the audience then 
turned then backs to the lady, and theh 
attention to the stage, to wait till the 
first piece should be over ere they in- 
tended staring again. Just as it termi- 
nated, another party quietly glided into 
a box near that filled by the Duchess. 
One pleasing female was with the three 
male comers. In a minute the cry ran 
round : — ' Eh, yon's Sir "Walter, wi' 
Lockhart an' his wife,l| and wha's the 
wee bit bodie with the pawkie een ? 
Wow, but it's Tam Moore, just — Scott, 
Scott ! Moore, Moore !' — with shouts, 
cheers, bravos, and applause. But 
Scott would not rise to appropriate 

! " We went to the theatre together, and the 
house being luckily a good one, received T. M. 
with rapture. I could have hugged them, for 
it paid back the debt of the kind reception I 
met with in Ireland." 

J-Written by Mr. Benson Hill. 

11 The writer was here mistaken. There was 
one lady of our party; but neither Mr. nor Mm 
Locimart was preeeni;. 




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PREFACE. 




41 



those tributes. One could see that he 
ui-ged Moore to do so ; and he, though 
modestly reluctant, at last yielded, and 
bowed, hand on heart, -with much ani- 
mation. The cry for Scott was then 
redoubled. He gathered himself up, 
and, with a benevolent bend, acknowl- 
edged this deserved welcome. The 
orchestra played alternately Scotch and 
Irish Melodies." 

Among the choicest of my recollec- 
tions of that flying visit to Edinburgh, 
are the few days I passed with Lord 
Jeffrey at his agreeable retreat, Craig 
Crook. I had then recently written the 
words and music of a glee contained in 
this volume, " Ship a hoy !" which there 
won its first honors. So often, indeed, 
was I called upon to repeat it, that the 
upland echoes of Craig Crook ought long 
to have had its burden by heart. 

Ilaviug thus got on Scottish gi-ound, 
I liud myself awakened to the remem- 
brance of a name which, whenever song- 
wiiting is the theme, ought to rank sec- 
ond to none m that sphere of poetical 
fame. Robert Bm-ns was wholly un- 
skilled in music ; yet the rare art of 
adapting words successfully to notes, of 
wedding verse in congenial union with 
melody, which, were it not for his ex- 
ample, I should say none but a poet 
versed in the sister-art ought to attempt, 
has j^et, by him, with the aid of a music 
to which my own country's strains are 
alone comparable, been exercised with 
so workmanly a hand, and with so rich 
a variety of passion, playfulness, and 
power, as no song- writer, perhaps, but 
himself, has ever yet displayed. 

That Burns, however untaught, was 
yet, in ear and feeling a musician,* is 
clear from tb^ skill with which he adapts 
his verse to the stnicture and charac- 
ter of each different strain. Still more 
strikingly did he prove his fitness for 
this peculiar task, by the sort of in- 
stinct with which, in more than one 
instance, he discerned the real and 
innate sentiment which an air was cal- 
culated to convey, though previously 

* It appears certain, notwithstaniling, that 
he was, in his youth, wholly insensible to mu- 
sic. In speaking of him and liis brother, Mr. 
Murdoch, their preceptor, savs, " Robert's ear, 
in particular, was remarlsably dull, and his 
Toice untunable. It was long before I could 
^et him to distinguish one tunc from another." 



associated with words expressing a 
totally different cast of feeling. Thus 
the air of a ludicrous old song, " Pee 
him, father, fee him," has been made 
the medium of one of Bums's most pa- 
thetic effusions ; while, still more mar- 
vellously, ' * Hey tuttie tattle " has been 
elevated by him into that heroic strain, 
" Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled ;" — 
a song which, in a great national cri- 
sis, would be of more avail than all the 
eloquence of a Demosthenes.! 

It was impossible that the example of 
Bums, in these, his higher inspirations, 
should not materially contribute to ele- 
vate the character of English song-writ- 
ing, and even to lead to a reunion of 
the gifts which it rcquu-es, if not, as of 
old, in the same mdividual, yet in that 
perfect sympathy between poet and mu- 
sician which almost amounts to iden- 
tity, and of which, in oiu* own times, we 
have seen so interesting an example in 
the few songs which bear the united 
names of those two sister muses, Mrs. 
Ai-kwright and the late Mrs. Hemans. 

Very difierent was the state of the 
song department of English poesy at 
the period when I first tried my novice 
hand at the lyre. The divorce between 
song and sense had then reached its ut- 
most range; and to all verses connected 
with music, from a Birth-day Ode down 
to the libretto of the last new opera, 
imght fau-ly be applied the solution 
which Figaro gives of the quality of the 
words of sougs^ in general, — " Ce quine 
vaut pas la" peine d'etre dit, on le 
chante." 

It may here be suggested that the 
convivial lyrics of Captain Morris pre- 
sent an exception to the general charac- 
ter I have given of the sougs of this 
period; and, assuredly, had Moms vnit- 
ten much that at all approached the 
following verses of his " Reasons for 
Drinking," (which I quote from recol- 
lection,) few would have equalled him 
either in fancy, or in that lighter kind 

1 1 know not whether it has ever been before 
remarked, that the well-known lines in one of 
Bums's most spirited songs, 

" The title s but the guinea's stamp, 

The man's the gold for a' that," 

may possibly have been suggested by tha fol- 



lowing passage in Wycherley's play, the 
" Country Wife;"—" I weigh the man, not hia 
title; 'tis not the King's stamp can make the 
metal better." 



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^# 



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42 



PREFACE. 



of pathos, whicli comes, as in this in- 
stance, like a few melancholy notes in 
the middle of a gay an-, throwing a soft 
and passing shade over mirth : — 

'' My muse, too, when her wings are dry 

No frolic flights will take ; 
But round a bowl she'll dip and fly, 

Like swallows round a lake. 
If then the nymph must have her share, 

Before she'll bless her swain, 
Wliy, that I think's a reason fair 

To till my glass again. 
" Then, many a lad I lik'd is dead, 

And many a lass grown old ; 
And. as tho'lesson strikes my head, 

My weary heart grows cold. 
But wine awliilo holds oif despair, 

Nay, bids a hope remain ; — 
And that I think"s a reason fair 

To fill my glass again.' 

now far my own labors in this field 
— if, indeed, the gathering of such idle 
flowers may be so designated — have 
helped to advance, or even kept pace 
with the progressive improvement I have 
here descriljed, it is not for me to pre- 
sume to decide. I only know that in a 
strong and inborn feeling for music lies 
the source of whatever talent I may 
have shown for poetical composition; 
and that it was the effort to translate 
into language the emotions and passions 
which music appeared to me to express, 
that first led to my writing any poetry 
at all deserving of the name. Drydeu 
has happily described music as being 
"inarticulate poetry;" and I have al- 
ways felt, in adapting words to an ex- 
pressive an*, that I was but bestowing 
upon it the gift of articulation, and thus 
enablmg it to speak to others all that 
was conveyed, in its wordless eloquence, 
to myself. Owing to the space I was 
led to devote, in our last volume, to 
subjects connected with the Irish Melo- 
dies, I was forced to postpone some rec- 
ollections, of a very different descrip- 
tion, respecting the gala at Boyle Farm, 
by which my poem, entitled The Sum- 
mer Fete, was suggested. In an old 
letter of my own to a friend in Ireland, 
giving an account of this brilliant festi- 
val, I find some memorandums which, 
besides their reference to the subject of 
the poem, contain some incidents also 
connected with the fir.st appearance be- 
fore the public of one of the most suc- 
cessful of all my writings, the story of 
the Epicurean. I shall give my extracts 



from this letter, in their original diary- 
like form, without alteration or dress- 
ing:— 

June 30, 1837. — Day threatening for 
the Fete. Was with Lord Essex* at three 
o'clock, and started about half an hour 
after. The whole road swarming with 
can-iages-and-four all the way to Boyle 
Farm, which Lady de Eoos has lent, for 
the occasion, to Henry ; — the five giv- 
ers of the Fete, being Lords Chesterfield, 
Castlereagh, Alvanley, Henry de Roos, 
and Robert Grosvenor, subscribing four 
or five hundred pounds each towards it. 
The arrangements all in the very best 
taste. The pavilion for quadrilles, on 
the bank of the river, with steps de- 
scending to the water, quite eastern — 
like what one sees in Daniel's pictures. 
Towards five the elite of the gay world 
was assembled — the women all looking 
their best, and scarce a single ugly face 
to be found. About half past live, sat 
down to dinner, 4.')0 under a tent on the 
lawn, and fifty to the Royal Table in 
the conservatory. The Tyrloese musi 
clans sung dui-ing dinner, and there 
were, after dinner, gondolas on the riv- 
er, with Caradori, De Begnis, Velluti, 
&G., singing barcarolles and rowing off 
occasionally, so as to let their voices 
die away and agam return. After these 
succeeded a partj^ in dominos, Madame 
Vestris, Fanny Ayton, &c., who rowed 
about in the same manner, and sung, 
among other things, my gondola song, 
"Oh come to me when daylight sets," 
The evening was delicious, and, as soon 
as it grew dark, the groves were all 
lighted up with colored lamps, in differ- 
ent shapes and devices. A little lake 
near a grotto took my fancy particular- 
ly, the shrubs all round being illumin- 
ated, and the lights reflected in the 
water. Six-and-twenty of the prettiest 
girls of the world of fashion, the F'''^'**t- 
*rs, Br*d***lls,De R**s's, Miss F**ld- 
***g, Miss F*x, Miss R*ss''ll, Miss 
B**]y, were dressed as Rosieres, and 
opened the quatWlles in the pavilion . 

"While talking with 

* I cannot let pass the incidental mention 
here of this social and public-spirited noble- 
man, without expressing my strong sense of 
his kindly qualities, and lamenting the loss 
which not only society, but the cause of sound 
and progressive Political Reform, has sustained 
by his death. 




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PREFACE. 



43 



D — ^n, (Lord P.'s brother,) he said to 
me, " I never read any thing so touch- 
ing as the death of your heroine." 

" What, "said I, "have you got so far al- 
ready ?"* " Oh, I read it in the Liter- 
ary Gazette." This anticipation of my 
catastrophe is abominable. Soon after, 
the Marquis P — Im — a said to me, as he 
and I and B — m stood together, look- 
ing at the gay scene, "This is hke one 
of yom- Petes." " Oh yes," said B — m, 
thinking he alluded to Lalla Rookh, 

"quite oriental." "i^on, non," replied 
P — Im — a, "je veux dire cette Fete 
d'Athenes, dont j'ai lu la description 
dans la Gazette d'aujourd'hui." 

Respecting the contents of the pres- 
ent Yolume I have but a few more 
words to add. Accustomed as I have 
always been to consider my songs as a 
sort of compound creations, in which 
the music forms no less essential a part 
than the verses, it is with a feeling which 
I can hardly expect my onlyrical read- 
ers to understand, that I see such a 
swarm of songs as crowd these pages 
all separated from the beautiful airs 
which have formed hitherto their chief 
ornament and strength — their " decus et 
tutamen." But, independently of this 
uneasy feeling, or fancy, there is yet 
another inconvenient consequence of the 
divorce of the words from the music, 
which will be more easily, perhaps, com- 
prehended, and which, in j;:stice to my- 
selfj as a metre-monger, ought to be 
noticed. Those occasional breaches of 
the laws of rhythm, which the task of 
adapting words to airs demands of the 
poet, though very frequently one of the 
happiest results of his skill, become 
blemishes when the verse is separated 
from the melody, and require, to justify 
them, the presence of the music to 
whose wildness or sweetness the sacri- 
fice had been made. 

In a preceding page of this preface, 
I have mentioned a Treatise by the late 
Rev. Mr. Crowe, on English versifica- 
tion; and I remember his telling me, 
in reference to the point I have just 
touched upon, that, should another edi- 
tion of that work be called for, he meant 
to produce, as examples of new and 
anomalous forms of versification, the 

* The Epicurean had been published but the 
day before. 



following songs from the Irish Melodies : 
— " Oh the days are gone when Beauty 
bright ! " — " At the dead hour of night, 
when stars are Aveeping, I fly," — and, 
" Through grief and through danger thy 
smile hath cheer'd my way." t 



PEEFAOE 



SIXTH VOLUME, 



The Poem, or Romance, of Lalla 
Rookh, having now reached its twenti- 
eth edition, a short account of the origin 
and progress of a work which has been 
hitherto, at least, so very fortunate in 
its course, may not be deemed, perhaps, 
superfluous or misplaced. 

It was about the year 1812 that, im- 
pelled far more by the encoiu-aging sug- 
gestions of friends than impelled by any 
confident promptings of my own ambi- 
tion, I was induced to attempt a Poem 
upon some Oriental subject, and of those 
quarto dimensions which Scott's late 
triumphs in that form had then rendered 
the regular poetical standard. A nego- 
tiation on the subject was opened with 
the Messrs. Longman in the same year, 
but from some causes which have now 
escaped my recollection, led to no deci- 
sive result; nor was it till a year or two 
after, that any further steps were taken 
in the matter, — their house being the 
only one, it is right to add, with which, 
from first to last, I held any communi- 
cation upon the sul)ject. 

On this last occasion, an old friend 
of mine, Mr. Perry, kindly oSered to 
lend me the aid of his advice and pres- 
ence in the interview which I was 
about to hold with the Messrs. Long- 
man, for the arrangement of our mu- 
tual terms ; and what with the fiiend- 

1 1 shall avail myself of this opportunity of 
noticing the cliarge brought by Mr. Bunting 
against Sir John Stevenson, of having made 
alterations in many of the airs that fonned our 
Irish Collection. Whatever changes of this 
kind have been ventured upon, (and they are 
but few and slight,) the res])onsibility for them 
rests solely with me, as, leaving the Harmo- 
nist's department to my friend Stevenson, I 
reserved to myself entirely the selection and 
management of the airs. 



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PREFACE. 




ly zeal of my negotiator ou the one 
side, and tlie prompt and liberal spirit 
•with which he was met on the other, 
there has seldom occmTed any transac- 
tion in -which Trade and Poesy have 
shone out so advantageously in each 
othei-'s eyes. The short discussion that 
then took place between the two parties, 
may be comprised ia a very few sen- 
tences. "I am of opinion," said Mr. 
PeiTy, — enforcing his view of the case 
by arguments which it is not for me to 
cite, — "that Mr. Moore ought to receive 
for his Poem the largest price that has 
been given, in our day, for such a work." 
"That -was," answered the Messrs. 
Longman, "three thousand guineas." 
"Exactly so," replied Mr. Peny, "and 
no less a sum ought he to receive." 

It was then oljjected, and very reason- 
ably, on the part of the firm, that they 
nad never yet seen a single line of the 
Poem ; and that a perusal of the work 
ought to be allowed to them, before 
they embarked so large a sum in the 
purchase. But, no; — the romantic 
view which my friend. Perry, took of 
the matter, was, that this price should 
be given as a tribute to reputation 
already acquu-ed, without any condition 
for a previous perusal of the. new work. 
This high tone, I must confess, not a 
little startled and alarmed mo ; but, to 
the honor and glory of Romaiice, — as 
well on the publisher's side as the ^poet's, 
— this very generous view of the tians- 
action was, without any difficulty, tx?- 
ceded to, and the firm agreed, befort 
we separated, that I was to receive three 
thousand guineas for my Poem. 

At the time of this agi-eement, but lit- 
tle of the work, as it stands at present, 
had yet been written. But the ready 
confidence in my success shown by 
others, made up for the deficiency of 
that requisite feeling within myself; 
while a strong desire not wholly to clis- 
appoint this "auguiing hope," became 
almost a sul)stitute for inspu-ation. In 
the year 1815, therefore, having made 
some progi'ess in my task, I wrote to 
report the state of the work to the 
Messrs. Longman, adding, that I was 
most willing' and ready, should they 
desire it, to submit the manuscript for 
their consideration. Their answer to 
this oflFer was as follows: — "We are 



certainly impatient for the perusal of ths 
Poem ; 'but solely for our gratification. 
Tour sentiments are always honor- 
able."* 

I continued to pursue my task for 
another year, being likewise occasionally 
occupied with the Irish Melodies, two 
or three numbers of which made their 
appearance during the period employed 
in writing Lalla Rookh. At length, in 
the year 1816, I found my work suffi- 
ciently advanced to be placed in the 
hands of the publishers. But the state 
of distress to which England was re- 
duced, in that dismal year, by the ex- 
hausting effects of the series of wars she 
had just then concluded, and the general 
embarrassment of all classes, both agri- 
cultural and commercial, rendered it a 
juncture the least favorable that could 
well be conceived for the first launch 
into print of so light and costly a venture 
as Lalla Rookh. Feefing conscious, 
therefore, that, under such circum- 
stances, I should act but honestly in 
putting it in the power of the Messrs. 
Longman to reconsider the terms of their 
engagement with me, — leaving them free 
to postpone, modify, or even, should 
such be their wish, relinquish it alto- 
gether, I wrote them a letter to that 
effect, and received the following an- 
swer: — "We shall be most happy in 
the pleasure of seeing you in February. 
We agi'ee with yoa, indeed, that the 
times are most inauspicious for ' poetry 
and thousands;' but we believe that 
your poetry would do more than that of 
any other living poet at the present 
moment, "t 

The length of time I employed in 
writing the few stories stnmg together 
in Lalla Rookh will appear, to some 
persons, much more than was necessary 
for the production of such easy and 
"light o'love" fictions. But, besides 
that I have been, at all times, a far more 
slow and painstaking workman than 
would ever be guessed, I fear, from the 
result, I felt that, in this instance, I had 
taken upon myself a more than ordinary 
responsibility, from the immense stake 
risked by others on my chance of suc- 
cess. For a long time, therefore, after 
the agreement nad been concluded 
♦April 10, 1815. 
tNovember'J. 1816. 



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PREFACE. 



45 



though generally at work with a view to 
this task, I made but very little real 
progress iu it, aud I have still by me the 
beginnings of several stories, continued, 
some of them, to the length of three or 
four hundred lines, which, after in vain 
endeavoring to mould them into shape, 
I threw aside, like the tale of Cambus- 
can, "left half-told." One of these 
stories, entitled The Peri's Daughter, 
was meant to relate the loves of a nymph 
of this serial extraction with a youth of 
mortal race, the rightful Prince of 
Ormuz, who had been, from his infancy, 
brought up, in seclusion, on the banks 
of the river Amou, by an aged guardian 
named Mohassan. The story opens 
with the first meeting of these destined 
lovers, then in their childhood; the 
Peri having wafted her daughter to this 
holy retreat, in a bright, enchanted 
boat, whose first appearance is thus 
described : — 



For, down the silvery tiile afar. 
There came a boat, as swift and bright 

As shines, in heav'n, some pilgrim-star, 
That leaves its own high home at night. 
To shoot to distant shrines of light. 
"It comes, it comes," young Orian cries, 
^nd panting to Mohassan flies. 
Then, down upon the flowery grass 
Keclines to see the vision pass ; 
With partly joy and partly fear. 
To find its wondrous light so near, 
And hiding oft his dazzled eyes 
Among the flowers on which he lies 

Within the boat a babv slept. 
Like a young pearl within its shell; 

While one, who seem'd of riper years, 

But not of earth, or earth-like spheres, 
Her watch beside the slumberer kept ; 
Gracefully waving, in her hand. 

The feathers of some holy bird, 

With which, from time to time, shestirr'd 
The fragrant air, and coolly faun'd 
The baby's brow, or brush'd away 

The butterflies that, bright and blue 
As on the mountains of Malay, 

Around the sleeping infant new. 
And now the fairy boat hath stopp'd 
Beside the bank,— the nymph has dropp'd 
Her golden anchor in the stream; 

A song is sung by the Peri in ap- 
proaching, of which the following forms 
a part :— 

My child she is but half divine, 

Her father sleeps in the Caspian water ; 

Sea-weeds twine 

His funeral shrine. 
But he lives again in the Peri's daughter. 



Fain would I fly from mortal sight 

To my own sweet bowers of reristan ; 
But, there, the flowers are all too bright 

For the eyes of a baby born of man. 
On flowers of earth her feet must tread ; 
So hither my light- winged bark hath brought 
her, 

Stranger, spread 
Thy leafiest bed. 
To rest the wandering Peri's daughter. 

In another of these inchoate frag- 
ments, a proud female saint, named 
Banou, plays a principal part ; and her 
progress through the streets of Cufa, on 
the night of a great illuminated festival, 
I find thus described : — 

It was a scene of mirth that drew 

A smile from ev'n the Saint Banou, 

As, tlirough the hush'd, admiring throng, 

She went with stately steps along, 

Aud counted o'er, that all might see, 

The rubies of her rosary. 

But none might see the worldly smile 

That lurk'd lieneatli her veil, the while :— 

Alia forbid ! for, who would wait 

Hei- blessing at the temple's gate, — 

What holy man would ever run 

To kiss tlie ground she knelt upon, 

It once, by luckless chance, he knew 

She look'd ,and smiled as others do. 

Her hands were join'd, and from each wrist, 

By threads of pearl and golden twist, 

Hnng relics ot the saints of yore. 

And scraps of talismanic lore, — 

Charms for the old, the sick, the frail. 

Some made for use, and all for sale. 

On either side the crowd withdrew. 

To let the Saint pass proudly through; 

While turban'd heads of every hue, 

Green, white, and crimson, bow'd around. 

And gay tiaras touch'd the ground, — 

As tulip-bells, when o'er their beds 

The musk-'.rind passes, bend their heads. 

Nay, some there were among the crowd 

Of Moslem heads that round her bow'd, 

So fill'd with zeal, by many a draught 

Of Shiraz wine profanely quaff'd. 

That, sinking low in reverence then. 

They never rose till morn again. 

There are yet two more of these im- 
finished sketches, one of which extends 
to a much greater length than I was 
aware of; and, as far as I can judge from 
a hasty reuewal of my acquaintauce 
■with it, is not incapable of being yet 
turned to account. 

In only one of these unfinished 
sketches, the tale of The Peri's Daugh- 
ter, had I yet ventured to invoke that 
most home-felt of all my inspirations, 
which has lent to the story of The Fire- 
■n orshippers its main attraction and in- 
terest. That it was my intention, iu the 
concealed Prince of Ormuz, to shadow 



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46 



PREFACE. 



out pome impersonation of this feeling, 
I take for granted from the prophetic 
words supposed to be addressed to him 
by his aged guardian :— 

Bright child of destiny ! even now 
I read the promise on that brow, 
That tyrants shall no more defile 
The plories of the Green-Sea Isle, 
But Ormuz shall again be free, 
And hall her native Lord in thee ! 

In none of the other fragments do I 
find any trace of this sort of feeUng, 
either in the subject or the personages 
of the mteuded story; and this was the 
reason, doubtless, though hardly known, 
at the time, to myself, that, finding my 
•subjects so slow in kindling my own 
sympathies, I began to despair of their 
ever touching the hearts of others ; and 
felt often incUned to say, 

" Oh no, I have no voice or hand 
For such a song, in such a land." 

Had this series of disheartening ex- 
periments been carried on much further, 
1 must have thrown aside the work in 
despair. But, at last, fortunately, as it 
proved, the thought occurred to me of 
founding a story on the tierce struggle 
so long maintained between the Ghe- 
bers,* or ancient Fire-worshippers of 
Persia, and their haughty Moslem mas- 
ters. From that moment, a new and 
deep interest in my whole task took 
possession of me. The cause of toler- 
ance was again my inspiring theme ; 
and the spirit that had spoken in the 
melodies of Ireland soon found itself at 
home in the East. 

Having thus laid open the secrets of 
the workshop to account for the time 
expended in loriting this work, I must 
also, m justice to my own industry, 
notice the pains I took in long and 
laboriously reading for it. To form a 
store-house, as it were, of illustration, 
purely Oriental, and so familiarize my- 
self with its various treasures, that as 
quick as Fancy, in her airy spiritings, 
required the assistance of fact, the mem- 
ory was ready, like another Ariel, at her 
" strong bidding," to furnish materials 

* Voltaire, in his tragedy of ' Les Guobres," 
written with a similar under-current of mean- 
ing, was accused of having transformed his 
Fire-worshippers into Jansenists :— " Quelques 
figuristes," he says, " pr6tendeut que les Guo- 
bres sont lea Jansenistes." 



for the spell-work, — such was, for a long 
while, the sole object of my studies ; and 
whatever time and trouble this prepara- 
tory process may have cost me, the ef- 
fects resulting from it, as far as the 
humble merit of truthfulness is con- 
cerned, have been such as to repay me 
more than sufficiently for my pains. I 
have not forgotten how great was my 
pleasure, when told by the late Sir James 
Mackintosh, that he was once asked by 
Colonel "Wilks, the historian of British 
India, " whether it was tme that Moore 
had never been in the East f "Never," 
answered Mackintosh. "Well, that 
shows me," replied Colonel Wilks, 
"that reading over D'Herbelot is as 
good as riding on the back of a camel." 

I need hardly subjoin to this lively 
speech, that although D'Herbelot's 
valuable Avork was, of course, one of 
my manuals, I took the whole range of 
all such Oriental reading as was access- 
ible to me ; and became, for the time, 
indeed, far more conversant with all 
relating to that distant region, than 1 
have ever been with the scenery, pro- 
ductions, or modes of life of any of those 
countries lying most within my reach. 
We know that D'Anville, though never 
in his life out of Paris, was able to cor- 
rect a number of errors in a plan of the 
Troad taken by D'Choiseul, on the 
spot; and, for my own very different, 
as well as far inferior, purposes, the 
knowledge I had thus acquned of dis- 
tant localities, seen only by me in day- 
dreams, was no less ready and useful. 

An ample reward for all this pains- 
taking has been foimd in such welcome 
tributes as I have just cited ; nor can I 
deny myself the gratification of citing a 
few more of the same description. From 
another dis;,rnguished authority on East- 
em subjectij, the late Sir John Malcolm, 
I had myself the pleasure of heating a 
similar opinion publicly expressed ; — 
that eminent person having remarked, 
in a speech spoken by him at a Literary 
Fund Dinner, that together with those 
quahties of the poet which he much too 
partially assigned to me, was combmed 
also " the truth of the historian." 

Sir William Ouseley, another high 
authority, in giving his testimony to the 
same effect, thus notices an exception 
to the general accuracy for which he 



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PREFACE. 



gives me credit: — "Dazzled by the 
beauties of this composition,* few read- 
ers can perceive, and none surely can 
regret, that the poet, in his magnificent 
catastrophe, has forgotten, or boldly and 
most happily violated, the precept of 
Zoroaster, above noticed, which held it 
impious to consume any portion of a 
human body by fire, especially by that 
which glowed upon their altars." Hav- 
ing long lost, I fear, most of my Eastern 
leammg, I can only cite, in defence of 
my catastrophe, an old Oriental tradi- 
tion, which relates that Nimrod, when 
Abraham refused, at his command, to 
worship the fire, ordered him to be 
thrown into the midst of the flames, t 
A precedent so ancient for this sort of 
use of the worshipped element, ap- 
pears, for all purposes at least of poetry, 
to be fully sufiicient. 

In addition to these agreeable testi- 
monies, I have also heard, and, need 
hardly add, wdth some pride and pleas- 
ure, that parts of this work have been 
rendered into Persian, and have found 
jtheir way to Ispahan. To this fact, as 
|I am willing to think it, allusion is 
Imade in some lively verses, written 
many years since, by my friend, Mr. 
Luttrell : — 

" I'm told, dear Moore, your lays are sung, 
(Can it be true, you lucky man ?) 
By moonlight, in the Persian tongue, 
Along the streets of Ispahan." 

That some knowledge of the work 
may have really reached that region, 
appears not improbable fi-om a passage 
in the Travels of Mr.. Frazer, who says, 
that " being delayed for some time at a 
town on the shores of the Caspian, he 
was lucky enough to be able to amuse 
himself with a copy of Lalla Rqpkh, 
which a Persian had lent him." 

Of the description of Balbcc, in " Par- 
adise and the Peri," Mr. Came, in his 
Letters from the East, thus speaks : 
" The description in Lalla Eookh of the 
plain and its ruins is exquisitely faithful. 
The minaret is on the declivity near at 
hand, and there wanted only the muez- 
zin's cry to break the silence." 

I shall now tax my readers' patience 

* The Fire-worshippers. 

t Tradunt autem Hebnei banc fabulam quod 
Abraham in ignem missus sit quia ignem ado- 
rare noluit.— St. Hieuon. in Qucest. in Qene- 
sim. 



with but one more of these generous 
vouchers. Whatever of vanity there 
may be in citing such tributes, they 
show, at least, of what great value, even 
in poetry, is that prosaic quality, indus- 
try ; since, as the reader of the forego- 
ing pages is now fully apprized, it was 
in a slow and labonous collection of 
small facts, that the first foundations of 
this fanciful Romance were laid. 

The fi-ieudly testimony I have just re- 
feiTcd to, appeared, some years since, in 
the form in which I now give it, and, if 
I recollect right, in the Atheufeum : — 

" I embrace this opportunity of bear- 
ing my individual testimony (if it be of 
any value) to the extraordinary accu- 
racy of Mr. Moore, in his topographical, 
antiquarian, and characteristic details, 
whether of costume, manners, or less- 
changing monuments, both in his Lalla 
Rookh, and in the Epicurean. It has 
been my fortune to read his Atlantic, 
Bermudean, and American Odes and 
Epistles, m tlie countries and among 
the people to which and to whom they 
related ; I eajoyed also the exquisite de- 
light of reading his Lalla Rookh, in Per- 
sia itself; and I have perused the Epi- 
curean, while all my recollections of 
Egypt and its still existing wonders are 
as fresh as when I quitted the banks of 
the Nile for Arabia : — I owe it, there- 
fore, as a debt of gi-atitude (though the 
payment is most inadequate) for the 
great pleasure I have derived from his 
productions, to bear my humble testi- 
monv to their local fidelity. 

"J. S. E." 

Among the incidents connected with 
this work, I must not omit to notice the 
splendid Divertissement, founded upon 
it, which was acted at the Chatean. 
Royal of Berlin, during the visit of the 
Grand Duke Nicholas to that capital, in 
the year 1822. The different stories 
composing the work were represented in 
Tableaux Vivans and songs ; and among 
the crowd of royal and noble personages 
engaged in the performances, I shall 
mention those only who represented the 
principal characters, and whom I find 
thus enumerated in the published ac- 
count of the Divertissement.}: 

♦ Lalla Roflkb, Divertissement m6I6de Chants 
ot de Danses, Hcrlin, iHJv;. The work contains 
a series of colored engravings, representing 



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18 



PEBPACB. 



" Fadladin, Grand- ( Comte JTart/^k; (Mare- 
Nasir ( chaldeCoiu.) 

■^barij"' ^!,?.!; {s.A.LZeGrandDuc. 
T 11 -d' A^.^. \S. A. I. La Grand 

Anrnngzeb, le iS. A. R.Le Prince Qtiil- 

Grand Mogol, .. ( laumc. frire du Roi. 

Abdallah, Pere d' iS. A. K. Le Due de 

Aliris, I Cumberland. 

La Reine, son (5. A. R. La Prineesse 

epouse, ( Louise Radzivill." 

Besides these and other leading per- 
sonages, there were also brought into 
action, under the vanous denominations . 
of Seigneurs et Dames de Bucharie, 
Dames de Cachemire, Seigneurs et 
Dames dansans a la Fete des Roses, 
&G., nearly 150 persons. 

Of the manner and style in which the 
Tableaux of the diflerent stories are de- 
scribed in the work from which I cite, 
the following account of the perform- 
ance of Paradise and the Peri will afford 
some specimen : — 

" La decoration representoit les por- 
tes bnllantes du Paradis, entt)urees de 
nuages. Dans le premier tableau on 
voyoit la Peri, triste et desolee,^ cou- 
chee sui' le seuil des portes fermees, et 
I'Ange de lumiere qui lui addresse des 
consolations et des conseils. Le second 
represente le moment, oil la Peri, dans 
I'espoir que ce don Im ouvrira I'entree 
du Paradis recueille la demiere goutte 
de sang que vient de verser le jeuno 
guenier Indien 

" La Pen et I'Ange de lumiere repon- 
doient pleinemeut k I'image et a I'idee 
qu'on est tente de se faire de ces deux 
iudividus, et I'impression qu'a faite gen- 
eralement la suite des tableaux de cet 
episode delicat et interessant est loin 
de s'efFacer de notre souvenir." 

In this gi-and Pete, it appears, origi- 
nated the translation of Lalla Rookh 
into German verse, by the Baron de la 
Motte Fouque , and the circumstances 
which led him to undertake the task are 
described by himself, m a Dedicatory 
Poem to the Empress of Russia, which 
he has prefixed to his translation. As 
Boon as the performance, he tells us, 
had ended, Lalla Rookh (the Empress 
herseli") exclaimed, with a sigh, " Is it, 
then, all over ? are we now at the close 
of all that has given us so much dehght? 
groups, processions, Set., in different Oriental 
costumes 



and lives there no poet who will impart 
to others, and to future times, some no- 
tion of the happiness we have enjoyed 
this evening f On hearing this appeal, 
a Knight of Cachmere (who is no 
other than the poetical Baron himself) 
comes forward and promises to attempt 
to present to the world "the Poem it- 
self in the measure of the original :"— 
whereupon Lalla Rookh, it is added, 
approvingly smiled. 



PREFACE 

TO THE 

SEVENTH VOLUME. 



The station assigned to " The Fudge 
Family" in the following pages, imme- 
diately after Lalla Rookh, agrees but too 
closely with the actual order in which 
these two works were originally vmtten 
and pubhshed. The success, far ex- 
ceeding my hopes and deserts, with 
which Lalla Rookh was immediately 
crowned, relieved me at once from the 
anxious feeling of responsibility under 
which, as my reader.s have seen, that 
enterprise had been commenced, and 
which continued for some time to haunt 
me amidht all the enchantments of my 
task. I was therefore in the true holy- 
day mood, when a dear friend, with 
whose name is associated some of the 
brightest and pleasantest hours of my 
past life, * kindly offered me a seat m 
his carriage for a short \nsit to Paris. 
This proposal I, of course, most gladly 
accepted; and, m the autumn of the 
year 1817, found myself, for the first 
time, in that gay capital. 

As the restoration of the Bourbon dy- 
nasty was still of too recent a date for 
any amalgamation to have yet taken 
place between the new and ancient or- 
der of things, all the most prominent 
featiu-es of both rigimcs were just then 
brought, in their fullest relief, mto jux- 
taposition; and, accordingly, the result 
was such as to suggest to an uncon- 
cerned spectator quite as abundant mat- 
ter for ridicule as for gi'ave political con- 
sideration. It would be difficult, mdeed^ 

* Mr. Eoffera. 




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PREFACE. 49 



to convey to those "n-lio had not them- 
selves seen the Paris of that peiiod, any 
clear notion of the anomalous aspect, 
both social and poUtical, which it then 
presented. It was as if, in the days 
succeeding the Deluge, a small coterie 
of antediluvians had been suddenly 
evoked from out of the deep to take the 
command of a new and freshly-starting 
world. 

To me, the abundant amusement and 
interest which such a scene could not 
but afford, was a good deal heightened 
by my having, in my youthful days, 
been made acquainted with some of 
those personages who were now most 
interested in the future success of the 
Legitimate cause. The Comte D'Artois, 
or Monsieur, I had met in the year 
1802-3, at Donington Park, the seat of 
the Earl of Moira, under whose prince- 
ly roof I used often and long, in those 
days, to find a most hospitable home. 
A small party of distinguished French 
emigrants were already staying on a 
visit in the house when Monsieur and 
his suite amved ; and among those were 
the present King of France and his two 
brothers, the Due <le Montpensier, and 
the Comte de Beaujolais. 

Some doubt and uneasiness had, I 
remember, been felt l)}^ the two latter 
brothers, as to the reception they were 
likely to encounter from the new guest ; 
and as, in those times, a cropped and 
unpowdered head was regarded gen- 
erally as a symbol of Jacobinism, the 
Comte Beaujolais, who, like many other 
young men, wore his hair in this fashion, 
thought it, on the present occasion, 
'Oiosi prudent, in order to avoid all risk 
of offence, not only to put powder in his 
hair, but also to provide himself with 
an artificial queue. This measure of 
precaution, however, led to a slight in- 
cident after dinner, which, though not 
very royal or dignified, was at least 
creditable to the social good-humor of 
the future Charles X. On the departure 
of the ladies from the dming-room, we 
had hardly seated ourselves in the old- 
fashioned style round the fire, when Mon- 
sieur, who had happened to place him- 
self next to Beaujolais, caught a glimpse 
ot the ascititious tail,— which, having 
been rather carelessly put on, had a 
«50od deal straggled out of its place. 



With a sort of scream of jocular pleasure, 
as if dehghted at the discovery. Monsieur 
seized the stray appendage, and, l)ring- 
ing it around into full view, to the great 
amusement of the whole company, 
popped it into poor grinning Beaujolais' 
mouth. 

On one of the evenings of this short 
visit of Monsieur, I remember Curran 
arriving unexpectedly, on his way to 
London ; and, having come too late foi 
dinner, he joined our party in the even- 
ing. As tiie foreign portion of the com- 
pany was then quite new to him, I 
was able to be useful, by informing him 
of the names, rank, and other particulars 
of the party he found assembled, from 
Monsiem- himself, down to the old Due 
de Lorge and the Baron de Kolle. 
When I had gone thi-ough the whole 
list, *'Ah, poor fellows!" he exclaimed, 
with a mixtm-e of fun and pathos in Lis 
look, truly Irish, " Poor fellows, all dis- 
mounted cavalry !" 

On the last evening of Monsieur's 
stay, I was made to sing for him, among 
other songs, "Farewell Bessy!" one o! 
my earliest attempts at musical com- 
position. As soon as I had finished, he 
paid me the compliment of reading 
aloud the words as written under the 
music; and most royal havoc did ha 
make, as to this day I weD remember, 
of whatever little sense or metre they 
could boast. 

Among my earlier poetic writings, 
more than one grateful memorial may 
be found of the happy days I passed in 
this hospitable mansion, — * 

Of all my snnny morns and moonlight nigrhts 
On Doninfjtou'.s green lawns and breezy heights. 

But neither verse nor prose could do any 
justice to the sort of impression I still 
retain of those long-vanished days. The 
library at Donington wast extensive anc 
valuable; and through the prlvUoge 
kindly granted to me of retiring thithei 
for study, even when the family were 
absent, I frequently passed whole weeks 
alone in that fine' fibrary, indulging in 
all the first airy castle-building of 
authorship. The various projects, in- 

'Sce p. im of this edition. 

(In employing tlie past tense here. I do the 
present lord injustice, whose filial wish I know 
it is to keep all at Boniiigtoa ezootlj as a\s 
noble father left it. 



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50 



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deed, of fdture works that used then to 

pass in fruitless succession through my 
mind, can be compared only to the waves 
as described by the poet, — 
"And one no sooner touch'd the shore, and died. 
Than a new follower rose." 

"With that library is also connected 
another of my earlier poems, — the verses 
addressed to the Duke of Montpensier 
on his portrait of the Lady Adelaide 
Forbes,* for it was there that this truly 
noble lady, then in the lirst dawn of her 
beauty, used to sit for that pictm'e; 
while, in another part of the hljrary, the 
Duke of Orleans, — engaged generally at 
that time with a volume of Clarendon, 
—was by such studies imconsciously 
preparing himself for the high and 
arduous destiny, which not only the 
Good Genius of Prance, but his ovm 
sagacious and intrepid spirit, had early 
marked out for him. 

i need hardly say how totally differ- 
ent were all the circumstances under 
which Monsiem* himself and some of his 
followers were again seen by me in the 
year 1817; — the same actors, indeed, 
iaut with an entirely new change of 
scenery and decorations. Among the 
variety of aspects presented by this 
change, the ridiculous certainly predom- 
inated ; nor could a satmst who, like 
Philoctetes, was smitten with a fancy 
for shooting at geese,t ask any better 
supply of such game than the high 
places, in France, at that period, both 
lay and ecclesiastical, afforded. 'SoX. 
being versed, however, sufficiently in 
French politics to venture to meddle 
with them, even in sport, I found a 
more ready conductor of laughter— for 
which I was then much iu the mood— 
in those groups of ridiculous English 
who were at that time swarming in all 
directions throughout Paris, and of all 
whose various forms of cockneyism and 
nonsense I endeavored, in the person- 
ages of the Fudge Family, to collect the 
concentrated essence. The result, as 
usual, fell very far short of what I had 
myself preconceived and intended. 
But, makmg its appearance at such a 
crisis, the work brought with it that best 

" See p. 152 of this edition. 

t"Piunigero, non armigero in corpore tela 
exerceantur: '• the words put by Accius in the 
mouth of Philoctetes. 



seasoning of all snch jeux-d' esprit, the 
a-propos of the moment; and, accord- 
ingly, in the lace of successive editions, 
LaUa Rookh was, for some time, kept 
pace with by Miss Biddy Fudge. 

The series of triiies contained in this 
volume, entitled " Ehymes on the 
Road," were written partly as their ti- 
tle implies, and partly at a subsequent 
period from memorandums made on the 
spot. This will acc(nmt for so many of 
those pieces being little better, I fear^ 
than "prose fringed with rhyme." The 
journey to a part of which those Rhymes 
owed their existence, was commenced 
in company with Lord John Russell in 
the autumn of the year 1819. After a 
week or two passed at Paris, to enable 
I Lord John to refer to Baril Ion's Letters 
I for a new edition of his Life of Lord 
Russell then preparing, we set out to- 
gether for the "Simplon. At Milan, the 
agreeable society of the late Lord Kin- 
uaird detained us for a few days ; and 
then my companion took the route to 
Genoa, while I proceeded on a visit to 
Lord Byron, at Venice. 

It was during the journey, thus brief- 
ly described, I addressed the well-known 
Remonstrance to my noble friend,} 
which has of late been frequently cou- 
pled with my prophetic verses on the 
Duke of "Wellragtou,^ from the prescient 
spirit with which it so confidently looked 
forward to all that Lord John has since 
become in the eyes of the world. 

Of my visit to Lord Byron,— an event 
to me so memorable,— I have already 
detailed all the most interesting particu- 
lars in my pubhshed Life of the poet ; 
and shall here only cite, from that work, 
one passage, as having some reference 
to a picture mentioned in the following 
pages. " As we were conversing after 
dinner about the various collections of 
paintings I had seen that morning, on 
my saying that, fearful as I was of ever 
praising any picture, lest I should draw 
on myself the connoisseur's sneer, for 
my pains, I would yet, to him, venture 
to own that I had seen a picture at Mi- 
lan, which 'The Hagar!'|| he ex- 
claimed, eagerly inteiTupting me ; and 
it was, in fact, that very picture I was 

t See Miscellaneous Poems. 
§ See p. 264 of tliis edition, 
Abraham dismissing Hagar, by Guercino 




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PREFACE. 



about to mention to him as having 
awakened in me, by the truth of its ex- 
pression, more real emotion than any I 
had yet seen among the chefs-d'oeuvre 
of Venice." 

In the society I chiefly lived with, 
■while at Rome, I considered myself 
singularly fortunate ; though but a blind 
and uninitiated worshipper of those pow- 
ers of Art of which my companions 
were all high-pries*ts. Canova himself, 
Chantrey, Lawrence, Jacl<son, Turner, 
Eastlake,— such were the men of whose 
presence and guidance I enjoyed the 
advantage in visiting all that imrivalled 
Rome can boast of beautiful and grand. 
That I derived from this course of tui- 
tion any thing more than a very hum- 
bling consciousness of my own ignoraoce 
and want of taste, in matters of r.rt, I 
will not be so dishonest as to pretend. 
But, to the stranger in Rome every step 
forms an epoch ; and, in addition to all 
its own countless appeals to memory 
and imagination, the agreeable auspices 
under which I first vis' ted all ita memor- 
able places could not but render every 
impression I received more vivid and 
permanent. Thus, with my recollection 
of the Sepulchre of St. Peter, and its 
ever-burning lamps, for which splendid 
spot Canova was then meditating a 
statue,* there is always connected in 
my mind the exclamation which I her.^-d 
break from Chantrey after gazing, for a 
few moments, in silence, upon that glori- 
ous site,- ■" What a place to work for ! " 

In ono of the poems contained in this 
volume, T allusion is made to an evening 
not easily forgotten, when Chantrey and 
myself were taken by Canova to the 
Bvrghese Palace, for the pui-pose of 
showing us, by the light of a taper — his 
favorite mode of exhibitin;^ that work — 
his beautiful statue of the Princess Bor- 
ghese, called the Venere Vincitrice. In 
Chantrey's eagerness to point out some 
grace or efiect that pecuharly struck 
him, he snatched the hght out of 
Canova' s hand ; and to this circumstance 
the followmg passage of the poem re- 
ferred to was meant to allude : — 

"When he, thy peer in art and fame. 
Hung o'er the marble with delight;} 

* A statue, I believe, of Pius VI. 

; See Rhymes on the Road, Extr. xv. 

I A slight alteration here has rendered these 



And, while his ling'ring hand would steal 
O'er every jrraco the taper's rays. 

Gave the^, with all the gen'rous zeal 

Such master-spirits only feel. 
The best of fame — a rival's praise. 
One of the days that still Unger most 
pleasantly in my memory, and which, 
I trust, neither Lad.y Calcott nor Mr. 
Eastlake have quite forgotten, was that 
of our visit together to the Palatine 
Mount, when, as we sauntered about 
that picturesque spot, enjoying the 
varied views of Rome which it com- 
mands, they made me, for the first time, 
acquainted -with Guuli's spirited Ode on 
the Arcadians, in which there is poetry 
enough to make amends for all the non- 
sense of his rhyming brethren. Truly 
and grandly does he exclaim, — 

" Indoraita e superba ancor 6 Roma 
Benchd si voggiii col gran busto a terra ; 

Son piene di splendor le sue ruino, 

E il gran cenere suo si mostra eterno.'' 

"With Canova, while sitting to Jackson 
for a portrait ordered by Chantrey, I 
had morft than once some interesting 
conversation, — oi-, rather, listened while 
he spoke, — respecting the political state 
of Europe at that period, and those 
• bri_eoni," as he styled them, the sov- 
ereign? of the Holy Alliance , and, be- 
fore I loft Rome, he I;i"dly presented 
to me a set i engi-a'v^g rom some oi 
his finest statues, together with a copy 
of the b autifully printcf. '^o'iection of 
Poeme, which a Roman poet, named 
Missiriui, had written in praise of his 
different " Marmi." 

"When Lord John Russell and myseU 
parted at Mi;au, it was agreed bet-sveen 
us, that after a short visit to Rome, and 
(if practicable "uithin the allowed time) 
to ifaples, I was to rejoin him at Genoa, 
and fi'om thence accompany him to 
England. But the early period for 
which Parliament was summoned, that 
year, owing to the violent proceedings 
at Manchester, rendered it necessary 
for Lord John to hasten his return to 
England. I was, therefore, most fortu- 
nate, under such circumstances, in being 
permitted by my friends Chantrey and 
Jackson to join m their journey home- 
ward; through which lucky arrangement^ 
the same precious pnvilege I had enjoyed, 

Tcrses more true to the actual fact thau thej 
were iu the original form. 




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52 



PREFACE. 



at Kome, of hearing the opinions of sucli 
practised judges, on all the great works 
of art I saw in their company, was con- 
tinued afterwards to me through the 
various collections we visited together, 
at Florence, Bologna, Modena, Parma, 
Milan, and Turin. 

To some of those pictures and statues 
that most took my fancy, during my 
tour, allusions will be found in a few of 
the poems contained in this volume. 
But the great pleasure I derived fi-om 
these a'ld many other such works arose 
far more from the poetical nature of 
their subjects than from any judgment I 
had learned to form of their real merit 
as works of art, — a line of lore in which, 
notwithstandmg my course ot schooling, 
I remained, I fear, unenlightened to the 
last. For all that was lost upon me, how- 
ever, in the halls of Art, I was more than 
consoled m the cheap picture-gallery of 
Natiu-e; and a glorious sunset I wit- 
nessed in ascending the Simplon is still 
remembered Ijy me with ", depth and 
freshness of feeling which no one work 
of art I saw in the galleries of Italy 
has left behind. 

I have now a few words to devote to 
a somewhat kindred subject, with which 
a poem or two contained in ^he follow- 
ing pages are elos ly connected.* In 
my Preface to the first Volume of this 
collection, I briefly noticed the taste 
for PrivatT Theatrical Performances 
which prevailed during the latter half of 
the last century among the higher ranks 
in Ireland. This taste continued for 
nearly twenty years 1 1 smwive the epoch 
of the Union, and in the performances 
of the Private Theatre of Kilkenny gave 
forth its last, as veil as, perhaps, bright- 
est flash-' \ The life and soul of this 
institution was ouj manager, the late 
Mr. Kichard Power, i., gentleman who 
could boast i- larger cux-le of attached 
fi-iends, t-il •'^i rough a life more free 
from shadow or alloy, than any mdi- 
vidual it has ever been my lot to know. 
No livelier proof, mdeed,"^ could be re- 
quired cf the sort of feelmg entertained 
towards him than was once shown in the 
reception given to the two following 
homely lines which occurred in a Pro" 
logue i wrote to be spoken by Mr. Corry 
m the character of Vapid. 

* See page 542. 



'Tis said our worthy manager intends 

To help my night, and he, you know, has friends! 

These few simple words I wrote with 
the assured conviction that they would 
produce more efl'ect, from the homefelt 
tniism they contained, than could be 
effected by the most labored burst of 
eloquence ; and the result was just what 
I had anticipated, for the house ning, 
for a considerable time, with the hearti- 
est p' audit?. 

Tiie chief comic, or rather farcical, 
force of the company lay in my friend 
Mr. Corry, and "lougo inteiwallo," my- 
self; and though, as usual with low 
comedians, we were much looked down 
upon by the lofty lords of the buskin, 
many was the sly joke we used to in- 
dulge together at the expense cf our 
heroic brethren. Some waggish critic, 
indeed, is said to have declared that of 
all the personages of our theatre he most 
admired the prompter, — "because ho 
was least seen and best heard." But 
this joke was, of course, a mere good- 
humored slander. There were two, at 
least, of our dramatic corps, Sir Wrixou 
Becher and Mr. Rothe, whose powers, 
as tragic actors, few amateurs have ever 
equalled ; and Mr. Corry — perhaps alone 
of all our company — would have been 
sure of winning laurels on the pubhc 
stage. 

As to my own share in these represen- 
tations, the following list of my most suc- 
cessful characters will show how remote 
from the line of the Heroic was the 
small orbit tlu-ough which I ranged ; m}^ 
chief parts having been Sam, in " Rais- 
ing the "Wind," Robin Roughhead, Mun- 
go, Sadi, in the " Mountaineers," Spado, 
and Peeping Tom. In the part of Spa- 
do there occur several allusions to that 
gay rogue's shortness of stature, which 
never failed to be welcomed by my au- 
ditors with laughter and cheers ; and the 
words " Even Sanguino allows I am a 
clever little feUow " was always a signal 
for thii sort of friendly explosion. One 
of the songs, indeed, written by O'Keefe 
for the character of Spado, so much 
abounds with points thus personally ap- 
plicable, that many supposed, with no 
great comphment either to my poetry or 
my modesty, that the song had beeu 

i See page 542. 




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PRErA.CE. 



53 



written, expressly for the occasion, by 
myself. The following is the verse to 
whicL I allude, and for the poetry of 
"w jich I was thus made responsible : — 

" Though born to be little's my fate, 

Yet so was the great Alexander ; 
And, -nhen 1 walk under a gate, 

i've no need to stoop like a gander. 
I'm no lanky, long hoddy-doddy, 

"Whose paper-kite sails in the sky ; 
Thougli wanting two feet, in mv body, 

In soul, I am thirty feet high.^' 

Some further account of the Killcenuy 
Theatre, as well as of the history of Pri- 
Tate Theatricals in general, will be 
found in an article I wrote on the sub- 
ject for the Edinburgh Ee view, vol. xlvi. 
No. 92, p. 368. 



PEEFACE 

TO THE 



EIGHTH VOLUME 



On my retm-n from the interesting 
visit to Eome, of which some account has 
been given in the preceding Preface, I 
took up my abode in Paris, and, being 
joined there by my family, continued to 
reside in that capital, or its environs, 
till about the close of the year 1822. 
As no life,, however sunny, is without 
its clouds, I could not escape, of course, 
my share of such passing shadows ; and 
this long estrangement from our hanpy 
English home, towards which my fam- 
ily yearned even more fondly than my- 
self, had been caused by difficulties of a 
pecuniary nature, and to a large amount, 
in which I had been involved by the 
conduct of the person who acted as my 
deputy in the small office I held at Ber- 
muda. 

That I should ever have come to be 
chosen for such an employment, seems 
one of those freaks or anomalies of hu- 
man destiny which baffle all ordinary 
speculation; and went far, indeed, to 
reaRze Beaumarchais' notion of the sort 
of standard by which, too frequently, 
qualification for place is regulated, — 
' ' II fallut un calculateur ; ce fut un 
danseur qui I'obtint." 

But however much, in this instance, I 



;,uiFered from my want of schooling in 
matters of business, and more especially 
from my havmg neglected the ordinary 
precaution of requiring security fi-om my 
deputy, I was more than consoled for 
all such embarrassment, were it even 
ten times as much, by the eager kind- 
ness with which friends pressed forward 
to help to release me from my diiScul- 
ties. Could I ventui-e to name the per- 
sons, — and they were many,— who thus 
volunteered their aid, it would be found 
they were all of them men whose char- 
acters enhanced such a service, and that, 
in all, the name and the act reflected 
honor upon each other. 

I shall so far lift the veil in which 
such delicate generosity seeks to shroud 
itself, as to mention briefly the manner 
in which one of these Idjid friends,— 
himself possessing but limited means, 
— proposed to contribute to the object of 
releasing me from my embarrassments. 
After advertiug, in his letter, to my mis- 
fortunes, and " the noble way," as he 
was pleased to say, "in which I bore 
them," he adds,—''' would it be very im- 
pertinent to say, that I have 500/. en- 
tirely at your disposal, to be paid when 
you like ; and as much more that I could 
advance, upon any reasonable security, 
payable in seven years ? " The writer 
concludes by apologizmg anxiously and 
delicately for " the Hberty which he thus 
takes," assuring me that"" he would not 
have made the offer if he did not feel 
that he would most readily accept the 
same assistance from me." I select this 
one instance from among the many 
which that trying event of my hfe en- 
ables me to adduce, both ou account oi 
the deliberate feeling of manly regard 
which it manifests, and also from other 
considerations which it would be out of 
place here to mention, but whicb reu- 
dered so genuine a mark of friendship 
from such a quarter peculiarly touching 
and welcome to me. 

Wheasuch were the men who hastened 
to my aid in this emergency, I need 
hardly say, it was from no squeamisli 
pride,— for the pride would have been m 
receiving favors from such hands,— that 
I came to the resolution of gratefully 
declining their offers, and endeavoring 
to work out my deliverance by my own 
„«•„-*.„ With a credit still fresh in the 



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54 



PREFACE. 



market of literature, and -with publish- 
ers ready as ever to risk their thousands 
on my name, I could not but feel that, 
however gratifying -was the generous 
zeal of such friends, I should best show 
that I, in some degree, deserved their 
ofPers, by decUniug, imder such circum- 
stances, to accept them. 

Meanwhile, an attachment had been 
issued against me from the Court of Ad- 
mualty ; aud as a negotiation was about 
to be opened with the American claim- 
ants, for a reduction of their large de- 
mand upon me, — supposed, at that time, 
to amount to six thousand pounds, — 
it was deemed necessary that, pending 
the treaty, I should take up my abode 
in France. 

To write for the means of daily sub- 
sistence, and even in most instances to 
" forestall the slow harvest of the brain," 
was for me, unluckily, no novel task. 
But I had now, in addition to these 
home calls upon the Muse, a new, pain- 
ful, aud, in its first aspect, overwhelm- 
ing exigence to provide for ; aud, cer- 
tainly, Paris, swarming throughout as it 
was, at that period, with rich, gay, aud 
dissipated English, was, to a person of 
my social habits and multifarious ac- 
quaintance, the very worst possible place 
that could have been resorted to for 
even the semblance of a quiet or studi- 
ous home. The only tranquil, and, 
therefore, to me, most precious portions 
of that period wore the two summers 
passed by my family and myself with 
our kind Spanish friends, the y* * * * * 
* * Is, at their beautiful place. La Butte 
Coaslin, on the road up to Bollevue. 
There, in a cottage belonging to M. 
V** *****!, and but a few steps 
from his house, we contrived to conjure 
up an apparition of Sloperton ; * and I 
was able for some time to work with a 
feeling of comfort aud home. I used 
frequently to pass the morning in ramb- 
ling alone through the noble park of St. 
Cloud, with no apparatus for the work 
of authorship but my memorandum- 
book and pencils, forming sentences to 
run smooth and moulding verses into 
shape. In the evenings I generally 
joined with Madame y******* jn 

* •■ A little cot, with trees arow. 
And, like its master, very low." 
Pope. 



Italian duetts, or, with far more pleas- 
ure, sat as listener, while she sung to 
the Spanish guitar those sweet songs of 
her own country to which few voices 
could do such justice. 

One of the pleasant circumstances 
connected with our summer visits to 
La Butte was the near neighborhood of 
our friend Mr. Kenny, the lively dra- 
matic writer, who was lodged pictur- 
esquely in the remains of the Palace of 
the King's Aunts, at Bellevue. I re- 
member, on my first telling Kenny the 
particulars of my Bernnida mishap, his 
saying, after a pause of real feeling, 
" Well, — it's lucky you're a poet ; — a 
philosopher never cotdd have bome it." 
Washington Irving also v.as, for a short 
time, om" visitor; and still recollects, I 
trust, his reading to me some parts of 
his then forthcommg work, Bracebridge 
Hall, as we sat together on the grass 
walk that leads to the Kocher, at La 
Butte. 

Among the writings, then but in em- 
bryo, to which I looked forward for the 
means of my enfranchisement, one of 
the most important, as well as most 
likely to be productive, was my intend- 
ed Life of Sheridan. But I soon found 
that, at such a distance from all those 
living authorities from whom alone I 
could gain any interesting information 
respecting the private life of one -who 
left behind him so little epistolary cor- 
respondence, it would be wholly impos- 
sible to proceed satisfactorily with this 
task. Accordingly I wrote to Mr. Mur- 
ray aud Mr. Wilkie, who were at that 
time the intended publishers of the 
work, to apprise them of this temporary 
obstacle to its progi-ess. 

Being thus baffled in the very first of 
the few resources I had looked to, I 
next thought of a Romance in verse, in 
the form of Letters, or Epistles; and 
with this view sketched out a story on 
an Egyptian subject, differing not much 
from that which, some years after, 
formed the groundwork of the Epi- 
curean. After laboring, however, for 
some months, at this experiment, amidst 
interruption, dissipation, and distraction, 
which might well put all the Nine Muses 
to flight, I gave up the attempt in de- 
spau* ; — fully convinced of the truth of 
that warning conveyed in some early 



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PEEFACE. 



verses of my own, addressed to the 
Invisible Girl: — 

Oh hint to the bard, 'tis retirement alone 
Can hallow its harp or ennoble its tone ; 
Like you, with a veil of seclusion between, 
His song to the ■world let him utter unseen, 
&c. «!k:c.|- 

It was, indeed, to the secluded life I 
led during the years 1813—1816, in a 
Ion*? cottage among the fields in Derby- 
shire, that I owed the inspiration, what- 
ever may have been its value, of some 
of the best and most popular portions of 
Lalla Eookh. It was amidst the snows 
of two or three Derbyshire winters that 
I found myself enabled, by that concen- 
tration of thought which retirement 
alone gives, to call up around me some 
of the sunniest of those Eastern scenes 
which hcove since been welcomed iu 
India itself, as almost Dative to its 
clime. 

But, abortive as had now been all 
my efforts to woo the shy spirit of 
Poesy, amidst such unquiet scenes, the 
course of reading I found time to pur- 
sue, on the subject of Egypt, was of 
no small service in storing my mind 
with the various knowledge respecting 
that country, which some years later I 
turned to account, in writing the story 
of the Epicurean. The kind facilities, 
indeed, towards this object, which some 
of the most distinguished French 
scholars and artists afforded me, are 
still remembered by me with thankful- 
ness. Besides my old acquaintance, 
Denon, whose drawings of Egypt, then 
of some value, I frequently consulted, I 
foimd Mons. Fourier and Mons. Langles 
no less prompt in placing books at my 
disposal. With Humboldt, also, who 
was at that time in Paris, I had more 
than once some conversation on the 
subject of Egypt, and remember his 
expressing himself in no very laudatory 
terms respecting the labors of the French 
savans in that country. 

I had now been foiled and frustrated 
m two of those literary projects, on 
which I had counted most sanguinely in 
the calculation of my resources ; and, 
though I had found sufficient time to 
furnish my musical publisher with the 
Eighth Xumber of the Irish Melodies, 

t See p. 131 of this edition. 



and also a ISTumber of the Is^'ational Airs, 
these works alone, I knew, would yield 
but an insufficient supply, compared 
with the demands so closely and threat- 
eningly hanging over me. In this diffi- 
culty I called to mind a subject,— the 
Eastern allegory of the Loves of the 
Angels,— on which I had, some years 
before, begun a prose story, l)ut in 
which, as a theme for poetry, I had now 
been anticipated l)y Lord Byrou, in one 
of the most sublime of his many poetical 
miracles, " Heaven and Earth." Know- 
ing how soon I should be lost in the 
shadow into which so gigantic a precur- 
sor would cast me, I had endeavored, 
by a speed of composition which must 
have astonished my habitually slow pen, 
to get the start of my noble friend in the 
time of publication, and thus afford my- 
self the sole chance I could perhaps 
expect, under such unequal rivalry, of 
attracting to my work the attention of 
the public. In this humble speculatioTi, 
however, I failed ; for both works, if I 
recollect right, made their appearance 
at the same time. 

In the mean while, the negotiation 
which had been entered into with the 
American claimants, for a reduction of 
the amount of their demands upon me, 
had continued to " dra^ its slow length 
along ," nor was it till the month of Sep- 
tember, 1822, that, by a letter from the 
Messrs. Longman, I received the wel- 
come intelligence that the terms offered, 
as our ultimatum, to the opposite party, 
had been at last accepted, and that I 
might now with safety return to Eng- 
land. I lost no time, of course, in avail- 
ing myself of so welcome a privilege ; 
and as all that remains now to be told of 
this trying episode in my past life may be 
comprised within a small compass, I shall 
trust to the patience of my readers for 
tolerating the recital. 

On arriving in England I learned, for 
the first time, — havmg been, till then, 
kept very much in darkness on the sub- 
ject, — that, after a long and frequentl}^ 
inteiTuptod course of negotiation, the 
amount of the claims of the American 
merchants had been reduced to the sum 
of one thousand guineas, and that to- 
wards the payment of this the uncle of 
my deputy, — a rich London merchant,— 
had been brought, with some difficulty, 




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56 



PREFACE. 



to contribute three hundred pounds, I 
was likewise informed, that a very dear 
and distinguished Mend of mine, to 
whom, by his own desu-e, the state of 
the negotiation was, from time to time, 
reported, had, upon finding that there 
appeared, at last, eome chance of an ar- 
raagemeut, and learning also the amount 
of the advance made by my deputy's 
relative, immediately deposited in the 
hands of a banker the remaining portion 
(750?.) of the required sum, to be there 
in readiness for the final settlement of 
the demand. 

Though still adhering to my original 
pui"pose of owhig to my own exertions 
alone the means of relief from these dif- 
ficulties, I yet felt a pleasure in allow- 
ing this thoughtful deposite to be applied 
k» the generous purpose for which it was 
iestined ; and having employed in this 
ncinner the 7;/*Z., I then transmitted to 
my kind friend,— I need hardly say with 
what feelings of thanldulness,— a check 
on my publishers for the amount. 

Though this effort of the poet's purse 
was but, as usual, a new launch into the 
Future,— a new anticipation of yet un- 
born means, — the result showed that, at 
least in this instance, I had not count- 
ed on my bank " in nnbibns" too san- 
guinely ; for, on receiving my publish- 
ers' account, in the month of June fol- 
lowmg, I found lOOOL placed to my 
credit from the sale of the Loves of the 
Angels, and bOOl. from the Fables of the 
Holy Alliance. 

I must not omit to mention, that, 
among the resources at that time placed 
at my disposal, was one small and sacred 
sum, which had been set apart by its 
young possessor for some snob benefi- 
cent purpose. This fund, amounting to 
about 300?., arose from the proceeds of 
the sale of the first edition of a biograph- 
ical woriv, then recently published, 
which will long bo memorable, as well 
from its own merits and subject, as fi-om 
the lustre that has been since shed back 
upon it fi'om the public career of its no- 
ble author. To a gift from such hands 
might well have been applied the words 
of Ovid, 

acceptissima semper 

Muncra sunt, auctor qu;e pretiosa tacit. 

In this volui .-, and its immediate suc- 
cessor, will be found collected almost all 



those delinquencies of mine, in the way 
of satire, which have appeared, from 
time to time, in the public journals dur- 
ing the last twenty or thh-ty years. The 
comments and notices required to throw 
light on these political trifles must be re- 
served for our next volume. 



PEEFACE 

TO THE 

NINTH VOLUME. 



In one of those Ifotices, no less friend- 
ly than they are able and spirited, which 
this new Edition of my Poetical Works 
has called forth from a leading political 
jouraal, I find, in reference to the nu- 
merous satirical pieces contained in 
these volumes, the following sugges- 
tion:* — "It is now more than a quar- 
* The Times. Jan. 9, 1841. 

ter of a century since this bundle of po- 
litical pasquinades set the British pub- 
lic in a roar ; and though the events to 
which they allude may be well known 
to every reader, 

" Cujus octavnm trepidavit jetas 
Claudere lustrum," 

there are many persons, now forming a 
part of the literary public, who have 
come into existence since they happen- 
ed, and who cannot be expected, even 
if they had the leisure and opportunity, 
to ruramage the files of our old newspa- 
pers for a history of the perishable facts 
on which Mr. Moore has so often rested 
the flying artillery of his wit. Many of 
those facts will be considered beneath 
the notice of the grave historian ; and it 
is, therefore, incumbent on Mr. Moore — 
if he wishes his political squibs, imbued 
as they are with a wit and humor quite 
Aristophanic, to be relished, as they de- 
serve to be rehshed, by our great-grand- 
children — to preface them with a rapid 
summary of the events which gave 
them birth." 

"Without pausing here to say how grat- 
ifying it is to me to find my long course 
of Anti-Tory warfare thus tolerantly, 
and even generously spoten of, and by 
so distinguished an organ of pubhc opin- 
ion, I shall, as briefly as I can, advert 




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f^ Ur^ I 



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PREFACE. 



to the -^riters's friendly suggestion, and 
then mention some of those reasons which 
have induced me to adopt it. That I 
was disposed, at first, to annex some 
such commentary to this series of squibs, 
may have been collected from the con- 
cluding sentences of my last Preface ; 
but a little further consideration has led 
me to abandon this intention. 

To that kind of satire which deals only 
with the lighter follies of social life, with 
the passing modes, whims, and scandal 
of the day, such illustrative comments 
become, after a short time, necessary. 
But the true preserving salt of political 
satire is its applicability to future times 
aud generations, as well as to those 
which had first called it forth ; its pow- 
er of transmitting the scourge of ridicule 
through succeeding periods, with a lash 
stdl fresh for the back of the bigot and 
the oppressor, under whatever new 
shape they may present themselves. I 
can hardly flatter myself with the per- 
suasion that any one of the satirical 
pieces contained in this volume is likely 
to possess this principle of vitality ; but 
I feel quite certain that, without it, not 
all the notes and illustrations in which 
even the industry of Dutch commenta- 
torship could embalm them would en- 
sure to these trifles a life much beyond 
the present hour. 

Already, to many of them, that sort 
of relish — by far the least worthy source 
of their success — which the names of 
living victims lend to such sallies, has 
become, in the course of time, wanting. 
But, as far as their appociteness to the 
passing political events of the day has 
yet been tried — and the dates of these 
satires range over a period of nearly 
thuty years — their ridicule, thanks to 
the undying nature of human absurdity, 
appears to have lost, as yet, but little of 
the original freshness of its first applica- 
tion. ;N"or is this owing to any peculiar 
feUcity of aim in the satire itself, but to 
the sameness, throughout that period, 
of all its original objects; — the un- 
changea1)le natiure of that sphit of Mo- 
nopoly by which, under all its various 
impersonations, commercial, religious, 
and political, these satires had been first 
provoked. To refer but to one instance, 
the Com Question, — assuredly, the en- 
tir3 appositeness, at this very moment. 



of such versicles as the following, re- 
dounds far less to the credit of poesy 
than to the disgrace of legislation, — 

How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment 

all 

The Peers of the realm about cheap'ning the 

corn, 

When you know if oue hasn't a very hifjh rental, 

'Tis hardly worth while to be very high-born. 

That, being by nature so little prone 
to spleen or bitterness, I should yet have 
frequented so much the thorny paths of 
satire, has always, to myself aud those 
best acquainted" with me, been a matter 
of surprise. By supposing the imagina- 
tion, however, to be, iu such cases, the 
sole or chief prompter of the satire — 
which, in my own instance, I must say, 
it has generally been — an easy solution 
is found for the difficulty. The same 
readiness of fancy which, with but ht- 
tle help from reality, can deck out ' ' the 
CjTithia of the minute" with all possibla 
attractions, will likewise be able, when 
in the vein, to shower ridicule on a po 
litical adversary, without allowing a 
single feeling of real bitterness to mix 
itself with the operation. Even that 
sternest of all satirists, Dante, who, not 
content with the penal fire of the pen, 
kept an Inferno ever ready to receive 
the victims of his wrath, — even Dante, 
on becoming acquainted with some of the 
persons whom he had thus aoomed, not 
only revoked their awful sentenee, but 
even honored them vdth warm praise ;* 
and probably, on a little further acquaint- 
ance, would have admitted them into 
his Paradise. "WTien thus loosely and 
shallowly even the sublime satire of 
Dante could strike its roots in his own 
heart and memory, it is easy to con- 
ceive how light and passing may be the 
feeling of hostility with which a partisan 
in the field of satire plies his laughing 
warfare ; and how often it may happen 
that even the pride of hitting his mark 
outlives but a short tune the flight of 
the shaft. 

I cannot dismiss from my hands these 
political trifles, — 



" This swai-m of themes that settled on my pen. 
AVhich I, like summer-flies, shake oH 
again," — 

* In hia Convito ho praises very warmly some 
persons whom he had before abused. — See Fo8- 



colo, JJiscorso itU 2'e 



I/ante. 




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53 



PREFACE. 



without venturing to add that I hare 
now to connect with them one mourn- 
ful recollection — one loss from among 
the circle of those I have longest looked 
up to with affection and admiration — 
which I little thought, when I began 
this scries of prefatory sketches, I should 
have to mourn before their close. I 
need hardly add, that, in thus alluding 
to a great light of the social and polit- 
ical world recently gone out, I mean the 
late Lord Holland. 

It may be recollected, perhaps, that, 
in mentioning some particulars respect- 
ing an early squib of mine, — the Parody 
on the Prince Regent's Letter, — I spoke 
of a dinner at which I was present on 
t-he very day of the first publication of 
that Parody, when it was the subject of 
much conversation at table, and none of 
the party, except our host, had any sus- 
picion that I was the author of it. This 
host was Lord Holland ; and as such a 
name could not but lend value to any 
anecdote connected with literature, I 
only forebore the pleasm'e of adding 
such an ornament to my page, from 
knowing that Lord Holland had long 
viewed with disapprobation and regret 
much of that conduct of the Whig party 
towards the Regent in 1812-13,'' of the 
history of which this sqmb, and the wel- 
come reception it met with, forms an 
humble episode. 

Lord Holland himself, m addition to 
his higher intellectual accomplishments, 
possessed in no ordinary degree the talent 
of writmg easy and playful vers de sod- 
cte; and among the instances I could 
give of the lightness of his hand at such 
trifles, there is one no less characteristic 
of his good-nature than his wit, as it ac- 
companied a copy of the octavo edition 
cf Bay!e,t which, on heanng me rejoice 
one day that so agreeable an author had 
been at last made portable, he kindly 
ordered for me from Paris. 

So late, indeed, as only a month or 
two before his lordship's death, he was 
employing himself, with all his usual 
cheerful eagerness, in translating some 

♦ This will be seen whenever those valuable 
papers come to be published, which Lord IIol- 
laiid loft behind him, eontaiuing Memoirs of his 
own times aucl of those immediately precuding 
them. 

1 In sixteea volumes, published at Pans, by 
Deaoer. 



verses of Metastasio ; and occasionally 
consulted both Mr. Rogers and myself 
as to drfierent readings of some of the 
lines. In one of the letters which I re- 
ceived from him while thus occupied, I 
find the following postscript : — 

" 'Tis thus I turn th Italian's sonff, 
!N"or deem I read his meaning: wrong. 
But with rough English to combine 
The sweetness that's in every line. 
Asks for your Muse, and not for mine. 
Sense only will not quit tlie score ; 
"We musthave that, and- little J/ore." 

He then adds, " I send you, too, a 
melancholy Epigram of mine, of which 
I have seen many, alas, witness the 
truth :— 

A minister's answer is always so kind ! 

I starve, and he tells me he'll keep me in 

mind. 
Half his promise, God knows, would my 

spirits restore : 
Let hi;Q keep me— and, faith. I will ask for no 

more." 

The only portion of the mass of trifles 
contained in this volume, that first found 
its way to the public eye through any 
more responsible channel than a news- 
paper, was the Letters of the Fudge 
Family in England,— a work which was 
sure, from its very nature, to encounter 
the double risk of being thought dull as 
a mere sequel, and light and unsafe as 
touching on follies connected with the 
name of Religion. Into the question of 
the comparative dullness of any of my 
productions, it is not for me, of course, 
to enter ; but to the charge of treating 
religious subjects irreverently, I shall 
content myself with replying m the 
words of Pascal, - " II a bien de la dif- 
ference entre rire de la religion et rire de 
cenx qui la profanent par lem-s opmions 
extravagantes." 



PREFACE 

TO THli 



TENTH VOLUME. 

The story which occupies this volume 
was intended originally to be told m 
verse ; and a great portion of it was at 
first wntten m that form. This fact, 
as well as the character, perhaps, of the 




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PREFACE. 



•vrhole work, which a good dejil partakes 
of the cast and coloring of poetry, have 
been thought sufficient to entitle it to a 
piace in this general collection of my 
poetical writings. 

How little akin to romance or poesy 
were some of the circumstances under 
wliich this work was first projected by 
me, the reader may have seen from a 
preceding preface ;* and the following 
rough outhne, which I have found among 
my papers, dated Paris, July 25, 1820, 
will show both my first general concep- 
tion, or foreshadowing of the story, and 
likwise the extent to which I thought 
right, in afterwards working out this 
design, to reject or modify some of its 
details. 

"Began my Egyptian Poem, and 
wrote about thirteen or fourteen lines of 
it. The story to be told in letters from 
a young Epicurean philosopher, who, in 
the second century of the Christian era, 
goes to Bg3'pt for the purpose of discov- 
ering the ehxu* of immortality, which is 
supposed to be one of the secrets of the 
Egyptian priests. During a Festival on 
the Nile, he meets with a beautiful 
maiden, the daughter of one of the 
priests lately dead. She enters the 
catacombs, and disappears. He hovers 
around the spot, and at last finds the 
well and secret passages, &c., by which 
those who are initiated enter. He sees 
this maiden in one of those theatrical 
spectacles which formed a part of the 
subterranean Elysium of the Pyramids 
— finds opportunities of conversing with 
her — their intercourse in this mysteriou's 
region described. They are discovered ; 
and he is thrown into those subterranean 
prisons, where they who violate the rules 
of Initiation are confined. He is Mber- 
atod from thence by the young maiden, 
and taking flight together, they reach 
some beautiful region, where they linger, 
for a time, delighted, and she is near be- 
coming: a victim to his arts. But taking 
alarm, she flies; and seeks refuge with a 
Christian monk, in the Thebaid, to whom 
her mother, who was secretly a Chjis- 
tian, had consigned her in dying. The 
straggles of her love with her religion. 
A persecution of the Christians takes 
place, and she is seized (chiefly through 

* Preface to the Eighth Volume, p. 53 of this 
editiou. 



the unintentional means of her lover) 
and suffers martj-rdoni. The scene of 
her martyrdom described, in a letter 
from the Solitary of the Thebaid, and 
the attempt made by the young philoso- 
pher to rescue her. He is carried otf 
from thence to the cell of the Solitary. 
His letters from that retreat, after he 
has become a Chi'istian, devoting his 
thoughts entirely to repentance and the 
recollection of the beloved saint who 
had gone before him. — If I don't make 
something out of all this, the deuce is 
in't." 

According to this plan, the events of 
the story were to be told in Letters, or 
Epistolary Poems, addi'essed l)y the 
philosopher to a young Athenian friend ; 
but, for greater variety, as well as con- 
venience, I afterwards distributed the 
task of narration among the chief per- 
sonages of the Tale. The great diffi- 
culty, however, of managing, in rhyme, 
the minor details of a story, so as to be 
clear without growing prosaic, and still 
more, the difi'use length to which I saw 
narration in verse would extend, de- 
terred me from following this plan any 
further, and 1 then commenced the tale 
anew in its present shape. 

Of the Poems written for my fii'st ex- 
periment, a few specimens, the best I 
could select, were introduced into the 
prose Btoiy ; but the remainder 1 had 
thrown aside, and nearly forgotten even 
their existence, when a circumstance 
somewhat characteristic, perhaps, of 
that trading spirit which has now con- 
verted Parnassus itself into a market, 
again called my attention to them. The 
late Mr. Macrone, to whose general tal- 
ents and enterprise in business all who 
knew him will bear ready testimony, 
had long been anxious that I should un- 
dertake for him some new Poem or 
Story, affording such subjects for illus- 
tration as might call into play the fanci- 
ful pencil of Mr. Turner. Other tasks 
and ties, however, had rendered my 
compliance with this wish impractica- 
ble ; and he was about to give up all 
tnoughts of attaining his object, when 
on learning from me accidentally that 
the Epicurean was still my own prop- 
erty, he proposed to purchase of me the 
use of the copyright for a single Lllu.stnv 
ted edition. 




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60 



PEBFACE. 



The terms proffered by him being 
most Hberal, 1 readily acceded to the 
proposed arraugenieut ; but, ou further 
consideration, there arose some difficulty 
in the way of our treaty — the work it- 
self being' found insufficient to form a 
volume of such dimensions as would 
yield any hope of defraying the cost of 
the numerous illustrations then intended 
for it. Some modification, therefore, of 
our terms was thought necessary ; and 
then first was the notion suggested to 
me of bringing forth from among m;/ pa- 
pers the original sketch, or cpeuiig ut 
the story, and adJuig these iragm^ntj, 
as a sort" of make-weigh':, ia tlie m tual 
adjustment ot cm terms 

That I Lau iiyf.eit logai M fcit ttt 



experiment as a failure, was sufficiently 
shewn by my relinquishment of it. But;, 
as the published work had then passed 
through several editions, and had been 
translated into most of the languages ol 
Em'ope, it was thought that an insight 
into the anxious process by v/hich such 
success had been attained, might, as an 
encom-agement, at least, to the humble 
merit of painstaking, be deemed of liome 
little use. 

The following are the translations of 
this I'ale whic i Lave leached me : viz, 
two in Frencl ; iwo in Italian, (Milan, 
1836- -Venice, 1835 ) one in German, 
(Insp.xc, 132^ ;) ant cnj in Dutch, bj 
M. Hei-;aa:i ^ aj Lagl.eai, (Deventtr 




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THE POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

THOMAS MOORE 



ODES OF ANACEEON 

TE,A.]SrSLATEr) IISTTO ElSTGrl^ISH VERSE!. 

WITH NOTES. 



To His Kotal Highness the Prince of "Wales. 

SiR,~In allowing me to dedicate this Work to Tour Royal Highnesii, you have conforrpd 
upon me an honor which 1 feel very sensibly : and I have only to repet, that the panes 
•B'hich you have thus distinguished are not more deserving of such illustrious patronage. 
Believe me, Sir, with every sentiment of respect, Your Eoyal Highness's very grateful 
and devoted Servant, Thomas Mooue. 

AD VEETISEMENT. 

It may l>e necessary to mention, that, in arranging the Odes, the Translator has adopted 
the order of the Vatican MS. For those who wish to refer to the original, he has prefixed an 
index, which marks the number of each Ode in Barnes and the other editions. 



IISriDEX. 



BABNES 



1. ANAKPEON iStav /ne 

2. Aoxe jiioi Auprjf 'Ofxripov , 

3. Aye, ^(oypa^wr apicrre 
i. Toi' apyvpov Topmuiv 

5. KaAAiTex""! Moi TopevCTOV 

6. 2Tei/)0? TrXeKUiv nod' evpov 

7. Aeyoucrtf at yvvaiK€^ 
B. Ov not ^leAei ra Tvyov 
' Ai^es fi6 Tou; ^eous cot 

10. T(. crot ^tAei; noirjiTOi 

11. EpujTa KYipn'Ov Tis 

12. Oi iiiei' KaArfv Kuj3»)j3j)i/ 
1.3. ©eAu), ^cAoi <f>L\r]a-ai 
14 Ei0uAAa TTavra SfvSpiav 
1.5. Epacr/iir; jreAeia 
16. Aye, ^ujypa<f>(iii' apL<TTe 

1. TTopi^vpioK; vox trlsyllab 
XXIX. 3. ed. Fischer. Trop<l>vper) t ' .\tj>poSiTri 
Anacr. Fragm. XXXVI. 1. a^aipr^ Sevre ne nop- 
4>vpir), ut legendum plane ex Athenffio. AAi- 
7rop</)vpoi9 TaTTijo-c dixit Peeud-Anacn on, Od. 
VIII. 2. Theocr. Id. xv. 125. 7rop<j>vpeoi. Si TOTrTjres 
aroj, jLLaAaKujTepoc VTTVoi. 

5. Tmesis pro ap.<}>exop^vov. Theocr. Id. vxi. 
142. jTcoTwi'TO fovSai TTcpi iri&aKai dja</)i liiKiaaai., 
ll. e. aja<^e7rajT(0i'T0. 

6. Pseud Anacr. Od. LH. 12. Tpo/jLcpoU nocrlv 

7, 10. 6 ixku, kic-b Se, ille. Bion. Id. I. 82. 
\u> niv oio-Tojj, I &s 6' ewl Tofoi' e^att'", k. t. A. 
itidem de Amorlbus. 

8. 9. inaUi—iK Kipavvov. Pseud-Anacr. Od. 

XXVIII. 18. TO &k ^Kip-iio. viiv aAij^iis | otto toD 
jtvp'o% iToi-i\uov. 



ca. Anacr. Fragm. 



ODE 

17. rpa^e jiiot BafluAAov ovTto 

18. AoTe ixoi, &0T( yvvaiKCi . 

19. Ilapa TTji' (TKnqv, BaSvAAe 

20. At Mouaai Tor Eptora 

21. 'H yrj lOicAaira ffirei . 

22. ■ H Toi'TaAou ttot' ea-nj 

23. ©cAw Aeyeii/ ATpct5a? 
24 <I>ycrt9 Kepara raupot? 
2.5. 2u p.ei' <^tAr) x^'^i^wi' 

26. Su /uec Aeyeti Ta ©rjjSrji . 

27. El tcrxioti /nee tTTTrot 

28. ' O aviqp b Trjs KuSTjpr)? , 

29. XaXenov to ;u>) <^tAr)(rai , 

30. ESoKOvi' orap Tpo;(a^etv . 

31. ' YaKLveii'io p.e pa^Sw 

32. Effi /nvpo-tvais Tcpeivois . 
10, 11. KaAAtf^uAAots — p6SoL<rt 

Od. v. 3. TO pdSoi- TO KaK\{4,v\\ov. 
13. Tmesis pro KaTo(3ao-a. Pseud-Anacr. Od. 

III. 15. ava. S' eiiOii Xiixvov ai|/a5, h. e. avd^j/ai. 

18. Supple oi'op^a, quo toOto referatur. Eu- 
rip. Phoen. 12. toOto yap iraTrip | eflero. h.e. toCto 
ocoma. /SpoTuii' <t>t't\a ndvTo. adumbratum ex 
Pseud-Anacr. Od. III. 4. p-epoTruv &e </)CAa Travra. 

21. I'seud-Anacr. Od. xxrv. 2. /Siovou rpifiov 

25. .Esch. Eumen. 638.fi))5€ viv, \ »ce'p5os iSwi', 

dfleM TToSl Adf dTt- | 0-7)5. 

32. napeK I'doi' ye /i») /lot \aX(7raive, ne prcefer 
rationem in me scevi. D. Y. 133. 'Hpr), ^i>) 
;(aAeffai^e itapkK vdof. Similem positionem 
particularum /i^ fioi exblbet Pseud-Anacr. 
Od. XXVIII. 13. 



BARNES 

29 
21 
22 
30 
19 
20 

1 

2 

33 
16 
55 
45 
46 
44 



Pseud-Anacr. 




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62 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



ODE 

33. MecTOvuKTcoi? jroS' upaif . 

34. Maxapi^o/aei' (76, TCTTif • 

35. Epu)s ttot' er poSoicri 

36. *0 ttAovto? ctye xP^<^o^ • 

37. Ata vvKTOs cyKaScuSun" 

38. 'lAapoi jTioJixec otfOi/ ... 41 

39. *tiAu> "yepovTa TepTT^or j • • 47 

40. En-eiSr) ^poTos 6Ti;;^fl)}i/ ... 24 

41. Ti KaAoi' €<rTi /SaSifeil/ . 
fi. IloSew (xev Aioi>v<TOV • 

43. 2Te0avoKs fici/ KpoTa(f>oi(n 

44. To poSof TO 7U1U epoiTuiv . 

45. 'Orav TTii'ui Tov oivoi' , . , 25 

46. ISe, TTcos capo; ^oi'ei'TOS ... 37 

47. Eya> y^fnov jLtei' etjLtt . . 

48. 'OTai/ 6 Ba/cxo! eto-eA9r) . 

49. Tou Aids 6 Trai; BaK^os • 

50. 'Ot' €yui ITIO) TOl' OlCOl' . 

51. Mr) /H6 <J>u-yr); opcucra ... 34 

52. Ti /ie Tous vop.ous 6i5a<ricets . . 36 

53. *0t' e-yw vewv OjUiAoi' ... 54 

54. "O Taupos oiiTos, u irat . 

55. ^Te(f>ai'r]<j)opov fifT Hpos . 

66. 'O Toi' €1/ 77-oi'Ois aretpi) , 

67. Apa Tt? Topeucre jtoi'toi' . 
58. *0 SpaneTTj^ 6 xpvco^ . 
£9. Tor /a6Aafo;(pajTa jSorpuf . 

60. Ava /Sap^iTov docjjcrcii 

61. IIoAiot jiiei/ fi/ntc tjStj ... 66 

62. Aye Sr), <f>ep' rip-iv, u> nai ... 57 

63. Toi/ Epwra yap toi^ a^pov 

64. Foui'oup.at 0"" eAa(/)T)/3oA€ . 

65. IIwAe ©pTj/cir), Ti fir; /ue 

66. &€au}V ai'ttcTcja, KvTrpi . 

67. ii ffai jrapdcuoi' p\(iTiav . 

68. Eyco 5' out' ov Aixa\9eirit 



For the order of the rest, see the Notes. 



AN ODE 

»Y THE TBANSLATOB. 

Em pvSivoi'; Tajrrjat, 
Trjio! ttot' 6 /neAicTTjjs 
' IAapo5 yeAiov eiceiTo, 
MeflKwi/ Te »cai Aupifui'' 
A^</)i auToi' 01 6' epioTes 
'AffaAoi o-ii;'e;(Opev(Tav 
'O BeAtj Ta Ti)s Kv6r)p7)s 
Eiroiei, i/iKXI^ oio-Tous* 

O fie AevKa 7rop(f)vpot.(rt 
Kpiva (Tvv pofioKTt TrAefoSi 
K(^tAei OTe(/)wi' yepovTa* 

H 5e ^eawi' ai'acro-a, 

EO<I>IH ttot' cf OAu/iTTOW 

Ecroptotr* AraKpeoj^Ta, 
Effoptucra tous cpiuTas, 
'YTTOfieiSiao-o-o? eiTre' 
2o(|>e 6' is Ai'aKpeoi'Ta 
Tov (ro(^(oTaToi/ anavratv, 
KaXeovaiv oi <ro(^i<TTat, 
Tt, yeptui', T€0i/ /Stof /itef 
Tois epuxTi, TO) Avaio), 
K' OVK ejiiot KpaTfw eSa>Kai; 



Ti (jiiArj^a ttjs Kv6r)pr;r, 
Ti (CVTreAAa tou Auaiov, 
Atet y* eTpu(/)7j(Tas aStuf, 

Ou/c CfiOUS lOjUOUS 6l6a<7)C»»», 

Ou« efj.ov Xa^ojv awToy i 
'O 6e Ttjios /aeAicTTT)? 
M7)Te Sucrp^epaive, <()r)cri, 
' Otc, ^ea, <7ou y' ayeu /uei/; 
' O (7o<pioTaTos anai'TMi' 
riapa Ttoc a'o<^(oi' KaAou/xab* 
<[>iAeu), TTtio, Aupijoj, 
MeTa Ttoi/ KaAwv yvvaLKutif 
A<|)cAws 6e TepTTi'a Kaifw, 
* fl5 Aup>j yap, e/xov iJTOp 
Ai/aTTvei /lioi/ous eptoTas* 
' OSe /SioTou yaATji'Tji' 
^'tAewi' )U.aAio"Ta Trai'Toji', 
Ou <70(|)os /lieAioSos 6i/m," 
Tis (ro<p<oT€pOi /ncv eo-Ti,- 



COREECTIONS OF THE PREOEDING ODE. 

SUGGESTED BY AN EMINENT GBEEK SOHOLAK. 



'EIII' irop<^upeot5 Tdjr>)<rt 
Tijco's jtot" olSon-oibs 
iAapbs yeAa)»' e/cetTO, 
;aedu'u)i/ TC (tat Aupifiov 4 
TTcpl 6' ouTOi' o/ii^"Epu)Tes 

Tpo/nepoi; TToeri*' ^opfuoi'. ' 
ra ^eAe^tf' 6 /u-ei/ KuSijpijj 
en-oiei KaA^s, oicTTOU? 
JTupoei'Ta?, ex Kipavvov- 9 
6 6e AeuKa KaAAi(/)u'AAocs 
KotVa <rut' poSottrt irAe'^a;. 
e<l>i\ei a-Te(j><jiv yepovra. 
Kara. 6' cu0u! e'f 'OAu/i;rov 1 
2o</)i)} ^eaii-a ^a<7a, j 

eaopCja' 'Ara/cpeoi'Ta, 15 
idOpoKTa TOUS 'EpwTtts, 
uffop.ci6ccI)(ja (j>r](Ti,' 
'S,64>',~iiTel PpoTutv (re rovTO 
KaAtouo-i <|)uAa Trai'Ta, 19 
KaAAeouo-ii' ot <T0<^i<rToi,— 
Ti, yepiui', /u.aTiji' oSei/ets 
/SioTOU Tpi/Soi/ TeoO /u.ei' 
jneTo. Ttoi' Ka\o3v 'EptoTtav, 
fteTa TOU jraAou Auat'ou 

6/*^ 5' iSe Aaf aTi'^eis ; 25 

Ti (j>C\r]iJ.a. T>)s KuS^prj?, 
Ti (cuTreAAc tou Auaiou' 
eiract Tpv<l)U)v dcifieis, 



£/uia ^ecr/uii ov 



SiSdcTKoiv' 



#);io»' ou Aa^ioi* awTou ; oO 
6 Si Tjjios /u.eA(<)6bs, 
Su napix I'oov ye /ni) /noi ) 
XaAen-oLive, tftritr', ivjvOe ) 
OTt <rev o-o<#)bs xaAou/iiat 

Trapa Tw;/ (rocjbwv aTrdi'Tioi'. 



EtTI pofill'OtS TaWTJlTt 

TtjIos ttot' 'o jacAio- 

A/a(^i ouToi' oi 5' Ep. 

WTe« 
AjToAoi <Tu>'e;:^cipeuo'a;' 

ETTOiet, i^uxis ot(7Tous 



H 6e ^ea(i»> ava<T<ra 



Y7ro(xetSio(r<ros ein-e 

Toy <rO(^<oTaTO»' an- 

[avTuiif 



Tois Epcoo-i, Toj Au- 

aiia 
K' OUK e/xot KpaTeiv 

eSiofcas 



Ate? y' eTpv<f>rjCTai 
OuK e/aous I'o/ious 

filfiaCTKlOl' 

Ou/c enot' Aa;;(U)r aw 
[toi- 
M^Te Suo'xepotve, 

(/)r)(ri 
' Oti, ^eo, (TOU y' av- 

eu mev 
' O (70<j><oTaT6i anav- 

TfcJI' 




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C''"^^—^ 



}q>^im^^^4 



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ODES OF ANACREOK 




63 



a4n\ioi; Se TtpTTva. jrat'fw _ 

Kiddpr) yap, <u9 /ceap Aieu, ' I2« AupiJ y^Pi <MOV 
avanyel iiovovi'EptoTai;. ^ [l^op 

jSioTou 5e T-qv yakrivrjv 41 'IMe /SioTou yoArji'tjj' 
(fitAeo)!' /naAto-ra navToiv 

crc^b? ou /leAaiSo? ei/xt; Ou ao<l>o^ jueAwSo? 

Ti (TO(j>u>Tepou yei/oir' dr ; |«<-*ii 

e/iiOev ao^urepof th; 45 Ti? <ro</>ioTepos ^ei/ 
ecTTi 

EEMARKS OX AXACEEON". 

There is very little known with cer- 
tainty of the hie of Anacreon. Chamfe- 
leon Heracleotes, * who wrote upon the 
subject, has been lost in the general 
wreck of ancient literature. The editors 
of the poet have collected the few trifling 
anecdotes which are scattered through 
the extant authors of antiquity, and, 
supplying the deficiency of materials by 
fictions of their own imagination, they 
have arranged, what they call, a life of 
Anacreon. These specious fabrications 
are intended to indulge that interest 
which we naturally feel in the biography 
of illustrious men ; but it is rather a 
dangerous kind of illusion, as it con- 
founds the limits of history and ro- 
mance, t and is too often supported by 
unfaithful citation,}: 

Our poet was born in the city of T6os, § 
in the delicious region of Ionia, and the 
time of his birth appears to have beer, in 
the sixth century before Christ. || He 
flourished in that remarkable period, 
when, under the polished tyrants Hip- 
parchus and Polycrates, Athens and 

* He is quoted by Athenaeus ev tw ntpL tou 

XvaxpeovTO^. 

1 The History of Anacreon, by Ga^on (le 
Po6tesans fard, as he styles himself,) is pro 
fessedly a romance ; nor does Mademoiselle 
Scuderi, from whom he borrowed the idea, pre 
tend to historical veracity in her account of 
Anacreon and Sappho. These, then, are al- 
lowable. But how can Barnes be forgiven, 
who, with all the confidence of a biographer, 
traces every wandering of the poet, and settles 
him at last, in his old age, at a country villa 
near T6os ? 

X The learned Bayle has detected some infidel- 
ities of quotation in Le Fevre. {Diclionnaire 
Ilistoriqiie, &c.) Madame Daeier is not more 
accurate than her father: they have almost 
made Anacreon prime minister to the monarch 
of Samos. 

§ The Asiatics were as remarkable for genius 
as for luxury, "lugenia Asiatica inclyta per 
gcntes fecere Poette, Anacreon, inde Mimner- 
mus et Antimachus," &c. — Solinug. 

II I have not attempted to define the particu 
lar Olympiad, but have adopted the idea of 



Samos were become the rival asylums 
of genius. There is nothing certain 
known about his family, and those who 
pretend to discover in Plato that he was 
a descendant of the monarch Codrus, 
show much more of zeal than of either 
accuracy or judgment.il 

The disposition and talents of Anac- 
reon recommended him to the monarch 
of Samos, and he was formed to be the 
friend of such a prince as Polycrates. 
Susceptible only to the pleasures, he 
felt not the corruptions of the com-t ; 
and, while Pythagoras fled from the ty- 
rant, Anacreon was celebrating his 
praises on the lyre. "We are told too by 
Maximus Tyrius, that, by the influence 
of his amatory songs, he softened the 
mind of Polycrates into a spirit of be- 
nevolence towards his subjects.** 

The amours of the poet, and the rival- 
ship of the tyrant,tt I shall pass over in 
silence ; and there are few, I presume, 
who will regret the omission of most o{ 
those anecdotes, which the industry of 
some editors has not only promulged, 
but discussed. "Whatever is repugnant 
to modesty and virtue is considered in 
ethical science, by a supposition very 
favorable to humanity, as impossible; 
and this amiable persuasion should be 
much more strongly entertained, where 
the transgression wars with nature as 
well as virtue. But why are we not al- 
lowed to indulge in the presumption ? 
"Why are we otficiously reminded that 



Bayle, who says, " Je n'ai point marqu6 d'Olym- 
piade ; car pour nn homme qui a v6cu 85 ans, il 
rae semble que Ton ne doit point s enfermer 
dans des bornes si 6troites. ' 

U This mistake is founded on a false inter- 
pretation of a very ol)vious passage in Plato's 
Dialogue on Temperance; it originated with 
Madame Daeier, and has been received implic- 
itly by many. Gail, a late editor of Anacreon, 
seems to claim to himself the merit of detecting 
this error ; but Bayle had observed it before 
him. 

** ApdKpeiav Sa/ticocf IIoAu/cpaTrji' ijp.epu}(Te. 

Maxim. Tyr. ^ 21. Maximus Tyrius mentions 
this among other instances of the influence of 
poetry. If Gail had read Maximus Tyrius, 
how could he ridicule this idea in Moutonnct, 
as unanthenticated ? 

tt In the romance of Clelia, the anecdote to 
which I allude is told of a yi.nng girl, with 
whom Anacreon fell in love while slie person- 
ated the god Apollo in a mask. But here Made- 
moiselle Scuderi consulted natur-' more than 
truth. 




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64 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



there ha^e been really such instances of 
depravity ? 

Hipparchus. who now maintained at 
Athens the power which his father Pis- 
istratus had" usurped, was one of those 
princes who may be said to have pol- 
ished the fetters of their subjects. He 
was the first, accordinji? to Plato, who 
edited the poems of Homer, and com- 
manded them to be sung by the rhap- 
oodists at the celebration of the Pana- 
thenaea. Prom his court, which was a 
sort of galaxy of genius, Anacreon could 
not long be absent. Hipparchus sent a 
barge for him ; the poet readily em- 
braced the invitation, and the Muses 
and the Loves were wafted with him 
to Athens.* 

The manner of Anacreon's death was 
singular. We are told that in the eighty- 
fifth year of his age he was choked by" a 
grape-stone ;t and, however we may 
smile at their enthusiastic partiality, 
who see in this easy and characteristic 
death a peculiar indulgence of Heaven, 
we cannot help admmng that his fate 
should have been so emblematic of his 
disposition. Ca?lius Calcagninus al- 
ludes to this catastrophe in the follow- 
ing epitaph on our poet :t — 
Tbose lips, then, hallow'd sage, which poiir'd 
A music sweet as any cygnet's song, [along 

* There is a very interesting French poem 
founded npon tliis anecdote, imputed to Desy- 
vetaux, and called "Anacreon Citoyen." 

f Fabricins appears not to trust veiy implicit- 
ly in this story. " Uvm passae acino tandem 
suflFocatus, si credimus Suidfe in oh-ottott)? ; 
alii euim hoc mortis genere periise tradunt So- 
phoclem. "— ^''aijncu Bibliothec. Groec. lib. ii. 
cap. 15. It must be confessed that Lucian, who 
tells us that Sophocles was choked by a grape- 
stone, in the very same treatise mentions the 
longevity of Anacreon, and yet is silent on the 
manner of his death. Could he have been ig- 
norant of such a remarkable coincidence, or, 
knowing, could he have neglected to remark 
it ? See Kegnier's introduction to his Anac- 
reon. 
JAt te, sancte senex, acinus sub Tartara misit; 

Cygneaj clausit qui tibi vocis iter. 
Vos, hederiB, tumulum, tumulum vos cingite, 
lauri. 
Hoc rosa perpetuo vernet odora loco ; 
At vitis procul hinc, procul hinc odiosa faces- 
sat. 
Quae causam dirae protulit uva, necis, 
Creditnr ipso minus vitem jam Bacchus 
am are, 
In vatem tantum quae fuit ansa nefas. 
Tlic author of this epitaph, Cselius Calcagni- 
nus. .1:13 translated or imitatett tne epigrams 



The grape hath closed forever ! 
Here let the ivy kiss the poet's tomb. 
Here let the rose he loved with laurels bloom, 

In bands that ne'er shall sever. 
But far be thou, oh ! far, unholy vine. 
By whom the favorite, minstrel of the Nine 

Lost his sweet vital breath ; 
Thy God himselfnow blushes to confess. 
Once hallow'd vine ! he feels he loves thee Icsx 

Since poor Anacreon's death. 

It has been supposed by some writers 
that Anacreon and Sappho were con- 
temporaries ; and the very thought of 
an intercourse between persons so con- 
genial, both in warmth of passion and 
delicacy of genius, gives such play to 
the imagination, that the mind loves to 
indulge in it. But the vision dissolves 
before historical truth ; and Chamceleon 
and Hermesianax, who are the source of 
the suppo.sition, are considered as hav- 
ing merely indulged in a poetical anach- 
ronism. § 

To infer the moral dispositions of a 
poet from the tone of sentiment which 
peiwades his works, is sometimes a very 
fallacious analogy; but the soul of 
Anacreon speaks so unequivocally 
through his odes, that we may safely 
consult them as the faithful mirrors of 
his heart. II We find him there the ele- 
gant voluptuary, diffusing the seductive 
charm of sentiment over passions and 

ei? Ty\v Mupwi'o? ^oi)»',whieh are given under the 
name of Anacreon, 

§ Barnes is convinced (but very gratuitously) 
of the synchronism of Anacreon and Sappho. 
In citing his authorities, he has strangely neg- 
lected the line quoted by FulviusTJrsiuus.as from 
Anacreon, among the testimonies to Sappho : — 

Eifxt Aa/3(ijc ettrapa^ 2a7r(^aj irapO^vou ahv^tjivov, 

Fabricins thinks that they might have been con 
temporary, but considers their amour as a tale 
of imagination. Vossius rejects the idea en- 
tirely ; as do also Olans Borrichius and others. 
II An Italian poet, in some verses on Bel- 
lean's translation of Anacreon, pretends to im- 
agine that our bard did not feel as he wrote :— 

Lyfeum, Venerem, Cnpidinemque 
Senex lusit Anacreon poeta, 
Sed quo tempore nee capaciores 
Rogabat cyathos, nee inquietis 
Urebatur amoribus, sed ipsis 
Tantum vorsibus et jocis amabat, 
Nullum prffi se habitiim gerens amantis. 
To Love and Bacchus ever young 

"While sage Anacreon touch'd the lyre 
He neither felt the loves he sung, 

Kor tiU'd his bowl to Bacchus higher. 
Those flowery days had faded long, 

When youth could act the lover's part ,- 
And passion trembled in his song. 

But never never, reach d nis heart. 



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ODES OP ANACREOir. 



61 



propensities at which rigid morality 
must frovvn. His heart, devoted to iu- 
dolence, seems to have thought that 
there is wealth enough in happiness, but 
seldom happiness in mere wealth. The 
cheerfulness, indeed, with which he 
brightens his old age is interesting and 
endearing : like his own rose, he is fra- 
grant even in decay. But the most pe- 
culiar featm*e of his mind is that love of 
simplicity which he attributes to him- 
self so feelingly, and which breathes 
characteristically throughout all that he 
has sung. In trath, if we omit those 
few vices in our estimate which religion, 
at that time, not only connived at, but 
consecrated, we shall be inclined to say 
that the disposition of our poet was 
amiable ; that his morality was relaxed, 
but not abandoned ; and that Virtue, 
with her zone loosened, may be an apt 
emblem of the character of Anacreon. * 
Of his person and physiognomy time 

* Anacreon's character lias been variously 
colored. Barnes lingers on it with enthusiastic 
adiuiration ; but he is always extravagant, if 
not sometimes also a little profane. Baillet 
runs too much into the opposite extreme, ex- 
ap,}rerating also the testimonies which he lias 
consulted; and we cannot surely agree with 
him when he cites such a comp"iler as Athe- 
naeus, as "un des plus savans critiques del'an- 
tiqmti.'—Jiifii'.mentdesSgavans, M. CV. 

Barnes could hardly have read the passage 
to which he refers, when he accuses Le Fevre 
of having censured our poefs character in a 
note on Longinus ; the note in question being 
manifest irony, in allusion to some censure 
passed upon Le Fevre for his Anacreon. It is 
clear, indeed, that praise rather than censure 
is intimated. See Johannes Vulpius, (de Utili- 
tate Poetices,) who vindicates our poet's repu- 
tation. 

I It is taken from the Bibliotheca of Fulvius 
TJrsinns. Bellori has copied the same head into 
his Imagines Johannes Faber, in his descrip- 
tion of the coin of Ursinus, mentions another 
liead on a very beautiful cornelian, which he 
supposes was worn in a ring by some admirer 
of the poet. In the Iconographia of Canini 
there is a youthful head of A nacreou from ,i 
Grecian medal, with the letters TEI02 anmnd 
it ; on the reverse there is a Neptune, holding 
a spear in his right hand, and a dolphin, with 
the word TIANliN inscribed, in the left; "vol- 
endoci denotare (says Canini) che quelle cit 
tadiiii la coniassero in honore del suo compatri- 
ota poeta." There is also among the coins of 
De Wilde one which, though it bears no effigy, 
was probably struck to the memory of Ana- 
c»eon. It h*s the word THION, encircled witli 
an ivy crown. "At quidni respicit hiec corona 
Auacreontem, nobilem lyrioum ?" — De WiUe. 

I Besides those which are extant, he wrote 
hymus. elegies, epigrams, &c. Some of the 



has preserved such uncertain memorials, 
that it were better, perhaps, to leave the 
pencil to fancy ; and few can read the 
Odes of Anacreon without imagining to 
themselves the form of the animated 
old bard, crowned with roses, and sing- 
ing cheerfully to his lyre. But the head 
of Anacreon, prefixed to this WGrk,t has 
been considered so authentic, that we 
scarcely could be justified in the omis- 
sion of it ; and some have even thought 
that it is by no means deficient in tuat 
benevolent suavity of expression which 
should characterize the countenance of 
such a poet. 

After the very enthusiastic eulogiums 
bestowed both by ancients and moderns 
upon the poems of Anacreon,t we need 
not be diSident in expressing om- rap- 
tures at their beauty, nor hesitate to 
pronounce them the most polished re- 
mains of antiquity.^ They are, irfdeed, 
aU beauty, all enchantment. I| He steals 

epigrams still exist. Horace, in addition to the 
mention of him, (lib. iv. od. 9,) alludes also to a 
poem of his upon the rivalry of Circe and Pen- 
elope in the affections of Ulvsses, lib. i. od. 17; 
and the scholiast upon Nicander cites a fragment 
from a poem upon Sleep by Anacreon, and 
attributes to him likewise a medicinal treatise. 
Fiilgcntius mentions a work of his upon the 
war between .Jupiter and the Titans, and the 
origin of tlie con.^ecration of the eagle. 

^ See Horace. Maximus Tyriiis, &c. " His 
style (says Scaliger) is sweeter than the juice 
of the Indian reed. ' — Poet. lib. i. cap. 44. 
" From the softness of his verses (says Olaus 
Borrichius) the ancients bestowed on him the 
epithets sweet, delicate, graceful, &c. —Dis- 
sertationes Academicce, de Poetis, diss. '2. 
Sealiger again praises him thus in a pun : speak- 
ing of the jacAo?, or ode. "Anacreon autem non 
solum dedit haec tieKrj sed etiam in ipsis mella." 
See the passage of Rapin, quoted by .all the 
editors. I cannot omit citing also the fol- 
lowing very spirited apostrophe of the author 
of the Commentary prefixed to the Parma edi- 
tion: "O vos sublimes animse, vos Apollinis 
.Tlumni. qui post unum Alcmanem in tota Hel- 
lade lyricam poesim essuscitastis, coluistis, 
amplificastis, quieso vos an uUus unquam fuc-rit 
vates qui Teio cantori vel naturae candore vel 
metri suavitate palmam nrseripuerit." See like- 
wise Vincenzo Gravini della Kag. Poetic, libro 
primo, p. 97. Among the Kitratti of Marino, 
there is one of Anacreon beginning "Cinge- 
temi la fronte," &c., &c. 

II "We may perceive," says V«ssius, "that 
the iteration "of his words conduces vorv much 
to the sweetness of his style." Henry .Stephen 
remarks the same beauty in a nott on the forty- 
fourth ode. This figure of iteration Is his most 
appropriate grace :— but tlio modern writers of 
Juvenilia anil Basia have adopted it to an ex 
cess which destroys the cflfcct. 



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MOOEE'S WORKS. 



us so insensibly along with him, that ^vc 
sympathize even in his excesses. In his 
amatory odes there is a delicacy of com- 
phment not to be found in any other 
ancient poet. Love at that period was 
rather an unrefined emotion: and the 
intercom-se of the sexes was animated 
more by passion than by sentiment. 
They knew not 'those little tendernesses 
which form the spiritual part of affec- 
tion ; their expression of feeling was 
therefore rude and unvaried, and the 
poetry of love deprived it of its most 
captivating gi'aces. Anacreon, however, 
attained some ideas of this purer gallan- 
try ; and the same delicacy of mind 
which led him to this refinement, pre- 
vented him also from yielding to the 
freedom of language which has sullied 
the pages of all the other poets. His 
descriptions are warm ; but the warmth 
is in the ideas, not the words. He is 
sportive without being wanton, and 
ardent without being licentious. His 

Eoetic invention is always most bril- 
autly displayed in those allegorical fic- 
tions which so many have endeavored 
to imitate, though all have confessed 
them to be inimitable. Simplicity is 
the distinguishing feature of these odes, 
and they interest by their innocence, as 
much as they fascinate by their beauty. 
They may be said, indeed, to be the 
very infants of the Muses, and to lisp in 
numbers. 

I shall not be accused of enthusiastic 

f)artiality by those who have read and 
elt the original; but, to others, I am 
conscious, this should not be the lan- 
guage of a translator, whose faint reflec- 
tion of such beauties can but ill justify 
his admiration of them. 

In the age of Anacreon music and 
poetry were inseparable. These kindred 

* In the Paris edition there are four of tbe 
orig'inal odes set to music, by Le Sueur, Gossec, 
Mc'hnl, and Clierulnni. "On chante du Latin, 
et de I'ltalieu," says Gail, "quelqiiefois meme 
sau les entendre ; qui empeche que nous ne 
chantions des odes Grecques ?'' The chromatic 
learning of these composers is very unlike what 
T\e are told of the simple melody of the ancients; 
and they have all, as it appears to me, mistaken 
the accentuation of the words. 

t The Panna commentator is rather careless 
in referring to this passage of Aulus Gellius, 
(lib, xix. cap. 9.) The ode was not sung by the 
rhetorician Julianus, as he says, but by the 
minstrels of both sexes, v^ho were introduced at 
the entertainment. 



talents were for a long time associated, 
and the poet always sung his own com- 
positions to the lyi-e. It is probable 
that they were not set to any regular 
an-, but rather a kind of nmsical recita- 
tion, which was varied according to the 
fancy and feelings of the moment.*' The 
poems of Anacreon were sung at ban 
quets as late as the time of Aulus Gel 
lius, who tells us that he heard one of 
the odes performed at a birthday enter- 
tainment, t 

The singular beauty of our poet's 
style, and the apparent facility, per- 
haps, of his metre, have attracted, as I 
have already remarked, a crowd of imi- 
tators. Some of these have succeeded 
with wonderful felicity, as may be dis 
cerned in the few odes whicli are at- 
tributed to writers of a later period. 
But none of his emulators have been 
half so dangerous to his fame as those 
Greek ecclesiastics of the early ages, who, 
being conscious of their own infeiiority 
to their great prototyiies, determined on 
removing all possibility of comparison, 
and, under a semblance of moral zeal, 
deprived the world of some of the most 
exquisite treasures of ancient times.t 
The works of Sappho and Alcfeus were 
among those flowers of Grecian literatm-e 
which thus fell beneath the rude hand of 
ecclesiastical presumption. It is tnie 
they pretended that this sacrifice of 
genius was hallowed by the interests of 
religion; but I have already assigned 
the "most probable motive ;S and if Gre- 
gorius Nazianzeuus had not wntten 
Anacreontics, we might now perhaps 
have the works of the Teiau unmutila- 
ted, and be empowered to say exultingly 
with Horace, 

Nee si quid olim lusit Anacreon 

Delevit »tas. 

t See what Colomesius, in bis " Literary 
Treasures," has quoted from Alcyoniiis de Es- 
ilio ; it may be found in Baxter. Colomesius. 
after citing the passage, adds. " Hiec auro 
contra cara non potui non apponere." 

fi We may perceive by the beginning of tl.o 
first hymn or Bishop Syncsius, that he made 
Anacreon and Sappho his models of composi- 
tion. 

A-ye /HOI, Aiyeta <^op^ityf, 
MeTa Trjiav aoiSav, 
Mera Aetr^ta;' Te fioKirav, 

Margnnius and Damascenus were likewis* 
authors of pious Anacreontics. 




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ODES OP AN-ACREOK 



The zeal by which these bishops pro- 
fessed to be actuated, gave birth more 
innocently, indeed, to an absurd species 
of parody, as repugnant to piety as it is 
to taste, where the poet of voluptuous- 
ness was made a preacher of the gospel, 
and his muse, like the Venus m armor 
at Laceda?aion, was aiTayed in all the 
severities of priestly instruction. Such 
was the "Anacreon Reeantatus," by 
Carolus tie Aquino, a Jesuit, published 
1701, which consisted of a series of 
palinodes to the several songs of our 
poet. Such, too, was the Christian Ana- 
creon of Patnganus, another Jesuit," 
who preposterously transferred to a 
most sacred subject all that the Grecian 
poet had dedicated to festivity and love. 
His metre has frequently been adopted 
by the modem Latin poets ; and Scaliger, 
Taubman, Barthius,t and others, have 
shown that it is by no means uncon- 
gcniaJ with that language, t The Ana- 
creontics of Scaliger, however, scarcely 
deserve the name ; as they glitter all 
over with conceits, and, though often 
elegant, are always labored. The beau- 
tiful fictions of Augerianus ^ preserve 
more hapi^ily than any others the delicate 
turn of those allegorical fables, which, 
passing so frequently through the 
mediums of version and imitation, have 
generally lost therr finest rays in the 
transmission. Many of the Italian poets 
have indulged their fancies upon the 
sul^ijects, and in the manner of Ana- 
creon. Bernardo Tasso first introduced 
the metre, which was afterwards polished 

■* This, perhaps, is the " Jesuita quidara 
Grsecuhis ' alluded to by Barnes, who has liiiu- 
self composed an Ai'aKpecoi' Xpio-Tiai/o?, as absurd 
as the rest, but somewhat more sUil.'iilly exe- 
cuted. 

1 1 have seen somewhere an account of the 
MSS. of Barthius, written just after his death, 
which mentions many more Anacreontics of 
his than I believe have ever been published. 
i Thus too Albertus, a Danish poet :— 
Fidii tui minister 
Gaudebo semper esse, 
Gaudebo semper illi 
Litaro thuro mulso ; 
Gaudebo semper ilium 
Laudare pumilillis 
Anacreonticillis. 
See the Danixh Poets collected by Rotsgaard. 
These pretty littlenesses defy translation. A 
beautiful Anacreontic by Hugo Grotius, may 
be found Lib. i. Farraginis. 

§To Angerianus Prior is indebted for some 
of his happiest mythological subjects. 



and enriched by Chabriera and others. 1 
To judge by the references of Uegen, 
the German language abounds in Aua- 
creoutic imitations ; and HagedoniH is 
one among many who have assumed him 
as a model. La Parre, Chaulieu, and the 
other light poets of Prance, have also 
professed to cultivate the muse of Tc'os ; 
but they have attamed all her negligence 
with little of the simple grace that em 
beUishes it. In the delicate bard ot 
Schiras** we find the kindred sp:nt of 
Anacreon : some of his gazelles, or songs, 
possess all the character of our poet. 

We come now to a retrospect of the 
editions of Anacreon. To Henry Stephen 
we are mdebted for having first recover- 
ed his remains from the obscurity m 
which, so singularly, they had tor many 
ages reposed. He found the seventh 
ode, as we are told, on the cover of an 
old book, and communicated it to Vic- 
torius, who mentions the circumstance 
in his " Various Eeading.s." Stephen 
was then very young ; and this discovery 
was considered by some critics of that 
day as a literary imposition, ft In 15.54, 
however, he gave Anacreon to the 
world,lt accompanied with annotations 
and a Latin version of the greater part 
of the odes. The learned still hesitated 
to receive them as the relics of the Teian 
bard, and suspected them to bo the 
fabrication of some monks of the six- 
teenth century. This was an idea fi-om 
which the classic muse recoiled ; and 
the Vatican manuscript, consulted by 
Scaliger and Salmasius, confirmed the 

llSeeCrescimbeni, Historiadella Volg. Poes. 

lI"L'aimable Ilagedorn vaut quelquefois An- 
acreon." — Dorat, Idee do la t'o'esie Alleinande. 

*' See Toderini on tlie learning of the Turks, 
astranslated by deCournard. Prince Cantemir 
has made the Kussians acquainted with Ana- 
creon. See his Life, prefixed to a translation ot 
his Satires, by the Abbe de Guasco. 

llRobortellus, in his work " Dc Rutione corri- 
gendi," pronounces these verses to be the 
triflings of some iusipid Grsecist. 

\\ Ronsard commemorates this event : — 

Je vny boire k Henrio Etienne 

Qui des enters nous a reudxi, 

l)u vieil Anacreon perdu, 

La douce lyre Teienne. Ode xv, book 5 

I fill the bowl to Stephen's name. 

Who rescued from the gloom of night 

The Teian bard of festive fame. 
And brought his living lyre to light. 



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IIIHIIII "-^ 



HOORE'S WORKS. 



antiquity of most of the poems. A very 
inaccurate copy of this MS. was taken 
by Isaac Vossius, and this is the author- 
ity which Barnes has followed in his col- 
lation. Accordingly he misrepresents 
almost as often as he quotes; and the sub- 
sequent editors, relying upon his author- 
ity, have spoken of the manuscript with 
not less confidence than ignorance. The 
hterary world, however, has at length 
been gi-atified with this curious memorial 
of the poet, by the industry of the Abbe 
Spaletti, who"publishedatRome, in 1781, 
a fac-simile of those pages of theYatican 
manuscript which contained the odes of 
Anacreon. * 

A catalogue has been given by Gail of 
all the diflerent editions and translations 
of Anacreon. Finding their number to 
be much greater than I could possibly 
have had an opportunity of consulting, 
I shall here content myself with enu- 
merating only those editions and versions 
which it has been in my power to col- 
lect ; and which, though very few, are, I 
behcve, the most important. 

The edition by Henry Stephen, 1554, 
at Paris — the Latin version Is attributed 
by Colomesius to John Dorat.t 

The old French translations, by Kon- 
sard and Belleau— the former published 
in 1555, the latter in 1556. It appears 
from a note of Muretus upon one of the 
sonnets of Ronsard, that Hemy Stephen 
communicated to this poet his manu- 
script of Anacreon, before he promul- 
gated it to the world, t 

The edition by Le Fevre, 1660. 

The edition by Madame Dacier, 1681, 
with a prose translation. § 

*This manuscript, which Spalotti thinks as 
old as the tenth cciituiy, was brought from Ihe 
Palatine into the Vatican library: it is a kind 
of anthology of Greek epigrams, and in the 
C76th page of it are found the 'Ha/xt/x/3ia 
"S.vfj.rrociaxa of Anacreon. 

t" Le meme (M. Vossius) m'a dit qu'il avoit 
possede un Anacreon, on ScaligeraToit marque 
(le sa main, qu'Henri Etienne n'etoit pas 
I'antour de la version Latine des odes de ce 
poijte, mais Jean Doriit."—Paulm Colomesius, 
Particularites. 

Colomesius, however, seems to have relied 
too implicitly on Vossius ; — almost all these 
Particularites begin with "M. Vossius m'a 
dit." 

;"La fiction de ce sonnet, comme I'anteur 
meme m'a dit, est prise d'une ode d'Anacreon, 
encore non imprimee, qu'il a depuis traduit, 
2u nev <i)iAt) xcAiSiui/." 

§ The author of Nouvelles de la Il(5pub. des 



The edition by Longepierre, 1684, 
with a translation in verse. 

The edition by Baxter ; London, 1695. 

A French translation by la Fosse 
1704. 

" L'Histoire des Odes d'' Anacreon," by 
Ga9on; Rotterdam, 1712. 

A translation in English verse, by 
several hands, 1713, in which the odes 
by Cowley are inserted. 

The edition by Barnes ; London, 1721. 

The edition by Dr. Trapp, 1733, witb 
a Latin version in elegiac metre. 

A translation in Enghsh verse, by 
John Addison, 1735. 

A collection of Itahan translations of 
Anacreon, published at Venice, 1736, 
consisting of those by Corsini, Regnier,|| 
Salvini, Marchetti, and one by several 
anonymous authors. U 

A translation in English verse, by 
Fawkes and Doctor Broome, 1760.** 

Another, anonymous, 1768. 

The edition by Spaletti, at Rome, 1781; 
with the fac-simile of the "Vatican MS. 

The edition by Degen, 1786, who pub- 
lished also a German translation of Ana- 
creon, esteemed the best. 

A translation in English verse, by 
Urquhart, 1787. 

The edition by Gail, at Paris, 1799, 
with a prose translation. 



ODES OF ANACREON.tt 

ODE L 

I SAW the smiling bard of pleasure, 
The minstrel of the Teian measure ; 

Lett, bestows on this translation much more 
praise than its merits appear to me to justify. 

II The notes of Rcguier are not inserted in 
this edition; but they must be interestiuj;-, as 
tliey were for the most part communicated by 
the ingenious Menage, who, we may perceive, 
from a passage in the Menagiana, bestowed 
some research on the subject. " C'est aussi lui 
(M. Bigot) qui s'est donne la peine de conferer 
des manuscrits en Italie dans le tems quo jo 
travaillois sur Ancicr6on."—Mena{p,ana, soc- 
onde partie. 

H I find in Haym's Notizia de' Libri rari, 
Venice, 1670, an Italian translation by Cappoue, 
mentioned. 

** This is the most complete of the English 
translations. 



tIThis ode is the first of the seiiesin the 
Vatican mannscript, which attributes it to no 




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ODES OF AI^ACKEON. 



Twas in a vision of the night, 
He beain'd upon my wondering sight. 
I heard his voice, and warmly press'd 
The dear enthusiast to my breast. 
His tresses wore a silvery dye. 
But beauty sparkled in his eye ; 
Sparkled in his eyes of fire, 
Through the mist of soft desire.* 
His lip exhaled, whene'er he sigh'd, 
The fragrance of the racy tide ; 
And, as with weak and reeling feet 
He came my cordial kiss to meet, 
An infant, of the Cyprian band. 
Guided him on with tender hand. 
Quick from his glowing brows he drew 
His braid, of many a wanton hue ; 
I took the wreath, whose inmost twine 
Breathed of him and blush'd with wine.t 
T hung it o'er my thoughtless brow 
And ah ! I feel its magic now : t 
I feel that even his garland's touch 
Can make the bosom love too much 

ODE II. 
Give me the harp of epic song, 
Which Homer's linger thrill'd along; 
But tear away the sanguine string, 
For war is not the theme I sing. 

other poet than Anacreon. They who assert 
that the niauuscript imputes it to Basilius, iiavo 
been misled by the words Tou avrov /Sao-iAiKws 
in the margin, which are merely intended as a 
title to the following ode. Whether it be the 
production of Anacreon or not, it has all the 
features of ancient simplicity, and is a beauti- 
ful imitation of tlie poet's happiest manner. 
* Sparkled in his eyes of fire. 



Through the mist of soft desire.] " How 
could he know at the first look (says Baxter) 
that the poet was i^iAevi'os ? " There are 



surely many tell-tales of this propensity ; and 
the folUn\iug are the indices, which the physi- 
ognomist gives, describing a disposition per- 
haps not unlike that of Anacreon: O<|)0aAfioi 

icAv^oju.ei'01, KU|U.ai>'oi'Tes €V auTOi?, ets a<|)po5i(7i.a 
Kai Gviradeiai' inTorn'Taf ovtc 6e a5t/coi, ovre 
KaKOvpyoL, oure ^ucrews (/)avAT)?, ovre afiou(TOt. — 
Adamantiux. '■ The eyes that are humid and 
fluctuating show a propensity to pleasure and 
love ; they bespeak too a mind of integrity and 
beneficence, n. generosity of disposition, and a 
genius for poetry." 

Baptista Porta tells us some strange opinions 
of tlie ancient physiognomists on this subject, 
theu' reasons for which were curious, and per- 
haps not altogether fanciful. Vide Physiognom. 
Johan. Baptist. Portae. 

f / took the ivreath, whose inmost twine 

Breathed of him, c£c.] Philostratus has the 

Kiiuie thought in one of his Epiun/ca, where he 

siu'aks of the garland which lie had sent to his 

mistress. Ei Se ^ovAei Ti (J)iAu) xapi.(^f<T9ai, ra 



Proclaim the laws of festal rite, § 
I'm monarch of the board to-night ; 
And all aroimd shall brim as high, 
And quaff the tide as deep as I. 
And when the cluster's mellowing dews 
Their warm enchanting balm inl'use, 
Om- feet shall catch th' elastic bound, 
And reel us tbi-ough the dance's round. 
Great Bacchus ! we shall sing to thee, 
In wild but sweet ebriety •. 
Flashing around such sparks of thought. 
As Bacchus could alone have taught. 
Then, give the haii) of epic song 
Which Homer's finger thrill'd along; 
But tear away the sanguine string, 
For war is not the theme I sing. 



ODE III. II 

Listen to the Muse's lyre. 
Master of the pencil's fire ! 
Sketch'd in painting's bold display. 
Many a city first portray ; 
Many a city, revelling free, 
Full of loose festivity. 
Picture then a rosy train, 
Bacchants straying o'er the plain ; 
Piping, as they roam along, 

\ei\j/ava avTnrefX\j/ov, jAr/KCTi irpeovra poButv /jlovov 
aAAa Kai aov. "If thou art inclined to gratify 
thy lover, send him back the remains of the 
garland, no longer breathing of roses only, but 
of thee ! " Which pretty conceit is borrowed 
(as the author of the Observer remarks) in a 
well-known little song of Ben Jonson's:— 
"But thou thereon didst only breathe 
And sent it back to me ; 
Since when it looks and smells, I swear 
Not of itself, buttheo!" 
■<lAnd ah ! I feel its mapia 7ioiv :] This idea, 
as Lougepierre remarks, occurs in an epigram 
of the seventh book of the Anthologia. 

E^ore fiot Trti'oi'Tt avvetTTaovaa XaptxAcu 

AaOprj Tous i6ioiis aM</>«/3aA€ o-Te(j)ai'Ous, 
IIup o\oov SanreL fJLe. 

While I unconscious quaffd my wine, 
Twas then thy liugers slyly stole 

Upon my brow that wreath of thine. 
Which since has madden'd all my soul. 

§ Proclaim the laws of festal rite. ] The an- 
cients prescribed certain laws of drinking at 
their festivals, for an account of which see the 
commentators. Anacreon here acts the sym- 
posiarch, or master of the festival. I have 
translated according to those who consider 
(cuTTcAAa ^eaiJLuiv as an inversion of ^na/j-ovs 
KvneWiov. 

II La Fosse has thought proper to lengthen 
this poem l)y considerable interpolations of his 
own, which he thinks are indispensably neeea- 
sai'y to the coiuDlctiouof the description. 



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70 



MOOKE'S WOEKS. 



Eoundelay or shepherd-song. 
Paint me nest, if painting may 
Such a theme as this portray, 
All the earthly heaven of love 
These delighted mortals prove. 



ODE IT.* 

YuiCAN ! hear your glorious task 
I do not from yom- labors ask 
In gorgeous panoply to shine, 
For war was ne'er a sport of mine. 
No — let me have a silver bowl, 
Where I may cradle all my soul ; 
But mind that, o'er its simple fi-ame 
No mimic constellations flame ; 
No gi-ave upon the swelling side, 
Orion, scowling o'er the tide. 
I care not for the glittering wain, 
Nor yet the weeping sister train. 
But let the vine luxuriant roll 
Its blushing tendrils round the bowl, 
"While many a rose-lipp'd bacchant maidt 
Is culling clusters in their shade. 
Let sylvan gods, in antic shapes, 
Wildly press the gushing grapes, 
And flights of Loves, in wanton play, 
Wing through the air.their winding way ; 
While "Venus from her harbor green 
Looks laughing at the joyous scene. 
And young Lyteus by her side 
Sits worthy of so bright a bride. 

* This ode, Aulus Gellius tells us, was per- 
formed at an entertainment where he was pres- 
ent. 

t While many a rose-lipp'd bacchant maid 
dc] 1 have availed myself here of the addi 
tional lines given in the Vatican manuscript, 
which have not been accurately inserted in any 
of the ordinary editions : — 

Yloi.rjcrov anxTreAous (Oiot 
Kai ^oTpDo.? Kar avTUiV 
Kai ixai.va&a.% Tpuyuxras. 
Ilocei Se Arji'oi' otvou, 
Arji-oPaTa? Traroui/Tas,^ 
Tou?<T aTvpov% yeKiavTa-;, 
Kai xpvo-ou? Tous epioTos, 
Kat Ku9ep7)v yeKioaav, 
'O/iou KaXoi Avatot, 
EpioTa k' 'A(J)po6iTT)v. 

* Degen thinks that this ode is a more modern 
Imitation of the preceding:. There is a poem by 
C»lins Ualcaguiiius, in the manner of both, 
where he gives instructions about the making 
of a ring. 

Tornabis annulum mihi 
Et faljre, et apto, et commode, &c. &o. 
§ Let Love be there, without his arms, <6c.] 
Thus Sanna^aro in the eclogue of Gallicio nell' 
Arcadia t~ 



ODE V.t 

Sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soul, 
Grave for me an ample bowl, 
Worthy to shine in hall or bower, [hour. 
When spring-time brings the reveller's 
Grave it with themes of chaste design, 
Fit for a simple board like mine. 
Display not there the barbarous rites 
In which religious zeal delights ; 
Nor any tale of tragic fate 
"Which History shudders to relate. 
No— cull thy fancies from above. 
Themes of heav'n and themes of love. 
Let Bacchus, Jove's ambrosial boy, 
Distil the grape in drops of joy, 
And while he smiles at every tear. 
Let warm-eyed Yenus, dancing near, 
"With spirits of the genial bed, 
The dewy herbage deftly tread. 
Let Love be there, without his arms,$ 
In timid nakedness of charms ; 
And all the Graces, link'd with Love, 
Stray, laughing, through the shadowy 

gi-ove ; 
"While rosy boys disporting round. 
In circlets trip the velvet ground. 
But ah ! if there Apollo toys, 
I tremble for the rosy boys.|| 

ODE VLir 
As late I sought the spangled bowers, 
To cull a wreath of matin flowers, 

Vegnan li vaghi Amori 
Seiiza fiaramelle, 6 strali, 
Scherzando insieme pargoletti e nudi. 
Fluttering on the busy wing. 

A train of naked Cupids came, 
Sporting around in harmless ring, 
Without a dart, without a flame. 
And thus in the Pervigilium Veneris ;— 
Ite nymphsB, posnit arma, feriatus est amor. 
liOvo is disarm'd— ye nymphs, in safety stray, 
Tour bosoms now may boast a holiday ! 

II But ah ! if there Apollo toys, 
I tremble for the rosy boys.] An allusion to 
the fable that Apollo had killed his beloved boy 
Hyacinth, while playing with him at quoits. 
" This (say? M. La Fosse) is assuredly the sense 
of the text, and it cannot admit of any other." 

The Italian translators, to save themselves 
the trouble of a note, have taken tlie liberty of 
making Anacreon himself explain this fable. 
Thus Salvini, the most literal of any of them :— 
Ma con lor non giuochi Apollo; 
Che in fiero risco 
Col duro disco 
A Giacinto fiacc6 il coUo. 
K This beautiful fiction, which the commen- 
tators have attributed to Julian, a royal poet 



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ODES OP AN ACREON". 



Where many an early rose was weeping 
I found the urchin Cupid sleeping.* 
I caught the boy, a goblet's tide 
AVas richly mantling by my side, 
I caught him by his downy wing, 
And whelm'd him in the racy spring. 
Then drank I down the poison'd bowl, 
And Love now nestles in my soul. 
Oh yes, my soul is Cupid's nest, 
I feel him fluttering in my breast. 



ODE Yll.t 

The women tell me every day 
That all my bloom has pass'd away. 
" Behold," the pretty wantons cry, 

the Vatican MS. pronouuces to be the genuine 
offspring of Anacreon. It has, indeed, all the 
features of the parent : — 

et facUo insciis 

Noscitetur al) omnibus. 

* Where many an early rose was weeping 

I found the urchin Cupid sleeping. | This 

idea is prettily imitated in the following epigram 

by Andreas Naugerius :— 

Florentes dum forte vagans mea Hyella per 

Texit odoratis lilia caua j'osis, [hortos 

Ecce rosa.s inter latitantem invenit Amorem 

Et siraul annexis floribus implicuit. 
Luctatur primo, et contra nitentibus alis 

Indomitus teutat solvere vincla puer : 
Mox ubi lactcolas et dignas niatre papillas 

Viilit ft ora ipsos nata movere Dcos, 
Im|iiisito.-;(iiie comae ambrosios ut sentit odores 

C^uo.siiue legit diti messe beatus Arabs; 
"I (dixit) mea, quaere novum tibi, mater. 
Amorem 

Imperio sedes haec erit apta meo." 

As fair Hyella, through the bloomy grove, 
A wreath of many mmgled flow'rets wove, 
"Within a rose a sleeping Love she found, 
And in the twisted wreaths the baby bound. 
Awhile he struggled, and impatient tried 
To break the rosy bonds the virgin tied; 
But when he satf ker bosom's radiant swell. 
Her features, v jcre the eye of Jove might 

dwell; 
And caught ' j.' ambrosial odors of her hair. 
Rich as the breathings of Arabian air; 
'Oh! mother Venus," (said the raptured child, 
By charms of more than mortal bloom beguiled,) 
(Jo, seek another boy, thou'st lost thine own, 
Hyellas arms shall now be Cupid's throne ! " 

This epigram of Naugerius is imitated by 
Lodovico L)olce in a poem, beginning 

Mentre raccoglie hor uno, hor altro Core 
Vieiua a un no di chiare et lucid' oude, 
Lidia, &c. &c. 

T Alberti lias imitated this ode in a poem, be- 
ginning 

Nisa mi dice e Clori 
Tirsi, tu se' pur vegiio. 



" Behold this miiTor with a sigh ; 
The locks upon thy brow are lew. 
And, like the rest, they're withering too!* 
"WTiether decline has thinn'd my hair, 
I'm sure I neither know nor care,t 
But this I know, and this I feel. 
As onward to the tomb I steal, 
That still as death approaches nearer, 
The joys of life are sweeter, dearer ; $ 
And had I but an hour to Uve, 
That little hour to bliss I'd give. 



ODE VIII.II 

I CARE not for the idle state 

Of Persia's king,^ the rich, the great: 

J Whether decline has thinn'd my hair, 
I'm sure I neither know nor care ; ] Henry 

Stephen very justly remarks the elegant negli. 

gence of expression in the original here : 

'Eyut Se Ttts KOfJLa^ /u-ef, 
EiT ei(Tiv, eir' aTrrjKOov, 
OvK otSa. 

And Longepierre has adduced from Catullus 
what he thinks a similar instance of this sim- 
plicity of manner: 

Ipse quis sit, utrum sit, an non sit, id quoquo 
nescit. 

Longepierre was a good critic ; but perhaps 
the line which he has selected is a specimen of 
a carelessness not very commendable. At the 
same time I confess, that none of the Latin 
poets have ever appeared to uie so capable of 
imitating the graces of Anacreon ns Catullus, if 
lie had not allowed a depraved imagination to 
liiirry him so often into mere vulgar licentious- 
ness. 

^ Tliat still as death approaches nearer. 
The joys of life are sweeter, dearer /] Pon- 
taniis has e very delicate thought upon the sub- 
jt'cf of old age : 

Quid rides, Matrona? senem quid temnis 

amanten ? 
Quisquis ai lat nulla est conditioue senex. 
Why do yon scorn my want of youth. 

And with a smile iiij- bi'ow behold? 
Lady dear ! believe this truth. 

That he who loves cannot be old. 

II "The German poet Lessing has imitated 
this ode. Vol. i. p. 24." Uogen. GaildeEdi- 
tionibus. 

Baxter conjectures that this was written 
upon the occasion of our poet's returning the 
money to Polycrates, according to the anecdote 



H I care not for the idle state 
Of Persia's king, rf-c] "There is n frag- 
ment of Archilochus in Plutarch, ' Ue tranquil- 
litate animi,' which our poet has very closely 
imitated here ; H begins, 

Ov /xoi Ta rwyeco tov itoKvxpvaov txfXei." 

BAlUt'ES. 




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32 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



I envy not the monarch's throne, 
Nor wish the treasured gold my own. 
Hut oh ! be mine the rosy wi'eath, 
Its freshness o'er my hrow to breathe ; 
Be mine the rich perfumes that flow, 
To cool and scent my locks of snow.* 
To-day I'll haste to quaff my wine, 
As if to-morrow ne'er would shme , 
But if to-mon-ow comes, why then — 
I'll haste to quaff my wine again. 
And thus while all our days are bright, 
Nor time has dimm'd their bloomy hght. 
Let us the festal hom's beguile 
With mantling cup and cordial smile ; 
And shed from each new bowl of wine 
The richest drop on Bacchus' shrine. 
For Death may come, with brow un- 
pleasant, [ent. 
May come, when least we wish him pres- 
And beckon to the sable shore. 
And grimly bid us — drink no more ! 



ODE IX. 

I PRAY thee, by the gods above,^ 
Give me the mighty bowl I love, 
And let mc sing, m wild delight, 
" I will — I will be mad to-night !" 

In one of the monkish imitators of Anacreon 
we find the same thought : — 

4'u;(i)i' efjiriv epuTio, 
©cAets Vvyeia to. Kai Ta; 

* Be mine the rich, perfumes that flow. 
To cool mid scent my locks of snoiv.] In 
the original, /xupoio-t Karafipexei-v vrnqvYif. 

On account of tliis itlea of perfuming the beard, 
Cornelius de Pauw pronounces the whole ode 
to be the spurious production of some lascivious 
monk, who was nursing his beard with ungu- 
ents. But he should have known, that this 
was an ancient eastern custom, which, if we 
may believe Savary, still exists : ' Vous voyez. 
Monsieur, (says this traveller,) que I'usagean- 
tique de se parfumer la tete et la barl)e,"* eele- 
bre par le prophete Roi, subsiste encore de nus 
jours." Lettre 12. Savary likewise cites this 
very ode of Anacreon. Angerianus has not 
thought the idea inconsi-.tent, having intro- 
duced it In the following lines : 

fleec mihi cura, rosis et cingere tempora myrto, 

Et curas multo delapidare mero. 
Hffic mihi cura, comas et barbam tingere succo 

Assyrio et dulces continuare jocos. 

This be my care, to -wreathe my brow with 
flowers, 
To drench my sorrows in the ample bowl ; 



AlcmfGon once, as legends tell, 
Was phrensied by the fiends of heU ; 
Orestes too, with naked tread, 
Frantic paced the mouutam-head ; 
And why ? a mm-der'd mothei-'s shade 
Haunted them still where'er they stray* 
But ne'er could I a murderer be, [ed< 
The grape alone shall bleed by me ; 
Yet can I shout, with wild delight, 
" I will— I will be mad to-night." 

Alcides' self, in days of yore. 
Imbrued his hands m youthful gore, 
And brandish'd, with a maniac joy. 
The quiver of th' expiring boy : 
And Ajax, with tremendous shield, 
lufunate scour'd the gmltless field. 
But I, whose hands no weapon ask, 
No armor but this joyous flask ; 
The trophy of whose frantic hours 
Is but a scattei-'d wreath of flowers, 
Ev'n I can smg with wild delight, 
" I will— I wdl be mad to-mght !" 



ODE X.t 

How am I to punish thee. 

For the wrong thou'st done to me, 

Sdly swallow, prating things — 

To pour rich perfumes o'er my beard in showers. 
And give full loose to mirth and joy of soul 
t The poet is here in a phrensy of enjoy 
ment, and it is, indeed, '• amabdis insania ; "— 
Furor di poesia, 
Di lascivia, e di vino, 
Triplicato furore, 
Baccho, Apollo, et Amore. 

Ritratti del Cavalier Marino. 
This is truly, as Scaliger expresses it, 

Insanire dulce 

Et sapidum furere furorem. 
1 This ode is addressed to a swallow T find 
from Degen and from Gail's index, that tlie 
German poet Weisse has imitated it, Sclierz. 
Lieder. lib. li. carm. 5. ; that Ramler also has 
imitated it, Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p 335; and 
some others. See Gail de Editionibus. 

We are here referred by Degen to that dull' 
book, the Epistles of Alciphron, tenth epistle, 
third book ; where lophon complains to Erastou 
of being awakened by the crowing of a cock, 
from his vision of riches. 

§ Silly swalloiv, prating thing, d:c. | The lo- 
quacity of the swallow was proverbialized ; 
thus Micostratus :— 

El TO (Tvvex<^'> *«<■ ToAAa Kai Ta;^eu)S Ka\ei.v 
Hv Tov <j>poi'(iv TTapacrriixov, ai ^^eAiSofes 
EAe-yoi'T' au rjixuiv cr(o(f>povs<TT€paL ttoAu. 

Ifin prating from morning till night 
A sign of our wisdom there be, 

The swallows are wiser by right. 
For they prattle much faster than we 




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ODES OP AJf ACREON. 





73 



Rhall I clip that wheeling -ning? 
Or, as Tereus did, of old,* 
(So the fabled tale la told,) 
Shall I tear that tongue away, 
Tongue that uttei-'d such a lay ? 
Ah, how thoughtless hast thou been ! 
Long before the dawn was seen, 
When a dream came o'er my mind, 
Picturing her I worship, kind, 
Just when I was nearly blest, 
Ix)ud thy matins broke my rest I 

ODE XLt 

" Tell me, gentle youth, I pray thee, 

"WTiat in purchase shall I pay thee 

For this little waxen toy, 

Image of the Paphian boy f 

Thus I said, the other day, 

To a youth who pass'd my way. 

" Sir," (he answei-'d, and the while 

Answer'd all m Done style,) 

" Take it, for a trifle take it ; 

'Twas not I who dared to make it ; 

No, believe me, 'twas not I ; 

Oh, it has cost me many a sigh. 

And I can no longer keep 

Little gods, who murder sleep !"t 

" Here, then, here," (I said with joy,) 

" Here is silver for the boy : 

He shall be my bosom guest, 

Idol of my pious breast !" 

Now, young Love, I have thee mine, 
"Warm me with that torch of thine ; 
Make me feel as I have felt. 
Or thy waxen frame shall melt : 

* Or, as Tereus did, of old, d-c] Modern po- 
etry has con'Jrmed the name of Philomel upon 
the nightingale; but many respectable author- 
ities among the ancients assigned this meta- 
morphose to Progne, and made Philomel the 
swallow as Anacreon does here. 

t It is difficult to preserve with any grace 
the narrative simplicity of this ode, and the hu- 
mor of the turn with which it concludes. I 
feel, indeed, that the translation must appear 
•vapid, if not ludicrous, to an English reader. 

; And I can no longer keep 

Little gods, who murder /ileep !] I have not 
literally rendered the epithet jrai/TopcKTa; if it 
has any meaning here, it is one, perhaps, bet 
ter omitted. 

§ / );ut6£ burn with warm desire, 

Or thou, my boy— in yonder fire. | Froia this 
Longepierre conjectures, that, whatever Ana- 
creon might say, he felt sometimes the inconve- 
niences of old age. and here solicits from the 
pow er of Love a warmth which he could no 
longer expect from Nature 

II Tliey tell how Atys, wild ivith love, 

Roams the mount and haunted ffcowe;! There 
are many contradictory stones of the loves ot 



I must bum with warm desire, 
Or thou, my boy — ^in yonder fire. 5 



ODE XIL 

They tell how Atys, wild with love, 
Eoams the mount and haunted grove ;| 
Cybele's name he howls around,^[ 
The gloomy blast returns the sound ! 
Oft too, by Clares' hallow'd spring,**^ 
The votaries of the laurell'd king 
Quaff the inspiring, magic stream, 
And rave in wild, prophetic dream. 
But phrensied dreams are not for me, 
Great Bacchus is my deity ! 
Full of mirth, and full of him. 
While floating odors round me swim,tt 
"While mantling bowls are full supplied, 
And you sit blushing by my side, 
I will be mad and raving too— 
Mad, my girl, with love for you ! 

ODE XIIL 
I WILL, I will, the conflict's past, 
And I'll consent to love at last, 
Cupid has long, with smiling art, 
Invited me to yield my heart; 
And I have thought that peace of mind 
Should not be for a smile resign'd : 
And so repell'd the tender lure. 
And hoped my heart would sleep secure. 

But, slighted in his boasted charms 
The angry infant flew to arms ; 
He slung his quivei-'s golden frame, 
He took his bow, his shafts of flame, 

Cybele and Atys. It is certain that ho was 
mutilated, but whether by his own fury, or 
Cybele's jealousy, is a point upon which authors 
are not agreed. 

'iCyhele's name he howls around, <£c.] I have 
hero adopted the accentuation which Elias An- 
dreas gives to Cybele :— 

In montibus Cybelen 
Magno soui.ns boatu. 
'*Qrt too, by Claras' hallow'd spring, cCc] 
This fountain was in a grove, consecrated to 
Apollo, and situated between Colophon and 
Lebedos, in Ionia. The god had an oracle 
there. Scaliger thus alludes to it in his Ana- 
creontica : 

Semel nt concitus oestro, 

Veluti qui Clarias aquas 

Ebibere loquaces. 

Quo plus canunt, plura volnnt. 
ft While floating odors, rf-c] .Spaletti has quite 
mistaken the import of xopecrdei?, as applied to 
the poet's mistress — "Mea fatigatus amicA;" — 
thus interpreting it in a sense which must want 
either delicacy or gallantry; if uot, perhaps 
both. 




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r4 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



And proudly summon'd me to yield, 
Or meet him on the martial field. 
And what did I unthinking do ? 
I took to arms, undaunted, too ;* 
Assumed the corslet, shield, and spear, 
And, like Pelides, smiled at fear. 
iThen (hear it, all ye powers above !) 
I fought with Love! 1 fought with Love! 
And now his aiTows all were shed. 
And I had just in terror fled — 
When, heavmg an indignant sigh, 
To see me thus unwounded fly, 

* And what did I unthinking do ? 

I took to arms, undaunted, too;] Longepierre 
has here quoted an epiirrara from the Antho- 
logia, iu wliich the poet assumes Reason as the 
armor against Love. 

0Tr\i(7-/nai jrpos epwra wept o'Tcpi'oicri Aoyktmoi', 

Ov&e n€ i/iKijcrei, (j.ou»'09 ewi/ irpos ii'a- 
@vaTOi &' a6avaTu> <TVV€\ev<TOiJ.ai.' tji* 6e por]dov 

BaK^ov exVt Ti fj.ovo's Trpos 6u* eyio Svi/afxai,. 
"With Reason I cover my breast as a sliiekl, 
And fearlessly meet little Love in the field; 
Thus fighting his godship, I'll ne'er bo dismay'd ; 
But if Bacchus should ever advance to his aid, 
Alas 1 then, unable to combat the two, 
Unfortunate waiTior, what should I do ? 

This idea of the in-esistibility of Cupid and 
Bacchus united, is delicately expressed in an 
Italian poem, which is so truly Anacreontic, 
that its uitroduction hero may be pardoned. It 
is an imitation, indeed, of oiu' poet's sixth ode. 
Lavossi Amore in quel vicino flume 
Ove giuro (Pastor) elie bevend" io 
Bevei le fiamme, anzi I'istesso Dio, 
Ch'or con I'humide piume 
Laseivetto mi scheiza al cor intorno. 
Ma che sarci s'io lo bevessi un giorno, 
Bacco, nel tuo liquoro ? 
Sarei, piu che uon sono ebro d' Amore. 
The urchin of the bow and quiver 
"Was bathing in a neighboring river, 
Where, as I drank on yester-eve, 
(Shephei'd-youth, the tale believe,) 
'Twas not a coolina:, crystal draught, 
'Twas liquid flame I madly quat^'d; 
For Love was in the rippling tide, 
I felt him to my bosom glide ; 
And now the Avily, wanton minion 
Plays round my heart with restless pinion. 
A day it was of fatal star, 
But ah, "twere e'en more fatal far. 
If, Bacchus, in thy cup of flre, 
I found this flutt'ring young desire: 
Then, then indeed my soul would prove. 
E'en more than ever, drunk with love ! 
1 And, having now no other dart. 
Be shot himself into my heart .'] Dryden has 
parodied this thought in the following extrava- 
gant lines : — 

I'm all o'er Love ; 

Nay, I am Love, Love shot, and shot so fast, 
He shot himself into my breast at last. 

J The poet, in this catalogue of his mistresses, 
means nothing more than, by a lively hyper- 



Ajid, having now no other dart. 
He shot himself into my heart !t 
My heart — alas the luckless day ! 
Received the god, and died away. 
Farewell, farewell my faithless shield I 
Thy lord at length is forced to yield. 
Vain, vain is every outward care. 
The foe's -within, and triumphs there. 



ODE XIV. t 

Count me, on the summer trees, 
Every leaf that comls the breeze ;§ 

bole, to inform us that his heart, unfettered by 
any one object, was warm with devotion to- 
wards the sex in general. Cowley is indebted 
to this ode for the hint of his ballad, called 
"The Chronicle;' and the learned Menag« 
has imitated it in a Greek Anacreontic, which 
has so much ease and spirit, that the readei 
may not be displeased at seeing it here : 

nP02 BlfiNA. 
El aAo-eioi' Ta <f>v\\a, 
Aet/nftii'iou? T6 TTOia?, 
El vvKTOs a<TTpa navra 
JlapaKTLOVi T€ >/(a;ii/iOUS, 
AAo5 re KvixaTotBi), 
Aui-i?, Biwi', apiOpLeiv, 
Kai Tov? ewou! epwras 
^vvrj, Bloju, apiOfJ.eiv. 
KopT)f, yu^'aiKa, Xrjpav, 
'S.p.iKpTji', Me<T>)i', MeyiffTT)!', 
AevKTiv re Kai MeAaicac, 
OpetaSas, NaTTaias, 
NrjprjiSas re Traera? 
'O <ros ifuKoi </)iAr)(7-e 
TlavTiav Kopos /ixei' €<rTiv, 
Avrrju j'tcoi' EpioTMy, 
AeaiTOLvav A</)po5tT7)r, 
Xputnjf, KaKrjV yXvKciaVf 
Epaafxiav, noBeivrjv, 
Aei /uoi'T)!/ <i)iAr)<rai 
Eytuys Ml SovaifJiriv. 

Tell the foliage of the woods, 
Tell the billows of the floods, 
Number midnight's starry store, 
And the sands that crowd the shore, 
Then, my Bion, thou mayst count 
Of my loves the vast amount. 
I've been loving, all my days. 
Many nymphs, in many ways ; 
Virgin, widow, maid, and wife — 
I've been doling all my life. 
Naiads, Nereids, nymphs of fountains. 
Goddesses of groves and mountains, 
Fair and sable, great and small. 
Yes, I swear I've loved them alll 
Soon was every passion over, 
I was but the moment's lover ; 
Oh ! I'm such a roving elf. 
That the Queen of love herself, 
Though she practised all her wiles, 
Rosy Dlushes, wreathed smiles, 
All her beauty's proud endeavor 
Could not chain my heart forever. 
§ Count me, on the summer trees. 
Every leaf, dc] This figure is called, bf 



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ODES OP anacreo:n-. 



Count me, on the foamy deep, 
Every wave that sinks to sleep ; 
Then, vrhen you have numbei^d these 
Billowy tides and leafy trees, 
Count me all the flames I prove, 
All the gentle nymphs I love. 
First, of pure Athenian maids 
Sporting: in their olive shades, 
You may reckon just a score, 
Nay, I'll grant you fifteen more. 
In the famed Corinthian grove, 
Where such countless wantons rove,* 
Chains of beauties may be found. 
Chains by which my heart is bound ; 
There, mdeed, are nymphs divine, 
Dangerous to a soul like rame.t 
Many bloom in Lesbos' isle ; 
Many in. Ionia smile ; 
Rhodes a pretty swarm can boast ; 
Caria too contains a host. 
Sum them all— of brown and fair 
Ton may coimt two thousand there. 

rhetoricians, the Impossible, {aSwaTov,) ami 
is very fieiiucntly maue use of in poetry. The 
amatory writers have exhausted a workl of im- 
aj^erj by it, to express the infinite number of 
kisses Txhicli they require from the lips of their 
mistresses ; in this Catullus led the way. 

— Quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox, 

Furtivos hominum vident amores; 

Tarn te basia multa basiare 

Vesano satis, et super, Catullo est: 

QuiB neo pernumerare curiosl 

Possiut, nee mala fascinare lingua. Carm. 7. 

As many stellar eyes of light, 

As through the silent waste of night, 

Gazing upon this world of shade, 

"Witness some secret youth and maid, 

Who fair as thou, and fond as I, 

In stolen joys enamor'd lie,— 

So many kisses, ere I slumber. 

Upon those dew-bright lips I'll number ; 

So many kisses we shall count. 

Envy can never tell th' amount. 

No tongue shall blab the sum. but mine ; 

!No lips shall fascinate, but thine I 

* 7/1 the/amed Corinthian grove, 
Where such countleas wantons rove, cCc.l 
Corinth was very famous for the beauty and 
Humberof its courtesans. Venus was tliedcity 
principally worshipped by the people, and their 
constant prayer was, that the gods should in- 
crease the number ot her worshippers. We 
may perceive from the application of the verb 
Kopti'Siafeii/, In Aristophanes, that the lubrici- 
ty of the Corinthians had become proverbial. 

f There, indeed, are nymphs divine, 
Danrjeroiis to a soxd like mine!] ""With 
Justice has the poet attributed beauty to the 
women of Greece." — Degen. 

M. do Paiiw. the author of Dissertations upon 
the Greeks, is of a different opinion ; he thinks, 
that by a capricious p.irtiality of nature, tlie 
other sex had all the beauty ; and by this svy?- 



What, you stare ? I pray you, peace I 
More I'll find before I cease. 
Have I told you all my flames, 
'Mong the amorous Syrian dames ? 
Have I number'd every one, 
Glowing under Egypt's sun ? 
Or the nymphs, who, blushing sweet, 
Deck the shrine of Love in Crete ; 
Where the God, with festal play. 
Holds eternal holiday ? 
Still in clusters, still remain 
Gades' warm, desiring train ;t 
Still there lies a myriad more 
On the sable India's shore ; 
These, and many far removed, 
All are loving — all are loved I 

ODE XV. 

Tell me, why, my sweetest dove,^ 
Thus your humid pinions move, 
Shedding through the air in showers 

position endeavors to account for a very singu. 
lar depravation of instinct among that people. 

lOades' warin, desiring train ,J The Gadi- 
tanian girls were like the Baladieres of India, 
whose dances are thus described by a French 
author : " Les dauses sont presque toutcs des 
pantomimes d'amour; le plan, le dessein, les at- 
titudes, les mesures, les sons et les cadences d« 
ces ballets, tout respire cette passion et en ex- 
prime les voluptes et les fureurs."— ilistoicc rf« 
Commerce des Europ. dans les deux Indes. 
Raynal. 

Tlie music of the Gaditanian females had all 
the voluptuous character of their dancing, as 
appears from Martial : — 

Cantica quiNili, qui Gaditana susurrat. 
Lib. lii. epig. fi3. 

Lodovico Ariosto had this ode of our barij 
m his mind when he wrote his poem " De di- 
versis amoribus." See the Anthologia Italorum. 

§The dove of Anacrcon, bearing a letter from 
the poet to his mistress, is met by a stranger, 
with whom this dialogue is imagined. 

The ancients made use of letter-carrving 
pigeons, when they went any distance from 
home, as the most certain means of conveying 
intelligence back. That tender domestic attach- 
ment, which attracts this delicate little bird 
through every danger and difficulty till it settles 
in itsnoitive nest, atiords to the author oi " Tlie 
Pleasures of Memory " a fiuo and interesting 
exemplification of his subject. 
Led by what chart, transports the timid dove 
The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love ! 
See the poem. Daniel Heinsins, in speaking of 
Dousa, who adopted this metliod at the siege of. 
Leyden, expresses a similar sentiment. 
Quo patrife non tendit amor ? Mandata referre 

Postquam homiuem neqiint mitterc, misit 
avem. 

Fuller tells us, that at the siege of Jerusalem 
the Chnstians Intercepted a letter, tied to the 




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16 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Essence of the balmiest flowers ? 
Tell me whither, whence you rove, 
Tell me all, my sweetest dove. 

Curious stranger, I belong 
To the bard .of Tetan song ; 
"With his mandate now I fly 
To the nymph of azure eye ; — 
She, whose eye has madden'd many.* 
But the poet more than any. 
Venus, for a hymn of love, 
Warbled in her votive grove, t 
TTwas in sooth a gentle lay,) 
Gave me to the bard away. 
See me now his faithful minion.— 
Thus with softly-gliding pmion, 
To his lovely girl I bear 
Songs of passion thi'ough the air. 
Oft he blandly whispers me, 
•' Soon, my bird, I'll set you free." 
But in vain he'll bid me fly, 
I shall serve him till I die. 
Never could my plumes sustain 
Ruffling winds and chilling rain, 
O'er the plains, or in the dell, 
On the mountain's savage swell, 
Seeking in the desert wood 
Gloomy shelter, mstic food. 

iBgs of a dove, in which the Persian Emperor 
promised assistance to the besieged.— Holy 
War, cap. 24, book i. 

'She, whose eye has ■madden' d many, Ac] For 
Tvpavvov, in tlie original, Zeune and Schneider 
conjecture that we should read Tvpawov, in allu- 
sion to the strong influence which this object of 
his love held over the mind of Polycrates. See 
Degen. 

t Yenus, for a hymn of love. 

Warbled in her votive arove, &c.] " This pass- 
age is invaluable, and I do not think that any- 
tiling so beautiful or so delicate has ever been 
said. What an idea does itgive of the poetry 
of the man, from whom Venus herseif, the 
mother of the Graces and the Pleasures, pur- 
chases a little hymn with one of her favorite 
doves !" Longepierre. 

De Pauw objects to the authenticity of 
this ode, because it makes Aiiaereon his own 
panegyrist ; but poets have a license for prais- 
ing themselves, which, with some indeed, may 
be considered as comprised under their general 
privilege of fiction. 

X This ode and the next may be called com- 
panion-pictures ; they are highly finished, and 
give us an excellent idea of the taste of the 
ancients in beauty. Franciscus Junius quote* 
them in his third book " De Pictura Veterum." 

This ode has been imitated by Konsard, Giu- 
liano Goselini, &c., Ac. Scaliger alludes to it 
tkus in his Anacreontica : 

Olim lepore blando, 
Litis versibus 
Candidus Anacreoa 



N'ow I lead a life of ease. 
Far from rugged haunts like these. 
From Anacreon's hand 1 eat 
Food delicious, viands sweet ; 
Flutter o'er his goblet's brim. 
Sip the foamy wine with him. 
Then when I have wanton'd round 
To his lyre's beguilmg sound ; 
Or with gently moving wings 
Fann'd the minstrel while he sings ; 
On his harp I sink in slumbers, 
Dreaming stfll of dulcet numbers ! 

This is all— away— away— 
You have made me waste the day. 
How I've chatter'd ! prating crow 
Never yet did chatter so. 



ODE XVI.} 

TnoTJ, whose soft and rosy hues 
Mimic form and soul infuse, § 
Best of painters, come, portray 
The lovely maid that's far away.|| 
Par away, my soul ! thou art, 
But I've thy beauties all by heart. 
Paint her jetty ringlets playing, 
Silky locks, l&e tendrils straying ;1f 
And, if painting hath the skill 

Quam pingeret amicus 
Descripsit Venerem suam. 
The Teian bard of former days 
Attuned his sweet descriptive lays. 
And taught the painter's hand to trace 
His fair beloved's every grace. 
In the dialogue of Caspar Barlreus, entitled 
" An formosa sit ducenda," the reader will find 
many curious ideas and descriptions of woman- 
ly beauty. 

^Thou, whose soft and rosy hues 
Miinio form and souliu/use,] I have lollow 
ed here the reading of the Vatican MS. poSerj?. 
Painting is called " the rosy art,' either in ref- 
erence to coloring, or as an indefinite epithet 
of excellence, from the association of beauty 
with that flower. Salvini has adopted this 
reading in his literal translation :— 
Delia rosea arte signore. 
II The lovely maid that's far away.] If this 
portrait of the poet's mistress be not merely 
ideal, the omission of her name is much to be re- 
gretted. Meleager, in an epigram on Ana- 
creon, mentions "the golden Eurypyle' as his 



Bc/3\>;k(o« xpva-eriv x^i-pa<; err' EvpvTrvKrjv. 
IF Paint her jetty ringlets playing. 
Silky locks like tendrils straying;] The an- 
cients have been very enthusiastic in their 
praises of the beauty ot hair. Apuleius, in the 
second book of his Milesiacs, says, that Venus 
herself, if she were bald, though surrounded by 
the Graces and the Loves, could not be pleasing 
even to her husband Vulcan 
Stesichorus gave the epithet /coAAiw >.o/caMos to 




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ODES OP AN-ACREON-. 



To make the spicy balm distU,* 
Let every little lock exhale 
A sigh of perfume on the gale. 
■^VTiere her tresses' cm'ly flow- 
Darkles o'er the brow of snow, 
Let her forehead beam to light, 
Bumish'd as the ivory bright. 
Let her eyebrows smoothly rise 
In jetty arches o'er her eyes, 
Each, a crescent gently gliding. 
Just commingling, just dividing. 

But, hast thou any sparkles warm 
The liglituiug of her eyes to form ? 
Let them efl'use the azure rays 
That in Minerva's glances bfaze, 
Mix'd with the liquid light that lies 
In Cytherea's languid eyes.t 
O'er her nose and cheek be shed 

the Graces, and Simonides bestowed the same 
upon thu Muses. See Hatlnau Juuius's Dis- 
sertation upon JIair. 

To this passajre of our poet. Seldon alhided 
in anote on the Polvolbion of Drayton, Sor.f^lhe 
Second, where observing, that the epitliet 
'• blacli haired" -^vas given by some of the an- 
cients to the goddess Isis. he says, " Kor will I 
swear, but that Anacreon, (a 'man very judi- 
cious in the provoking motives of wantonlove.) 
intending to bestow on Ins sweet mistress tliat 
one of the titles of woman's special ornament, 
well-haired, (KaAAiTrAoxanos,) thouj^ht of tliis 
when he gave his painter direction to make 
her black-haired." 

' And, if paintin(j hath the skill 

To make the spicy balm distil, (Cc.\ Thus 
Philostratus, speaking of a picture : cTrawui Kai 
Tov ei'Spodov Tiof poSojv, KaL ^rjfxi Yeypat^^at aura 
ixtra Tr)s ocrnrjs. " I admire tliedewiness of these 
roses, and could say that their very smell was 
painted." 

t Mix'd with the liquid lifjht that lies 

In Cytherea's languid eyes.] Marchetti ex- 
plains thus the vypoi' of the original: — 
Dipingili uraidcui 
Trerauli e lascivetti, 

Quai gli ha Cipngna I'alma Dea d'Amore. 
Tasso has painted in the same manner the eyes 
of Armida: 

Qual raggio in onda le scintilla un rise 
Negli umidi occhi tremulo e lascivo. 

"Within her humid melting eyes 
A brilliant ray of laughter lies, 
Soft as the broken solar beam. 
That trembles in the azure stream. 
The miugled expression of dignity and ten- 
derness, which Anacreon requires the painter 
to infuse into the eyes of his mistress, is more 
amply described in the subsequent ode. Both 
descriptions are so exquisitely touched, that 
the artist must have beeu great indeed, if he 
did not yield in painting to the poet. 
J Minyhng tints, as when there glows 
In snowy milk the bash/ul rose.l Thus Pro- 
pcrtius, eleg. 3, lib. iL 



Flushing white and soften'd red -, 
Mingling tints, as when there glows 
In snowy milk the baslifid rose.l 
Then her bp, so rich in blisses, 
Sweet petitioner for kisses, § 
Eosy nest, where lurks Persuasion, 
Mutely courting Love's invasion. 
jS"ext, beneath the velvet chm, 
Whose dimple hides a Love within, || 
Mould her neck with grace descending, 
In a heaven of beauty ending ; 
While countless charms, above, below, 
Sport and flutter round its snow. 
Now let a floating, lucid veil, 
Shadow her form, but not conceal ;ir 
A charm may peep, a hue may beam, 
And leave the rest to Fancy's dream. 
Enough— 'tis she ! 'tis all I seek ; 
It glows, it lives, it soon will speak ! 

TJtqne rosae pnro lacte natant folia. 
And Daveuant, in a little poem called " Tna 
Mistress," 

Catch as it falls the Seythinn snow. 
Bring blushing roses steep'd in milk. 
Thus too Taygetus :— 

Quae lac atquo rosas vincis candore rubenti. 
These last words may perhaps defend the 
" flushing white" of the translation. 
§ Then her lip, so rich in blisses, 
li'weet petitioner for kisses, | The " lip, pro- 
voking kisses," in the original, is a strong and 
beautiful expression. Achilles Tatius speaks o! 
veiAi) juaAffa/ca Trpo? ra ^i.\r]fjLaTa, '' Lips SOft and 

delicate for kissing." A grave old commenta- 
tor, Dionysius Lambinns, in his notes upon 
Lucretius, tells us with tlie apparent authority 
of experience, that " Suarius viros oseiilantur 
puelhe labiosre. quamquiesuntbrevibus labris." 
And .ailneas Sylvius, in his tedious uninterest- 
ing story of the loves of Euryalus and Lucre- 
tia, where ho particularizes the beauties of the 
heroine, (in a very false and labored style of 
latinity,) describes her lips thus:—" Osparvum 
decensque, labia corallini coloris ad morsum 
aptissima." — Epist. 114, lib. i. 

II Next, beneath the velvet chin, 
Whose dimple hides a Love within, rfc.J 
Madame Dacier has quoted here two pretty 
lines of Varro: — 

Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo 

Vestigio demonstraut mollitudinem. 
In her chin is a delicate dimple, 

By Cupid's own finger impress'd ; 
There Beauty, bewitchingly simple. 
Has chosen her innocent uest. 

^Now let a floating, lucid veil. 
Shadow her form, but not conceal; <C-c.] This 
delicate art of description, which leaves imagi- 
nation to complete the picture, has beeu seldom 
adopted in the imitations of this beautiful poem, 
Eonsard is exceptionably minute ; and Politi- 
anus, in his charming portrait of a girl, full of 
rich and exquisite diction, has lifted the veil 
rather too mueh. Tlio "questo clie tu m'in- 
tendi " should bo always left to fancy. 



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78 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



ODE XYII.* 

And now with all thy pencil's truth, 
Portray Bathyllus, lovely youth ! 
Let his hair, in masses bright, 
Fall like floating rays of light ;t 
And there the raven's eye confuse 
With the golden sunbeam's hues. 
Let no wreath, with artful twine,t 
The flowing of his locks confine ; 
But leave them loose to every breeze, 
To take what shape and course they 

please. 
Beneath the forehead, fair as snow, 
But flush'd with manhood's early glow, 
And guileless as the dews of dawn, § 
Let the majestic brows be drawn, 
Of ebon hue, enrich'd by gold, 
Such as dark, shining snakes unfold. 
Mix in his eyes the power alike, 
With love to win, with awe to strike ;1| 

* The reader who wishes to acquire an accu- 
rate idea of the judgment of the ancients in 
beauty, will be indulged by consulting Junius 
de Pictura Vcterum, lib. iii. c. !l, where he will 
find a Tcry curious selection of descriptions and 
epithets o'f personal perfections. Junius com- 
pares this ode with a description of Theodoric, 
king of the Goths, in the second epistle, first 
book, of Sidonius Apollinaris. 

t Let his hair, m masses bright, 
Fall like floating rays of light; <t:c.\ He 
here describes the sunny hair, the "flava 
coma," which the ancients so much admired. 
The Romans gave this color artificially to their 
hair. See Stanisl. Kobienzyck. deLuxu Koman- 
ornm. 

\Let no wreath, with artful twine, <t:c.\ If 
the original here, which is particularly beauti- 
ful, can admit of any additional value, that 
value is conterred by Gray"s admiration of it. 
See his letters to "West. 

Some annotators have quoted on this passage 
the description of Photis's hair in Apuleius; 
but nothing can bo more distant from tlie sim- 
plicity of our poet's manner, than that affecta- 
tion of richness which distinguishes the style 
of Apuleius. 

§ But flushed with manhood's early glow, 
And guileless as the dews of dawn, <£c.] 
Torrentius, upon the words " insignom tenui 
ft-onte," in Horace, Od. 33, lib. i., is of opinion, 
incorrectly, I think, that '"tenui" here bears 
the sara» meaning as the word anaXoy. 
II Mix in his eyes the power alike. 
With love to win, with awe to strike, (£c.] 
Tasso gives a similar character to the eyes of 
Clorinda : — 

Lampeggiar gli occhi, e folgorar gli sguardi 

Dolci ne 1 ira. 

Her eyes were flashing with a heavenly heat, 

A fire that, even in anger, still was sweet. 

The poetess Veronica Cambara is more dif- 
fuse upon this variety of expression. 

Occhi Incenti e belli, 

Come csser puo ch' in tin medesmo istante 



Bon'ow from Mars his look of ire. 
Prom Venus her soft glance of fire ; 
Blend them in such expression here, 
That we by tmus may hope and fear ! 

Now from the sunny apple seek 
The velvet down that spreads his cheek ; 
And there, if art so far can go, 1 
Th' ingenious blush of boyhood show. 
While, for his mouth— but no,— in vain 
Would words its witching charm explain. 
Make it the very seat, the throne. 
That Eloquence would claim her own;Ti 
And let the lips, though silent, wear 
A life-look, as if words were there.** 

Next thou his ivory neck must trace. 
Moulded with soft but manly grace ; 
Fair as the neck of Paphia's boy. 
Where Paphia's arms have hung in joy. 
Give him the winged Hermes' hand,tt 
With which he waves his snaky wand ; 

Nascan de voi si nuove forme et tante ? 
Lieti. mesti, superbi, humil', altieri, 
Vi mostrate in un punto, onde di speme, 
Etditimor, deempiete, &:c., «S;c. 
Oh ! tell me, brightly-beaming eye, 
Whence iu your little orbit lie 
So many ditferent traits of fire, 
Expressing each a new desire. 
Now with pride or scorn you darkle. 
Now with love, with gladness, sparkle. 
While we who view the varying mirror, 
Feel by turns both hope and terror. 
Chevreau, citing the lines of our poet, in his 
critique on the poems of Malherbe, produces a 
Latin version of them from a manuscript which 
he had seen, entitled " Joan. Falconis Anacre- 
ontiei Lusus." 

^.That Eloquence would claim, her own ;] In 
the original, as in the preceding ode, Pitho, the 
goddess of persuasion, or eloquence. It was 
worthy of the delicate imagination of the 
Greeks to deify Persuasion, and give her the 
lips for her throne. We are here reminded of 
a very interesting fragment of Anacreon, pre- 
served by the scholiast upon Pindar, and sup- 
posed to belong to a poem reflecting with some 
severity on Simonides, who was the first, wo 
are told, that ever made a hireling of his 
muse :— 

Ov& apyvperj ttot ekafifpe IXetflo). 
Nor yet had fair Persuasion shone 
In silver splendors, not her own. 
"'And let the lips, though silent, wear 
A life-look, as ij ivords were there.] In the 
original \a\Mv aiianr). The mistress of Petrarch 
•' parla con silenzio," which is perhaps the best 
method of female eloquence. 

II Give him the winged Hermes' hand, rfc] In 
Shakspeare's Cymbcline there is a similar 
method of description :— 

this is his hand. 

His foot mercurial, his martial thigh, 
Tlie brawns of Hercules. 
We find it likewise in Hamlet. Longepierre 




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ODES OP AN-ACREON. 



Let Bacchus the broad chest supply, 
And Leda's sons the sinewy thigh ; 
W^hile, through his whole transparent 

frame, 
Thou show'st the stirrings of that flame, 
Which kiadles, -when the first love-sigh 
Steals from the heart, unconscious why. 

But sure thy pencil, though so bright, 
Is envious of the eye's delight, 
Or its enamor'd touch would show 
The shoulder, fair as sunless snow, 
Which now in veiling shadow lies, 
Removed from all but Fancy's eyes. 
K"ow, for his feet— but hold — forbear ~ 
I see the sun-god's portrait there ;* 
Why paint Bathyllus i? when, in truth, 
There, in that god, thou'st sketch'd the 

youth. 
Enough— let this bright form be mine, 

thinks tbat the hands of Mercury are selected 
by Anacreon, on account of the graceful ges- 
tures which were supposi-d to characterize tlie 
god of eloquence; but Mercury was also the 
patron of thieves, and may perhaps be praised 
as a light-fingered deity. 

* But hold— forbear— 

I see the sun-god's portrait there ;] The ab- 
rupt turn here is spirited, but requires some 
explanation. While the artist is pursuing the 
portrait of Bathyllus, Anacreon, we must sup- 
pose, turns round and sees a picture of Apollo, 
which was intended for an altar at Samos. He 
then instantly tells the painter to cease his 
work ; that this picture will serve for Bathyllus ; 
and that, when he goes to Samos, lie may make 
an Apollo of the portrait of the boy which he 
had begun. 

" Bathyllus (says Madame Dacier) could not 
be more elegantly praised, and this one passage 
does him more lionor than the statue, however 
beautiful it might be, which Polycrates raised 
toliim." 

t An elegant translation of this ode, says 
Dogen, may be found in Kamler's Lyr. Blumen- 
lese, lib. v. p. 403. 

{ Bring me wine in brimming urns, <£-c.] 
Orig. irieic anutTTt. Theamystis was r^ method of 
drinking used among the Thracians. Thus 
Horace, " Threicia vincat amystide." Mad. 
Dacier, Longepierre, &.c. &c. 

Parrhasius, in his twenty-sixth epistle, (The- 
saur. Critic, vol. i,) explains the amystis as a 
draught to be exhausted without drawing 
breath, " uuo haustu." A note iu the margin 
of this epistle of Parrhasius says, "Politianus 
vestem esse putabat," but adds no reference. 

§ Give me all those humid floioers, <£-c.] Ac- 
cording to the original reading of this line, the 
poet says, " Give me the flower of wine "—Date 
nosculos Lyffii, as it is in the version of Elias 
Andreas; and 

Deh porgetimi del fiore 
Di quel almo e buon liquore, 
aaKegnier has it, who supports the reading. 
The word Afflo? would undoubtedly bear this 



And send the boy to Samos' shrine ; 
Phoebus shall then Bathyllus be, 
Bathyllus then, the deity 1 



ODE XVIILt 

If ow the star of day is high, 

Fly, my ghls, in pity fly. 

Bring me wine in brimming ums,t 

Cool my hp, it bums, it bums 1 

Sunn'd by the meridian fire, 

Panting, languid I exphe. 

Give me all those humid flowers,$ 

Drop them o'er my brow in showers. 

Scarce a breathing chaplet now 

Lives upon my feverish brow ; 

Every dewy rose I wear 

Sheds its tears and withers there, || 

But to you, my loTirning heart, Y 

application, which is somewhat similar to Its 
import in the epigram of Simouides upoc 
Sophocles : — 

and flos in the Latin is frequently applied in 
the same manner — thus Cethegus is called by 
Ennius, Flos inlibatus popidi, suadaeque me 
duUa, "The immaculate flower of the people 
and the very marrow of persuasion." See these 
verses cited by Aulus Gellius, lib. xii., which 
Cicero praised, and Seneca thought ridiculous. 

But m the passage before .''us. if we admit 
€K(iviov, according to Faber's conjecture, the 
sense is sufficiently clear, without having re- 
course to such refinements. 

II Every dewy rose I wear 

tiheds its tears, and withers there,] There 
are some beautiful lines by Angerianus, upon 
a garland, which I cannot resist quoting here ; — 
Ante fores madidse sic sic pendete corollas. 

Mane orto imponet Caelia vos capiti ; 
At quum per niveamcerviceminfluxerit humor, 

Dicite, non roris sed pluvia hiec lacrimse. 
By Celia's arbor all the night 

Hang, humid wreath, the lover's vow; 
And haply, at the morning light, 

My love shall twine thee round her brow. 
Then, if upon her bosom bright 

Some drops of dew shall fall from thee. 
Tell her they are not drops of night. 

But tears of sorrow shed by mol 

In the poem of Mr. Sheridan's, " Uncouth ii 
this moss-covered grotto of stone," there is at. 
idea very singularly coincident with this ol 
Angerianus :— 

And thou, stony grot, in thy arch may'st pre- 
serve 

Some lingering drops of the night-fallen dew ; 
Let them fall on her bosom of snow, and they'll 
serve 

As tears of my sorrow intrusted to you. 

^ But to you, my burning heart, d-c] The 
transiton here is peculiarly delicate and im- 
passioned ; but *.he commentators have dot- 



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«0 



MOOEB'S WORKS. 



What can now relief impart? 

Can l)rimming bowl, or flow'ret's dew. 

Cool the flame that scorches you ? 

ODE XIX.* 
Here recline you, gentle maid,t 
Sweet is tliis embowering shade; 
Sweet the young, the modest trees, 
Ruffled by the kissiug breeze ; 
Sweet the little founts that weep, 
Lulling soft the mind to sleep ; 
Hark ! they whisper as they roll. 
Calm persuasion to the soul; 

plexeil the sentiment by a variety of readings 
and conj(?cf ures. 

* The (lesci'iptioa of this bower is bo natural 
and animated, that we ahnost fed a degree of 
coolness and freshness while we peruse it 
Longepiene has quoted from the first book of 
the Anthologia, the following epigram, as some- 
what resembling this ode:— 
Epx«o (cat KaT e/jiav ifev ttituv, a to (J-eKt-xpov 

Ilpo« /iaAa/cous ij^et Ke/cAi/nei'a ^e<t>vpovi. 
Hn5e Kai Kpovvio-ixa fie.Vio-Taye?, evOa, jU.eAi<r5ioi' 

'H&vu ep)]|Xacoi! vwvov ayoi KaAa/^iois. 

Come, sit by the shadowy pine 

That covers my sylvan retreat ; 
And si'e how the branches incline 

The breathing of zephyrs to meet. 
See the fountain that, flowing, diffuses 

Around mo a glittering spray; 
By its brink, as the traveller muses, 
I sooth him to sleep with my lay. 
iHere recline you, genUe maid. <£-<;.] The Vat- 
ican MS. reads fiaOvWov, which renders the 
whole poem metaphorical. Some commenta- 
tor suggtsts the reailing of padvWov, which 
makes a pnn upon the name; a grace that Plato 
himself has condescended to in writing of liis 
boy Ao-Trip. See the epigram of this pliilosopher, 
which I quote ou the twenty-second ode. 

There is another epigram by this philosopher, 
preserved in Laertius, which turns upon the 
same word. 
Actttjp TTpiv fxeu fXaixTTC'; evi ^iooktiu etoos 

Nvf &e ^at'oiv Aa;u.7rei? eo-Trepos ev </)9t/j.6i'ots. 
In life thou wert my morning star, 

But now that death has stolen thy light, 
Alas ! tliou shinest dim and far, 

Like the pale beam that weeps at night. 

In the Veneres BlyenburgicEB, under the head 

of '■ Allusiones," we find a number of such 

frigid conceits upon names, selected from the 

poets of the middle ages. 

J Who, mt/ girl,ivoiddpassithy? 
Surely neither you nor I.] The finish given 
to the picture by this simple exclamation ns a.v 
ovv opuiv TrapeAdoi, is inimitable. Yet a French 
translator says on the passage, " This con- 
clusion appeared to me too trifling after such a 
description, and I thought proper to add some- 
what to the strength of the original." 

§ The poet appears, in this graceful allegory, 
to describe the softening influence which poetry 
iiolds over the mind, in making it peculiarly 



Tell me, tell me is not this 
All a stilly scene of bliss? 
Who, my girl, would pass it byf 
Surely neither you nor I.| 



ODE XX. $ 

One day the Muses twined the hands 
Of infant Love with flow'ry bands; 
And to cebstial Beauty gave 
The captive infant for her slave. 
His mother comes, with many a toy, 
To ransom her beloved boy ;|| 

susceptible to the impressions of beauty. In the 
following epigram, however, by the plulosojihei 
Plato, (I)iog. Laert. lib. 3,)the']\luses are repre- 
sented as disavowing the influence of Love. 
'K Kuirpis Mouo-oKTi, KOpaaia, rav AifipoSLTav 

TifiaT, rj TOi. EpcoTa iz/nnci' €(^o?i-Aicro/iat. 
At Moucrat TroTt KvirpLV, Apei Ta crrajfivAa ravTCf 

Hfiii' ov TTCTarat tovto to naiSapiov. 

" Yield to my gentle power, Parnassian maids;" 

Thus to the Muses spoke the Queen of 

Charms — 

"Or Love sliall flutter through your classic 

shades, [arms!" 

And make your grove the camp of Paphian 

"No," said the virgins of the tuneful bower, 

" We scin-n thine own and all thy urchin's art: 
Though Mars has trembled at the infant's 
power, 
His shaft is pointless o'er a Muse's heart!" 
There is a sonnet by Benedetto Guidi, tbs 
thought of which was suggested by this ode. 
Scherzava dentro all' auree chiome Amore 

Dell' alma donna della vita mia: 
E tanta era il placer cIi' ei ne sentia, 

Che ntm sapea, n6 volea uscirTie fore. 
Quando ecco ivi annodar si sente il core. 

Si, clie per forza ancor convien che stia: 
Tai lacci alta beltate orditi avia 

Del crespo crin, per tarsi eterno onore. 
Onde oflfre infin dal ciel degna mercede, 

A chi scioglie il figliuol la bella dea 

Da tanti nodi, in ch' ella stretto il vede 
Maci vintoadue occhi 1' arme cede: 

Et t' affatichi indarno, Citerea; 

Che 3' altri '1 scioglie, egli a legar si riede 
Love, wandering through the golden maze 

Of my beloved's hair. 
Found, at each stc]). such sweet delays. 

That rapt he linger'd there. 
And how, indeed, was love to fly, 

Or how his freedom find. 
When every ringlet was a tie, 

A chain, by Beauty twined. 
In vain to seek her boy's release 

Comes Venus from above : 
Fond mother, let thy efforts cease, 

Love's now the slave of Love. 
And, should we loose his golden chain, 
Tlie prisoner would return again ! 
II His mother comes, with many a toy. 
To ransom her beloved boy ; del In the firsl 



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ODES OP AN"ACREOK 



81 



Ilis mother sues, but all in vain, — 
He ne'er will leave Ms chains again. 
Even should they take his chains away. 
The little captive still would stay, 
" If this," he cries, " a bondage be, 
Oh, who could wish for hberty ?" 

ODE XXL* 

Observe when mother earth is dry, 
She drinks the di'oppings of the sky. 
And then the dewy cordial gives 
To ev'ry thirsty plant that lives. 
The vapors, which at evening weep. 
Are beverage to the swelling deep ; 

iJyl of Moschus, Venus thus proclaims the re- 
ward for her fugitive cliild : 

Micrflos Tot, TO ^lAajia to Ku7rpi5os" iji* 6' ayay?)? 
Ov yv/jLvov TO (^lAa/aa, Tv i', lo (fve, <cat irAcov 

On him, who the haunts of my Cupid can show, 
A kiss of tlio tenderest stamp I'll bestow ; 
I'.ut he, who can bring back the urchin in chains, 
Shall receive even something more sweet for 
his pains. 
Subjoined to this ode, we find In the Vatican 
MS. the following lines, which appear to me to 
boast as little sense as metre, and which are 
most probably the interpolation of the transcri- 
ber :— 

''H8vfi€\iq<; ApaKpeutv 
'HSu/ttcArjs Se 'S,air(j>u> 
JlivSapiKov TO Se fioi fieAoj 
2uy(ccpa<7-as Ti? eyxeoi 
Ta rpia ravra /u.oi loKet 

Kat AlOI'UO'O? €L(T€\du}V 

Kai Tla<S>i.rj Trapa\poo<s 
Kai auTO? Epwj Kav fnieiv. 

* Those critics who have endeavored to throw 
the chains of precision over the spirit of this 
beautiful trifle, require too much from Anacre- 
ontic philosophy. Among others, Gail very sa- 
picntly thinks that the poet uses the epithet 
neKatvY), because black earth absorljs moist- 
ure more quickly than any other ; and accord- 
ingly he indulges us with an experimental dis- 
quisition on the subject.— See Gail's notes. 

Oneof theCapilupi has imitated this ode, in 
an epitaph on a drunkard :— 

Dum vixisine fine bibi, sic imbrifer arcus 
Sic tellus pluvias sole pcrusta bibit. 

Sic bibit assidu6 fontes et flumina Pontus, 
Sic semper sitiens Sol maris haurit aquas. 

Ne te igitur jactes plus me, Silene, bibisse ; 
Et mihida victas tu quoque.Bacche, raanus. 

Hiri'OLYTLS CaI'IMI'US. 

While life was mine, the little hour 

lu drinking still unvaried flen- ; 
1 drank as earth imbibes the shower. 

Or as the rainbow drinks the dew ; 
As ocean quaffs the rivers up. 

Or flushing sun inhales the sea : 
Silenus trembled at my cup, 

And Bacchus was outdone by me ! 



And when the rosy sun appears. 
He drinks the ocean's misty tears. 
The moon too quaffs her paly stream 
Of lustre, from the solar beam. 
Then, hence with all your sober think- 
Since I'Tature's holy law is drinking; [ing! 
I'll make the laws of nature mine. 
And pledge the universe in wine. 



ODE XXII. 



the 



The Phrygian rock, that braves 

storm. 
Was once a weeping matron's formjt 
And Progue, hapless, frantic maid, 

I cannot omit citing those remarkable lines 
of Shakspeare, where the tlioughts of the ode 
before us are preserved with such striking simil- 
itude : 

I'll example you with thievery. 
The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction 
Robs the vast sea. The moon's an arrant thief, 
And her pale firo she snatches from the sun. 
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
The mounds into salt tears. The earth's a thief. 
That feeds, and breeds by a compostm-o stolen 
From general excrements. 

Timonof AtJiP.ns, act iv. sc. 3. 

t a weeping matron's form ,-] Niobe. 

— Ogilvie, in his Essay on the Lyric Poetry of 
the Ancients, in remarking upon the Odes ot 
Anacreon, says, " In some of his pieces there 
is exuberance and even wildness of imagina- 
tion ; in that particularly, which li addressed 
to a young girl, where he, wishes alternately to 
be transformed to a mirror, a coat, a stream, a 
bracelet, and a jjair of shoes, for the ditTereiit 
purposes which he recites : this is mere sport 
and wantonness." 

It is the wantonness, however, of a very 
graceful Muse ; " ludit ainabiliter." The com- 
pliment of tliis ode is exquisitely delicate, and 
so singular fur the periocl ir which Anacreon 
lived, when the scale of love had not yet beea 
graduated into all its little progressive refine- 
ments, that if we were inclined to question 
the authenticity of the poem, we should find 
a much more plausible argument in the features 
of modern gallantry which it bears tlian in any 
of those fastidious conjectures upon which 
some commentators have prestiraed so far. De- 
gen thinksit spurious,and l)e Pauw pronounces 
it to be miserable. Longepierre and Barnes 
refer us to several imitations of this ode, from 
which I sliall only select the following epigram 
of Dionysius : — 

Eld' oi'enios ytvoii.r)V, av Se yt o-T6i>£0u<ra Trap' 
ou-ya?, 

2T>)0ea yu/avuxToi?, Kai, fif irreoi'Ta Aa/3ot9. 
Ei0€ poSov ycfonrjv vnonop^livpui', 0(j>pa /u,e ^fpaiw 

Apaixtyi], KOni<Tai<; OTeOiai xioveois. 
EiCe Kpivov yevop.r)v Af u/co^poor, oi^pa fie \ip0't 

Apap-ffri, fiaWov <tt)S xP°tit)s (topfo-jjs. 

I wish I could like zephyr steal 
To wanton o'er thy miizy vest ; 

And thou wouldst ope thy bosom-veil, 
And take me panting to thy breast I 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 



Is now a swallow in the shade. 
Oh ! that a nurror's form were mine, 
That I might catch that smile divine ; 
And like my own fond fancy he, 
Reflecting thee, and only thee ; 
Or could I be the robe which holds 
That graceful form within its folds ; 
Or, turn'd into a fountain, lave 
Thy beauties in my circling wave. 
Would I were perfume for thy hair, 
To breathe my soul in fragrance there ; 
Or, better still, the zone, that lies 
Close to thy breast, and feels its sighs !* 
Or e'en those envious pearls that show 
So faintly round that neck of snow- 
Yes, I would be a happy gem, 
Like them to hang, to fade like them. 
What more would thy Anacreon be ? 
Oh, any thing that touches thee ; 

I wish I might a rose-bud grow, 

And tliou wouldst cull me from the bower 
To place me on that breast of snow, 

Where I should bloom, a wiutry flower. 
I wish 1 were the lily's leaf, 

To fade upon that bosom warm, 
Content to wither, pale and brief, 

The trophy of thy fairer form ! 
I may add, that Plato has expressed as fanci- 
ful a wish in a distich preserved by Laertius : 

A<TTepa? eio-adpcif, Karqp f/io^' €i6e yevoi/nqv 
Ovpavoi, us iToAAot; oju/uacrti' ci; £e jSAciroj. 

TO STELLA. 

"Why dost thou gaze upon the sky ? 

Oh ! that I were that spangled sphere, 
And every star should be an eye. 

To wonder on thy beauties here ! 

Apuleius quotes this epigram of the divine 
philosopher, to justify himself for his verses on 
Critias and Charinus. See his Apology, where 
he also adduces the example of Anacreon : — 
" Feccre tamen et alii talia, et si vos ignoratis, 
apud Grsecos Teius quidara, &c. &c." 

*0r, better still, the zone, that lies 

Close to thy breast, and feels its sighs .'] This 
Tan'iTj was a riband, or band, called by the 
Romans fascia and strophium, which the 
women wore for the purpose of restraining the 
exuberance of the bosom. Vide I'oUuc. Ono- 
mast. Thus Martial: — 

Fascia crescentes domiuEecompesce papillas. 

The women of Greece not only wore this 
zone but condemned themselves to fasting, and 
made use of certain drugs and powders for the 
same purpose. To these expedients they were 
compelled, in consequence of their inelegant 
fashion of compressing the waist into a very 
narrow compass, which necessarily caused an 
excessive tumidity in the bosom. See Dioscori- 
des, lib. V. 

^Nay, sandals for those airy feet — 

E'en to be trod by them were sweet f\ The 
sophist Philostratus, in one of his love-letters, 



Nay, sandals for those airy feet — 
E'en to be trod by them were sweet K 



ODE XXIII.t 

I OFTEN wish this languid lyre, 
This warbler of my soul's desire, 
Could raise the breath of song sublime, 
To men of fame, in former time. 
But when the soaring theme I try, 
Along the chords my numbers die. 
And whisper, with dissolving tone, 
" Our sighs are given to love alone !" 
Indignant at the feeble lay, 
I tore the panting chords away. 
Attuned them to a nobler swell, 
And struck again the breathing shell ; 
In all the glow of epic fire,§ 
To Hercules I wake the lyre. 

has borrowed this thought ; u oSerot woSe?, u 

(caAAo? e\ev9epo<;, to Tpio-euSatjUioi' €710 Koi iiaKa- 

pioseai/TToTTjo-eTc ju€. — "Oh lovely feet ! oh excel- 
lent beauty ! oh! thrice happy and blessed shoidd 
I be, if you would but treacl on me !" InShaks- 
peare, Komeo desires to be a glove : — 

Oh ! that I were a glove upon that hand, 
That I might kiss that cheek ! 

And in his Passionate Pilgrim, we meet with 
an idea somewhat like that of the thirteenth 
line :— 

He, spying her, bounced in, where as he stood, 
" O Jove !" quoth she, " why was not I a floodr' 
In Burton's Aimtomy of Melancholy, that 
whimsical farrago of "all such reading as was 
never read," we find a translation of this ode 
made before 1632.— "Englished by Mr. B. 
Holiday, iu his Technog. act. i. scene 7." 

tAccordingto the order m which the odes are 
usually placed, this (QsAw \eyeLv ArpeiSa?) forms 
the first of the series ; aud is thought to be pe- 
culiarly designed as an introduction to the rest. 
It however characterizes the genius of the 
Teian but very inadequately, as wine, the 
burden of his lays, is not even mentioned in it : 

cum multo Venerem confundere mero 

Precepit Lyrici Tela Musa senis. Ovid. 

The twenty-sixth Ode, 2u fxev Aeyeis wa ©r)/3r)!. 

might, with just as much propriety, be placed 
at the head of his songs. 

We find the sentiment of the ode before us ex.- 
pressed by Bion with much simplicity in his 
fourth idyl. The above translation is, perhaps, 
too paraphrastical ; but the ode has been so 
frequently translated, that I could not other- 
wise avoid triteness and repetition. 

§rn all the glow of epic fire. 

To Hercules I wake the lyre. ] Madame Da- 
cier generally translates Aupr, into a lute, which 
I believe is inaccurate. " D'expliquer la lyre 
des anciens (says M. Sorel) par un luth c est 
ignorer la diflference qu'il y a entre ces deux in- 
strumens de muaique." — BiblioUidqtie Fran- 
(oisc. 



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ODES OF A^-ACREOIf. 



R3 



But still its fainting sighs repeat,* 
" The tale of love alone is sweet !" 
Then fare thee well, seductive dream, 
That uiad'st me follow Glory's theme ; 
For thou my lyre, and thou my heart, 
Shall never more in spirit part ; 
And all that one has felt so weU 
The other shall as sweetly tell ! 

ODE XXIV. t 

To all that breathe the air of heaven. 
Some boon of strength has Nature given. 
In forming the majestic bull, 
She fenced with wreathed horns his skull ; 
A hoof of strength she lent the steed. 
And wing'd the timorous hare with speed. 
She gave the lion fangs of terror, 
And, o'er the ocean's crystal muTor, 
Taught the unnumber'd scaly throng 
To trace their liquid path along ; 
While from the umbrage of the grove, 
She plumed the warbling world of love. 
To man she gave, in that proud hour, 

* Stit still i7s fainting sighs repeat, 
"The tale of love alone is sweet .'"] The word 
a.'T£<i)u)wi in the original, may imply that 
kind of musical dialogue practised by the an- 
cients, in which the lyre was made to respond 
to tlie questions proposed by the singer. This 
was a method which Sappho used, as we arc 

told by HermogeneS; "orav rriv Avpav epwTa 
2a7r(/)a), Kai. oTav avrr] OTroKpivrjTai." — Ilepi 

l&CitiVy TOfi. 6euT. 

t Henry Stephen has imitated the idea of 
this ode m the following lines of one of his 
poems : — 
Provida dat cunctis Natura animantibus arma, 

Et sua loemineum possidet arma genus, 
TJngulaque ut defendit equum, atque ut cornua 
taurum, 
Armata est forma foemina pulchrasua. 
And the same thought occurs in those lines, 
spoken by Corisca in Pastor I'ldo: 
Cosi noi la bellezza 
Ch' 6 vertii nostra cosi propria, come 
La forza del leone, 
li ringegno de 1' huomo. 
The lion boasts his savage powers. 

And lordly man his strength of mind ; 
But beauty's charm is solely ours. 
Peculiar boon, by Heav'n assign'd. 
" An elegant explication of the beauties of 
this ode (says Uegen) may be found in Grimm 
an den Aumerk. iiber eiuige Odendes Anakr." 
; I'o man she gave, in that proud hour, 
Theboon of intellectual power.] In my first 
attempt to translate this ode, I had interpreted 
<i>povr\ti.a, with Baxter and Barnes, as implying 
courage and military virtue ; but I do not think 
that the gallantry of the idea suffers by the im- 
port which I have now given to it. For, why 
need we consider this possession of wisdom as 
exclusive ? and in truth, as the design of Ana- 



The boon of intellectual power, t 
Then, what, oh woman, what, for thee, 
Was left in Nature's treasitry ? 
She gave thee beauty— mightier far 
Than aU the pomp and power of war. 5 
Nor steel, nor fire itself hath power 
Like woman in her conquering hour. 
Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, 
Smile, and a world is weak before thee !1! 



ODE XXV. H 

Once in each revolving year, 
Gentle bird ! we find thee here. 
When Nature wears her summer- vest, 
Thou com'st to weave thy simple nest •• 
But when the chilling winter lowers, 
Again thou seek'st the genial bowers 
Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile, 
Where sunny hours forever smUe. 
And thus thy pinion rests and roves, — 
Alas ! unlike the swarm of Loves, 
That brood within this hapless breast, 
And never, never change their nest !** 

creon is to estimate the treasure of beauty, 
above all the rest which Nature has distributed, 
it is perhaps even refining upon the delicacy of 
the compliment, to prefer the radiance of fe- 
male charms to the cold illumination of wis- 
dom rnd prudence ; and to think that women's 
eyes are 

the books, the academics. 

From whence doth spring the true Promethean 
fire. 

§ She gave thee beauty — mightier far 

Than all the pomp and poiver of war.] Thus 

Achilles Tatius : — koAAo? of urcpof Tirpwo-Kn 

jSeAous, Kai &ia. Tuv o<J)6a.\M<o>' ei? Tiji' iliv\r}v 

Karappei. Oiti0aKp.Oi yap 660? epuTtxw Tpau^ari. 

'■ Beauty wouuds more swiftly than the arrow, 
and passes through the eye to tlie very soul; 
for the eye is the inlet to the wouuds of love." 

II Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, 

Smile, and a world is weak before thee!\ 
Longepierre's remark here is ingenious : — ' ' Tho 
Romans,'' says he, "were so convinced of tho 
power of beauty, that they used a word imply- 
ing streugth in the pl.ace of the epithet beauti- 
ful. Thus Plautus, act '2, sceue 2. Bacchid. 
Sed Bacchis etiam fortis tibi visa. 

' Fortis, id est formosa,' say Servius and 
Nonius." 

T[ 'We have here another ode addressed to 
the swallow. Albert! has imitated both iii 
one poem, begin niug 

Perch' io pianga al tuo canto, 
Kondinella importuna, &.c. 

** Alas ! unlike thes^oarm of Loves, 
Tfiat brood within this hapless breast. 
And never, never change their nest!] Thus 
Love is represented as a bird, in an epigram 
cited by Longepierre from tho Anthtlogia:— 



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84 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



Still every year, and all the year, 
They fix theu- fated dwelling here ; 
And some their infant plumage try, 
And on a tender wiuglet fly ; 
"While in the shell, impregn'd with fijes, 
Still lurli; a thousand more desires ; 
Some from their tiny prisons peeping, 
And some in formless embryo sleeping. 
Thus peopled, like the vernal groves. 
My breast resounds with warbling Loves; 
One urchin imps the other's feather. 
Then twin-desires they wing together. 
And fast as they thus take their flight, 
Still other urchins spring to light. 
But is there theu no Idndly art, 
To chase these Cupids from my heart ? 
Ah, no ! I fear, in sadness fear, 
They will forever nestle here ! 

ODE XXVL* 

Thy harp may sing of Troy's alarms. 
Or tell the tale of Theban arms ; 
With other wars my song shall bum, 
For other wounds my harp shall mourn. 
'Twas not the crested warrior's dart, 
That drank the cmTent of my heart, 

Atei /not Si'vei /u.ei' ef ovao-ii" »)xos -^pwTos, 

OfJifxa &e ctya noOoi^ TO y\vKV 6aKpv <^epet. 
Oi;6' i] I'V^, ou <l>(yyoi CKOifiiirei', aAA' viro <J)iA- 

H5t) nov KpaSiT) yi-iuo-Tos tveari rvirof. 

tl TTTavot, p-rj Kai ttot* €(jMTrTaaOat y.Qv eputre^ 

OtSar', aironTrji^ai 5* ov6* 6(jov tcr;^u€Te. 

'Tis Love that murmurs in my breast, 
And makes me shed the secret tear; 

Kor day nor nis'ht my soul hath rest, 
For night and day his voice I hear. 

A -wound within my heart I find, 

And oh ! 'tis plain where Love has been ; 
For still lie loaves a tvound behind. 
Such as within my heart is seen. 
Oh, bird of Love ! with song so dear. 
Make not my soul the nest of pain ; 
Bnt, let the wing which brought thee here, 

In pity waft thee hence again ! 
* '' The Geiroan poet TJz has imitated this 
ode. Compare also Weisse Seherz. Lieder, lib. 
'ji., der Soldnt." Gail, Uegen. 
1 No — 'twas from eyes of liquid blue, 
A host of quiver' d Cupids Jleiv ;] Longcpierro 
nas quoteil part of an epigram from the seventh 
book of the Anthologia, which has a fancy some- 
tiling like this. 

Ou ixe AeA))0a9, 
To^oTa, Zrivo<\>i.Ka.<; Ofifnavi (cpuTTTO/nevo? 

Archer Love ! though slyly creeping, 
Well I know where thou dost lio ; 

I saw thee through the curtain peeping. 
That fringes Zenophelia's eye. 
The poets abound with conceits on the arch. 



ITor naval arms, nor mailed steed. 
Have made this vanquish'd bosom bleed ; 
^o — 'twas from eyes of liquid blue, 
A host of quiver'd Cupids flew;t 
And now my heart all bleeding lies 
Beneath that army of the eyes ! 



ODE XXVII.t 

We read the flying courser's name 
Upon his side, in marks of flame ; 
And, by their turban'd brows alone, 
The waiTiors of the East are known ; 
But in the lover's glowing eyes. 
The inlet to his bosom lies ;§ [mark, 
Through them we see the small fairt 
Where Love has dropp'd his burning 
spark ! 

ODE XXVIILII 

As, by his Lemnian forge's flame, 
The husband of the Paphian dame 
Moulded the glowing steel, to form 
Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm ; 
And Venus, as ho plied his art. 
Shed honey round each new-made dart, 

ery of the eyes, but few have turned the thought 
so naturally as Anacreon. Ronsard gives to the 
eyes of his mistress " un petit camp d'amours.'' 
; This ode forms a part of the preceding in the 
Vatican MS., but I have conformed to the edi- 
tions in translating them separately. 

"Compare with this (says Uegen) the poem ot 
Rainier AVahrzeichen der Liebe, in Lyr. Blu- 
menlese, lib. iv. p. 313." 
§ But in the lover's glowing eyes, 
The inlet to his bosom lies;i " We cannot see 
into the heart," saya Madame Dacier. But the 
lover aus\i'ers — 
II cor no gli occhi et ne la fronte ho scritto. 
M. La Fosse has given the following lines, as 
enlarging on the thought of Anacreon: — 
Lorsque je vols un amant, 
II cache en vain son tourment, 
A le trail ir tout conspire, 
Sa langueur, son embarras, 
Tout ce qu'il neut faire ou dire, 
Meme ce qu'il ne dit pas. 
In vain the lover tries to veil 

The flame that in his bosom lies ; 
His cheeks' confusion tells the tale, 

We read it iu his languid eyes : 
And while his words the heart betray. 
His silence speaks e'en more than they. 
II This ode is refeiTcd to by La Mothe le Va- 
yer, who, I believe, was the author of that curi- 
ous little work, called " Hexameron Eustique. 
He makes use of this, as well as the thirty-tifth, 
in his ingenious but indelicate explanation oi 
Homer's Cave of the Nymphs.^Tlournee Qua 
triime. 




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ODES OP AN-ACREON". 



35 



"While Love, at hand, to finish all, 
Tipp'd every arrow's point with gall;* 
It chanced the Lord of Battles came 
To visit that deep cave of flame. 
'Twas from the ranks of war he rush'd, 
His spear with many a life-drop blush'd ; 
He saw the fiery darts, and smiled 
Contemptuous at the archer child. 
" What !" said the urchin, "■ dost thou 

smile ? 
Here, hold this little dart awhile. 
And thou wilt find, though swift of flight. 
My bolts are not so feathery light."" 

Mars took the shaft — and, oh, thy look. 
Sweet Venus, when the shaft he took ! — 
Sighing, he felt the urchin s art, 
And cried, in agony of heart, 
" It is not light — I sink with pain ! 
Take — take thy arrow back again." 
"No,'' said the child, "it must not be; 
That little dart was made for thee !" 

* While Love, at hand, to finiah all, 
Tipjfd every arrow's point with gall ,-] Thus 
ClaiuUan : — 
Labuntur gemini fontes, hie dulcis, amarus 
Alter, et infusiscorrumpit mella veneiiis, 
Unde Cupidineas armavit fama sagittas. 
In Cyprus' isle two rippling fountains fall, 
Aud"oiip. ^vith honey flows, and one with gall; 
In these, if we may take the tale from fame, 
The son of Venus dips his darts of flame. 
See Aleiatus, emblem 91, on tlie close connec- 
tion which subsists between sweets and bitters. 
" Apes ideo pungunt, (says Petronius,) quia ubi 
dulce, ibiel acidum invenies." 

The allegorical description of Cupid's em- 
ployment, in Horace, may vie with this before 
us iu fancy, though not in delicacy :— 

ferus et Cupido 

Semper ardentes acuens sagittas 
Cote cruenta. 
And Cupid, sharpening all his fiery darts, 
Upon a whetstone stain'd with blood of hearts. 
Secundus has borrowed this, but has some- 
what softened the image by the omission of the 
epithet " cruenta." 
Fallor an ardentes acuebat cote sagittas 1 

Eleg. 1. 
t Yes — loving is a painful thrill. 
And not to love tnore painful still ; rfc] The 
following Anacreontic, addressed by Menage 
to Daniel Huet, enforces, with much grace, the 
" necessity of loving :" — 

Ilept Tou hsiv <i>i\ricai. 
npos neTpoK Aaci>)Aa 'YtTTOv. 

Me^a ^av^a rtav aQitoiV, 
XapiT<.>>' ,jaAo?, 'YeTTe, 
*tAe(o/iet', to tratpe 
^iKcy}<Tav ot (70(f)ta"Tat. 
^lAeTjTe (Tc^fO? avqp. 
To Tt/ci'oi' TOU 2iu<^ponai«»w, 
5.T<iiris irarnp i 



ODE XXIX. 

Yes — loving is a painful thrill, 
And not to love more painful still ;t 
But oh, it is the worst of pain. 
To love and not be loved again! 
Affection now has fled from earth. 
iSTor fire of genius, noble birth, 
Nor heavenly virtue, can beguile 
From beauty's cheek one favoring sm^e. 
Gold is the woman's only theme. 
Gold is the woman's only dream. 
Oh ! never be that wretch forgiven^ 
Forgive him not, indignant heaven ! 
Whose groveUing eyes could first adore 
Whose heart could pant for sordid ore. 
Since that devoted thirst began, 
Man has forgot to feel for man ; 
The pulse of social life is dead, 
And all its fonder feelings fled ! 
War too has sullied Nature's charms, 
For gold provokes the world to arms ; 

Ti 5' avfv yevon' EpwTOsj 
h.KOvr] ixev eo-Ti i/zuxi?.* 
Xlrtpvyecrai.v fi? OKvixirov 
Kara/cei/uei'Oi;? ai'atpei. 
BpaSea? TerTjyjuei'OtO't. 
BeAeeo-l i^aynptl.. 
IIvpi Aap.)ra6o? ^anvm 
PuTrapioTepov? »ca9aipei. 
^iXeuifxev ovv, 'YexTe, 
^iKiiofxev u) (Taipe. 
ASiKuis Se Aoiiopoui'Ti 
'A710V9 epioTas rjfioji' 
KaKov f nfojuai to ixovvov, 
"Ii'a fir] 6iii'aiT' ^Keivos 
4>iAe€tv re Kai <f>i\(icr9ai. 

Thou ! of tuneful bards the first. 
Thou! by all the Graces nursed; 
Friend ! each other friend above, 
Come with me, and learn to lova 
Loving is a simple lore. 
Graver men have learn'd before ; 
Nay, the boast of former ages. 
Wisest of the wisest sages, 
Sophroniscus' prudent son, 
Was by love's illusion won. 
Oh ! how heavy life would move, 
If we knew not how to love ! 
Love's a whetstone to the mind ; 
Thus 'tis pointed, thus refined. 
When the soul dejected lies, 
Love can waft it to the skies; 
When in langour sleeps the heart. 
Love can wake it with his dart ; 
When the mind is dull and dark. 
Love can light it with his spark ! 
Come, oh 1 corac then, let us haste 
All the bliss of love to taste; 
Let ua love both night and day, 

• This line Is borrowed from n eplprara by Alphem 
of Mltylene which Menase, I ciiink, says «oraowher« 
he was himself the first to prodn»;e to the world:— 
ievxyji eo-Tcf Ep'05 aKOVv,: 




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^^^gV^^p- 



MOOEE'S •WOKKS. 



And oh ! the worst of all its arts, 
It rends asunder loving hearts. 



ODE XXX.* 

'TwAS in a mocking dream of night — 
I fancied I had wings as light 
As a young bird's, and flew as fleet; 
While Love, around whose beauteous 

feet, 
I knew not why, himg chains of lead, 
Pursued me, as I trembling fled ; 
And, strange to say, as swift as thought, 
Spite of my pinions, I was caught ! 
What does the wanton Fancy mean 
By such a strange, illusive scene ? 
I fear she whispers to my breast, [rest ; 
That you, sweet maid, have stol'n its 
That though my fancy, for a while, 
Hath hung on many a woman's smile, 
I soon dissolved each passing vow, 
.ind ne'er was caught by love till now ! 

Let us love our lives away ! 
And when hearts, from loving free, 
(If indeed such hearts there be,) 
Frown upon our gentle flame, 
And the sweet delusion blame ; 
This shall be myouly curse, 
(Could I, could I wish them worse ?) 
May they ne'er the rapture prove. 
Of the smile from lips we love ! 
* Barnes imagines from this allegory, that 
our poet married very late in life. 15ut I see 
nothing in the ode which alludes to matrimony, 
except it be the lead upon the feet of Cupid; 
and I agree in the opinion of Madame Dacier, 
in her life of the poet, that he was always too 
fond of pleasure to marry. 

I The design of this little fiction is to intimate, 
that much greater pain attends insensibility 
than can ever result from the tenderest imures- 
sions of love. Longepierre has quoted an 
ancient epigram which bears some similitude 
to this ode : — 

Lccto compositus, vix prima silentia noctis 
Carpebam, et somno lumina victa dabam ; 
Cum me sibvus Amor prensum, sursumcine 
Exoitat, et lacerumpervigilarejubet. [capillis 
Tu famulus mens, inquit, ames cum millo 
Solus lo, solus, durejacere potes? [puellas, 
Exilio et pedibus nudis. tunicaque soluta, 
Omneiter impedio, nullum iter expedio. 
Nunc propero, nunc ire piget ; rursumque redire 
Poenitet ; et pudor est stare via media, [rum, 
Ecce tacent voces hominum, strepitusque fera- 

iit volucrum cantus, turbaque nda canum. 
Solus ego ex cunctis paveo somnumque torum- 
Et sequor imperium, seeve Cupido, tuum. (que, 
TTpon my couch I lay, at night profound. 
My languid eyes in magic sluml)er bound, [bed. 
When Cupid came and snatch'd me from my 
And forceil me many a weary wuy to trend. 
''What! (said the god) shall you, wbose vows 
are known. 



ODE XXXI.t 
Arm'd with hyacinthine rod, 
(Arms enough for such a god,) 
Cupid bade me wing my pace, 
And try with him the rapid race. 
O'er many a torrent, wild and deep. 
By tangled brake and pendent steep, 
With weary foot I panting flew. 
Till my brow dropp'd with chilly dew.t 
And now my soul, exhausted, dying, 
To my lip was faintly flying ;§ 
And now I thought the spark had fled. 
When Cupid hover'd o'er my head, 
And fanning light his breezy pinion. 
Rescued my soul from death's domin- 
ion ;|| 
Then said, in accents half-reproving, 
"Why hast thou been a foe to loving?" 

ODE XXXlLir 
Strew me a fragrant bed of leaves, 
Where lotus with the myrtle weaves ; 

Who love so many nymphs, thus sleep alone?' 
I rise and follow ; all the night I stray, 
Unshelter'd, trembling, doubtful of my way ; 
Tracing with naked foot the painful track. 
Loath to proceed, yet fearful to go back. 
Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems interr'd. 
Nor warbling birds, nor lowing flocks are heard, 
I, I alone, a fugitive from rest. 
Passion my guide, and madness in my breast, 
Wander the world around, unknowing where. 
The slave of love, the victim of despair! 

J Till my brow dropp'd with chilly dew] I 
have followed those who read reipev iipco? for 
Treipev iiSpo; ; the former is partly authorized by 
the MS., which reads neipev iSpios. 

^And now my soul, exhausted, dying, 

To my lip was faintly flying; <£-c.] In the 
original, he says, his heart flew to his nose ; 
but our manner more naturally transfer.s it to 
the lips. Such is the effect that Plato tells us 
he felt from a kiss, in a distich quoted by Aulus 
Gellius: — 
T»)i' if/vxriv, Ayafliui/o (^lAiov, e;ri ;^eiAe(7i»' «<r;^o>'. 

HASe yap ij tAt^/xuji' ws fitajSTjcro/if mt;. 

Whene'er thy nectar'd kiss I sip. 
And drink thy breath, in trance divine, 

My soul then flutters to my lip, 
Eeady to fly and mix with thine. 

Aulus Gellius subjoins a paraphrase of this 
epigram, in which we find a number of those 
mignardises of expression which mark the ef- 
femination of the Latin language. 

II And fanning light his breezy pinion. 

Rescued m,y soul from death's dominion ;] 
"The facility with which Cupid recovers him, 
signifies that the sweets of love make us easily 
forget any solicitudes which he may occasion.'' 
—La Fosse. 

IT We here have the poet, in his true attri- 
butes, reclining upon myrtles, with Cupid for 
his cupbearer. Some interpi-etere have ruined 
tlie picture by making Epus the name of his 




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ODES OF AN-ACREOIT. 



87 



And while in luxury's dream I sink, 
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink ! 
In this sweet hour of revelry 
Young Love shall my attendant be — 
Dress'd for the task, with tunic round 
His snowy neck and shoulders bound, 
Himself shall hover by my side, 
And minister the racy tide ! 

Oh, swift as wheels that kindling roll, 
Our life is hurrying to the goal : 
A scanty dust, to feed the wind, 
Is all the trace 'twill leave behind. 
Then wherefore waste the rose's bloom 
Upon the cold, insensate tomb ? 
Can floweiy breeze, or odoi-'s breath, 
Affect the still, cold sense of death ? 
Oh no ; I ask no balm to steep 
With fragrant tears my bed of sleep : 
But now, while every pulse is glowing, 
Jfow let me breathe the balsam flowing ; 
Now let the rose, with blush of fire, 
Upon my brow in sweets expu-e ; 
And bring the nymph whose eye hath 

power 
To brighten even death's cold hour. 
Yes, Cupid ! ere my shade retire, 
To join the blest elysian choir, 
"With wine, and love, and social cheer, 
I'll make my own elysium here ! 

ODE XXXIIL* 

'TwAS noon of night, when round the 
The sullen Bear is seen to roll ; [pole 
And mortals, wearied with the day. 
Are slumbering all then- cares away : 
An infant, at that dreary hour, 
Came weeping to my silent bower, 

slave. None but Love should fill the goblet of 
Anacreon. Sappho, in one of her fragments, 
has assigned this oiflce toVenus. E\9e, Kvirpi, 
Xpv<T-eiai.a^i.v ev KuAiKeo'crii'ojSpois o-ufXfif/utyn-ei'Oi' 
^aAtaicri venrap oivoxovaa toutokti toi? eraipois 
e^ois ye Kai orois. 
Which may be thus paraphrased :— 

Hither, Venus, queen of kisses, 

This shall be the night of blisses; 

This the night, to friendship dear, 

Thou Shalt be our Hebe here. 

Fill the golden brimmer high. 

Let it sparkle like thine eye; 

Bid the rosy current gush. 

Let it mantle like thy blush. 

Goddess, hast thou e'"er above 

Seen a feast so rich in love t 

Not h, 5011I that is not mine I 

Not a soui .hat is not thine ! 
"Compare -with this Jit 'says the German 
commentator) the beautiful poem in Ramler's 



And waked me with a piteous prayer, 
To shield him from the midnight aii". 
" And who art thou," I waking cry, 
" That bidd'st my blissful visions fly '? "i 
" Ah, gentle sire ! " the infant said, 
" In pity take me to thy shed ; 
Nor fear deceit : a lonely child 
I wander o'er the gloomy wild. 
Chill drops the rain, and not a ray 
Illumes the drear and misty way!" 

I heard the baby's tale of wo ; 
I heard the bitter night-winds blow; 
And sighing for his piteous fate, 
I trimm'd my lamp and oped the gate. 
'Twas Love ! the little wand'ring sprite,} 
His pinion sparkled through the night. 
I knew him by his bow and dart ; 
I knew him by my fluttering heart. 
Fondly I take him in, and raise 
The dying embers' cheering blaze ; 
Press from his dank and clinging hail 
The crystals of the freezing air. 
And in my hand and bosom hold 
His little fingers thrilling cold. 

And now the embers' genial ray 
Had warm'd his anxious fears away; 
" I pray thee," said the wanton child, 
(My bosom trembled as he smiled,) 
" I pray thee, let me try my bow, 
For through the rain I've wander'd so, 
That much I fear the midnight showet 
Has uijured its elastic power." 
The fatal bow the urchin drew ; 
Swift from the string the an-ow flew ; 
As swiftly flew as glancing flame, 
And to my inmost spirit came ! 
"Fare thee well," I heard him say, 

Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 296, 'Amor al^ 
Uiener.' " 

*M. Bernard, the author of L' Art d'aimer, 
has written a ballet called " Les Surprises do 
I'Amour," in which the subject of the third en- 
tree is Anacreon, and the story of this odo sug- 
gests one of the scenes.— CEuvres de Bernard, 
Anac. scene 4th. 

The German annotator refers us here to nn 
imitation by Uz, lib. iii., "Amor und seiu 
Bnider; " aiid a poem of Kleist, ''die Heilnng." 
La Fontaine has translated, or rather imitated 
this ode. 

\ "And who art thou,' Itvaking cnj, 
"That bidd'U my blissful visions fly?'] 
Anacreon appears to have been a voluptuary 
even in dreaming, by the lively regret which he 
expresses at being d'isturbed ttom his visiouary 
enjoyments. See the odes x. and xxsvii. 

; 'Twas Love! the little ivand'rinff sjmtf. «<•«.] 
See the beautiful description of Cupid. l)V 
Moschus, in his first idyl. 




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MOORE'S "WORKS. 



As laughing wild he wing'd away ; 
" Pare thee well, for now I kuow 
The rain has not relax'd my bow ; 
It still can send a thrilling dart, 
As thou shalt own with all thy heart ! " 



ODE XXXIT.* 

On thou, of all creation blest. 
Sweet insect, that delight'st to rest 
Upon the wildwood's leafy tops. 
To drink the dew that morning drops. 
And chirp thy song with such a glee,t 
That happi'jst kings ma.y envy thee. 
Whatever decks the velvet field, 
Whate'er the cii-cliug seasons yield, 
Whatever buds,, whatever blows, 
For thee it buds, for thee it grows. 
Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear. 
To him thy friendly notes are dear; 
For thou art mild as matin dew; 
And still, when summer's flowery hue 
Begins to paint the bloomy plain, 
We hear thy sweet prophetic strain ; 

' In a Latin ode addressed to the prasshop 
per, Rapin has preserved some of the thoughts 
of our author : — 

O qusB virenti graminis in toro. 

Cicada, blande sidis, et herbidos 
Saltus oberras, otiosos 
Ingeniosa ciere cantus. 

Seu forte adultis florilius incnbas, 

Coeli caducis ebria fletibus, &.o. 

Oh thou, that cm the grassy bed 

Which Nature's vernal hand has spread, 

Recliuest solt, and tun'st thy song. 

The dewy herbs and leaves'anioncr ! 

Whether thou li'st on springing flowers, 

Drunlc with the balmy moruiug showers, 

Or, &c. 

See what Licetus says about grasshoppers, 
eap. 93, and 185. 

i And chirp thi/ song with such a glee, <£-c.] 
" Some authors liave affirmed, (says Madame 
Dacier,) that it is only male grasshoppers 
which sing, and that tlie females are suent ; 
and on this circumstance 3s founded a bon-mot 
of Xeuarchus, the comic poet, wlio says, eir" 
eicrii' oi TCTTiye? ovic ev&aiiMOve^, mv Tac; yvvai^ii' 
ouS' oTi ovD 4>Mvr)'; ei'c ; ' are not the grasshop- 
pers happy in h;iving dumb wives?'" This 
:note is originally Henry Stephen's ; bnt Ichose 
Tather to make'a Uuly my authority for it. 

♦ The MuxCa lone thy nhrilly tone. <£c.] Phile 
fie Animal. Troprietat. calls this insect Moucrai? 
i^tAo?, the darling of the Muses; and Mova-tav 
ofiviv, the bird of the Muses ; and we find Plato 
compared for his eloquence to the grasshopper, 
ill tlie following punning lines of Timou, pre- 
served by Diogenes Laertius — 
Toiv navTiov &' rjyecTO n\a.TV<TTaTOi, aKK' ayopijTTjs 
"HSueTrij? TeTTifif i(Toypa<t>oi, oi ^' 'EKaSr)iJ.ov 
AevSpei afx^oniyoi. ona Keipiotaaav iciert. 



Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear. 
And bless the notes and thee revere! 
The Muses love thy shrilly tone ;}; 
Apollo calls thee all his own; 
'Twa-s he who gave that voice to thee, 
'Tis he who tunes thy minstrelsy. 

UnwoiTi by age's dim decline. 
The fadeless blooms of youth are thine. 
Melodious insect, child of earth, § 
In -wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth; 
Exempt from every weak decay, 
That withers -vulgar frames aw'ay; 
With not a drop of blood to stain 
The current of thy piu-er vein ; 
So blest an age is pass'd by thee, 
Thou seem'st — a little deity ! 



ODE XXXY.II 
OtjpiD once upon a bed 
Of roses laid his weary head; 
Luckless m-chin, not to see 
Within the leaves a slumbering bee; 

This last line is borrowed from Homer's Iliad. 
y, where there occurs the very same simile. 

§ Melodious insect, child of earth. I Longe- 
pierre has quoted the two first lines of an epi- 
gram of Antipater, from the first book of the An- 
thologia, where he prefers the grasshopper to 
the swan : 

Ap/cei T^TTiya? ftedixrai Spocro?, aWa Tioi'Ttj 
AeiSeii' KVKi'Mv etcri yeywrorepoi. 

In dew, that drops from morning's wings. 
The gay Cicada sipping floats, 

And, drunk -with dew, his matir, sings 
Sweeter than any cygnet's notes. 

II Theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode 
in his nineteenth idyl; but )S very inferior, I 
think, to his original, in delicacy of point and 
naivete of expression. Spenser, in one of his 
smaller compositions, has sported more dift'uscly 
on the same subject. The poem to -which I 
allude, begins thus : — 
Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbering 

All in his mother's lap ; 
A gentle bee, with his loud trumpet murmuring. 
About him flew by hap, &c., &c. 

In Almeloveen's collection of epigrams, there 
is one by Lusorius, correspondent somewhat 
with the turn of Anacreon, where Love com- 
plains to his mother of being wounded by a 
rose. 

The ode before us is the very flower of sim- 
phcity. The infantine complainings of the little 
god, and the natural and impressive reflections 
which they draw from "V^enns, are beauties of 
inimitable grace. I may be pardoned, per- 
haps, for introducing here another of Menage's 
Anacreontics, not for its similitndeto the subject 
of this ode, but for some faint traces of th« 
same natural simplicity, which it appears to me 



to have preserved 




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ODES OF AlTACREOlf. 



The bee awaked — with anger wild 
The bee awaked, aud stung the child. 
Loud and piteous are his cries ; 
To Venus quick he runs, he flies ; 
"Oh, mother !— I am wounded through — 
I die with pain— in sooth I do ! 
Stung by some little angry thing, 
Some serpent on a tiny wing— 
A bee it was— for once, I know, 
I heard a rustic call it so." 
Thus he spoke, and she the while 
Heard him with a soothing smile ; 
Then said, " My infant, if so much 
Thou feel the little wild-bee's touch, 
How must the heart, ah, Cupid ! be, 
The hapless heart that's stung by thee I" 

ODE XXXVI.* 

If hoarded gold possessed the power 
To lengthen life's too fleeting hour, 
And purchase from the hand of death 
A little span, a moment's breath, 
How I would love the precious ore ! 
And every hour should swell my store ; 

Epcos ttot' €v xopetat? 
Tu)V irapQeviav auiTOV, 
triv fiot if>L\y)v Kopivvav 
'ils iiSiv, iu9 Trpo? avTTji' 
npocreSpa/iie' Tpa;^r)Au> 
Aiou/xa? TC xeipa^ aiTTiav 
*iA€i |ie, jU.7)Tep, €nr6. 
KaAovp-ci'ij Kopivva, 
Mtjtjjp, epi'flpia^ci, 
'il? TrapScj'OS ixiv ovira. 
K' auTos Se 6u<rxfpat''wi'» 
'ili op-fxctai. iT\a.vr]6ii.%, 
Epws epuSpiafei. 
Eyoj, 6e oi wapao-Tac, 
Mt) hvcrxipa-ivf, <\>ti)ixi. 
KvTTpti' T€ Kai Kopivvav 
Aiayi'wcrai ovk e;^oucrt 
Kai oi jSAeiroi'Tes of u. 

As da-ncinff o'er the enainellM plain, 
The flow'ret of the virgin train 
My soul's Corinna lightly pl.ay'd, 
Young Cupid saw the graceful maid ; 
He saw, and in a moment flew, 
And round her neck his arms he threw; 
Saying, with smilesof infant joy, 
" Oh ! kiss me, mother, kiss thy boy 1 " 
Unconscious of a mother's name, 
The modest virgin blush'd with shame I 
And angry Cupid, scarce believing 
That vision could be so deceiving— 
Thus to mistake his Cyprian dame ! 
It made ev'n Cupid blush with shiime. 
"Be not ashamed, my boj'," I cried, 
lor I was lingering by his side ; 
"Corinna and thy lovely mother, 
Believe me, are so like each other 
That clearest eyes are oft betray'd, 
And take thy Venus for the maid." 
Zitto, in his Cappriciosi Pensieri, has given 
a translation of this ode of Anaereon. 



That when Death came, with shadowy 

pinion, 
To waft me to his bleak dominion,t 
I might, oy bribes, my doom delay, 
And bid him call some distant day. 
But, since not all earth's golden store 
Can buy for us one bright hour more. 
Why should we vainly mourn our fate; 
Or sigh at life's uncertain date ? 
Nor wealth nor grandeur can illume 
The silent midnight of the tomb. 
Xo -give to others hoarded treasures— 
Mme be the brilliaut round of pleasures, 
The goblet rich, the board of friends, 
"Whose social souls the goblet blends ;{ 
And mine, while yet I've Ufe to live. 
Those joys that love alone can give. 

ODE XXXVII. $ 
'TwAS night, and many a circling botr 
Had deeply warm'd my thirsty soul ; 
As lull'd in slumber I was laid. 
Bright visions o'er my fancy play'd. 
"With maidens, blooming as the dawn, 

*rontenelle has translated this ode in b's 
dialogue between Anaereon and Aristotle in 
the shades, where, on weighing the merits of 
both these personages, he bestows the prize ot 
wisdom upon the poet. 

" The German imitators of this ode are, Los- 
sing, in his poem. ' Gestern BriidiT.' &c 
Gleim. in the ode ' An deu Tod ; ' and Schmidt 
in der Poet. Blumenl., Gotling. 1783, p. 7."— 
Degen. 

\ That when Death came, with shadowy pinion. 
To waft me to his bleak dominion, die.] The 
commentators, who are so fond of disputing 
" de lana caprina," have been very busy on the 
authority of the phrase ly' av ^avuv emKBri, 
The reading of ii' av QavarO'S eTreASi). which Do 
Medenbach proposes in his Amoenitatcs Liter- 
ariiB, was already hinted by Le Fovre, who sel- 
dom suggests any thing worth notice. 
I The goblet rich, the board of friends. 
Whose social souls the goblet blends ;] This 
communion of friendship, which sweetened the 
bowlof Anaereon, has not been forgotten by 
the author of the following scholium, where the 
blessings of life arc enumerated with proverbial 

simplicity. 'Yyiau'eii' p.ey apiO'TOi' av&pi ,»>'))Tu). 
AeuTcpof Se, KaKov <j>vrjv yei-cffSat. To Tpiroi' fe, 
n-AovTetf aSoAw9. Kat to TtrapTov trvvi^ai' fxera 

TittV ^lAofV. 

Of mortal blessings here the first is health. 
And next those charms by which the eye we 
move ; 
The third is wealth, unwounding guiltless 
wealth. 
And then, sweet intercourse with those we 

love! 
§ " Compare with this ode the beautiful poem 
' dor Trnum ' of V7,.''—l)cgen. 
Lo Fevro, in a note upon this ode, enters irto 




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^0 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



I seem'd to skim the opening lawn; 
Light, on tiptoe bathed in dew, 
We flew, and sported as we flew ! 

Some ruddy striplings who look'd on — 
"With cheeks, that like the wine-god's 
Saw me chasing, free and wUd, [shone, 
These blooming maids, and slyly smiled ; 
Smiled indeed with wanton glee, [me. 
Though none could doubt they envied 
And still I flew — and now had caught 
The panting nymphs, and fondly thought 
To gather from each rosy lip 
A kiss that Jove himself might sip— 
"When sudden all my dream of joys, 
Blushing nymphs and laughing boys, 
All were gone !* — "Alas !" I said, 
Sighing for th' illusion fled, 
"Again, sweet sleep, that scene restore. 
Oh 1 let me dream it o'er and o'er l"t 



ODE XXXVIII.t 

Let us drain the nectar'd bowl, 
Let us raise the song of soul 

an elaborate and learned justification of drunk- 
enness; and this is proSably the cause of the 
severe repreheusion which he appears to have 
sutfered for his Anacreou. " Fuit olim fateor, 
(says he in a note upon Lonprinus,) cum Sappho- 
nem amabam. Sed ex quo ilia me perditissima 
fiemina pene miserum perdidit cum sceleratis- 
simo suo congerrone, (Anacreontem dico, si 
nescis, Lector,) noli sperare, <fcc. &c.'" He 
adduces on this ode the authority of Plato, who 
allowed ebriety, at the Di-jiiysian festivals, to 
men arrived at their fortieth year. He lilie- 
wise quotes the following line from Alexis, 
which he says no one, who is not totally ignor- 
ant of the world, can hesitate to confess the 
truth of :— 

OuScis <frtAo7ror>)? ea-Ttv a.v6piav(s (caKO?. 
•Ifo lover of drinliing was ever a vicious man.' 
*'When sudden all my dreain of joys, 
Blushing nymphs andlaughing hnys, 
Allweregone !\ "Nonuus says of Bacchus, al- 
most in the same words that Anacrcon uses, — 

Eypoix^yoi Se 
Qap6evov ov< €Kixri<Te, Kai riOeXev av(^ij laueii'." 
"Waking, he lost the phantom's charms, 
The nymph had faded from his arms; 
Again to slumber lie cssay'd, 
Again to clasp the shadowy maid. 

— LONOEPIERRE. 
V Again, sioeet sleep, that scene restore. 
Oh! let me dream it o'er and o'er!"] 
Doctor Johnson, in his preface to Shakspeare, 
animadverting upon the commentators of that 
poet, who pretended, in every little coincidence 
of thought, to detect an imitation of some an- 
cient poet, alludes in the following words to the 
line of Anacreon before us; — "I have been 
told that when Caliban, after a pleasing dream, 
Bays, 'I cried to sleep again,' the author Imi- 



To him, the god who loves so well 
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell ; 
The god who taught the sons of earth 
To thrid the taugled dance of mirth ; 
Him, who was nursed with infant Love, 
And cradled in the Paphian grove ; 
Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms 
So oft has fondled in her arms. § 
Oh 'tis from him the transport flows, 
"Which sweet intoxication knows ; 
"With him, the brow forgets its gloom, 
And brilliant graces learn to bloom. 
Behold ! — my ooys a goblet bear, 
"Whose sparkling foam hghts up the air- 
"Where are now the tear, the sigh ? 
To the winds they fly, they fly! 
Grasp the bowl ; in nectar sinking ! 
Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking ! 
Say, can the tears we lend to thought 
In life's account avail us aught ? 
Can we discern, with all om lore. 
The path we've yet to journey o'er f 
Alas, alas, in ways so dark, 
'Tis only wiae can strike a spark !|| 

tates Anacreon, who had, like fny ct'-er man, 
the same wish on the same ocp.<sion." 

{ " Compare with this beautiful ode to Bacchua 
the verses of Hagedorn, lib. v. ' das Gesell- 
schaftliche ;' and of Biirger, p. 51, &c. &c." 
— Degen. 
§ Etiin, that the snoioy Queen of Charms 

So oft has fondledin her arms ] Robertellus, 
upon the epithalamium of Catullus, mentions an 
ingenious derivation of Cytlierpea, the name of 
Venus, TTopa TO KevOdv rov; epwTas, which seems 
to hint that " Lovo's fairy favors are lost, when 
not concealed." 

l\Alas, alas, in ways so dark, 

'Tis only wiiie can strike a spark!] The 
brevity of life allows arguments for the volup- 
tuary as well as the moralist. Among many 
parallel passages which Longepierre has ad.- 
duced, I shall content myself with this epigram 
from the Anthologia: 

Aov<7afj.ei'Oi, Upo&Kr], nvKa<Tu)fie9a, Kai tov 
aKparov 

'EKkuiixcv, Kt'AiKa? /lei^ovai apai^cvoi. 
'Paios 6 xaipovTtav ecTTt ^105. eiTa Ta Konra 

Tripai KioKvaei, Kai to TeAot ^apo.TOi. 

Of which the following is a paraphrase: — 

Let's fly, my love, from noonday's beam. 
To plunge us in yon cooling stream ; 
Then, hastening to the festal bower 
We'll pass in mirth the evening houi'; 
'Tis thus our age of bliss shall fly. 
As sweet, though passing as that sigh. 
Which seems to whisper o'er your lip, 
"Come, while you may, of rapture sip.'' 
For age will steal the graceful form. 
Will chill the pulse while throbbing warm 
And death— alas ! that hearts, which thriU 
Like youra and mine, should e'er bo still ! 




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'0 •w, 




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ODES OP AN-AOREOJ^. 



Then let me qaaff the foamy tide, 
And through the dance meandering glide; 
Let me imbibe the spicy breath 
Of odors chafed to fragrant death • 
Or from the lips of love inhale 
A more ambrosial, richer gale ! 
To hearts that court the phantom Care, 
Let him retire and shroud him there ; 
"While we exhaust the nectar'd bowl. 
And swell the choral song of soul 
To him, the god- who loves so well 
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell ! 



ODE XXXIX. 

How I love the festive boy, 
Tripping through the dance of joy ! 
How I love the mellow sage, 
Smiling through the vail of age ! 
And whene'er this man of years 
In the dance of joy appears. 
Snows may o'er his head be flung, 
But his heart — his heart is young.* 

ODE XL. 
I KNOW that Heaven hath sent me here 
To run this mortal life's career ; 
The scenes which I have joumey'd o'er, 
Eetum no more — alas ! no more , 

* Sno^os may o'er hishead be flung, 
But his heart — hits heart is young.] Saint 
Pavin makes the same distinction iu a sonnet 
to a youug girl. 

Je sais bien que les destinees 
Out mal compasse nos annees ; 
Ne regardez que mon amour ; 
Peut-etre en serez vous ^mue. 
II est jeune et n'est que du jour, 
Belle Iris, que je vous ai vue. 
Fair and young thou bloomest now, 
And I full many a year hare told ; 
But read the heart and not the brow. 
Thou Shalt not find my love is old. 
My love's a child ; and thou canst say 

How much his little age may be, 
For he was born the very day 
When first I set my eyes on thee ! 
t Never can heart that feels with me 
Descend to be a slave to thee .'] Lonecpierre 
quotes here an epigram from the Antnologia, 
on account of tlie similarity of a particular 
phrase. Though by no means anacreontic, it 
IS marked by an interesting simplicity which 
has induced me to paraphrase it, and may 
atone for its intrusion. 

EAjti? /cat (TV Tuxi ^ctya Yaipere. rov Xi/iev' evpov. 
OvSev e/xoi x v/j^iv, iraifcre Tou? /ner' f/xe. 
At length to Fortune, and to you, 
Delusive Hope ! a last adieu. 
The charm that once beguiled is o'er, 
And I have reach'd my destined sJioi-e. 



And all the path I've yet to go, 
I neither know nor ask to know. 
Away, then, wizard Care, nor think 
Thy fetters round this soul to linli ; 
I^ever can heart that feels with mo 
Descend to be a slave to thee !t 
And oh ! before the vital thrill, 
Which trembles at my heart, is still, 
I'll gather Joy's luxiunant flowers. 
And gild with bhss my fading hours ; 
Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom, ' 
And Venus dance me to the tomb It 



ODE XLI. 
"When Spring adorns the dewy scene, 
How sweet to walk the velvet green, 
And hear the west wind's gentle sighs. 
As o'er the scented mead it flies ! 
How sweet to mark the pouting vine. 
Ready to burst in tears of wine ; [love. 
And with some maid, who breathes but 
To walk, at noontide, througa the grove, ^ 
Or sit in some cool, green recess — 
Oh, is not this true happiness ? 

ODE XLII.II 
Yes, be the glorious revel mine, 
Where humor sparkles from the wine. 

Away, away, your flatterin": arts 
May now betray some simpler hearts, 
And yon will smile at their believing, 
And they shall weep at your deceiving ! 
I Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom, 
And Venus dance me to the teinb !] The 
same commentator has quoted an epitaph, 
written upon our poet by Julian, in which ho 
makes him promulgate the precepts of good-fel- 
lowship even from the tomb. 

HoWaKi fiev ToS' aeicra, xai ex Tviifiov Se jSoTjtrco, 
JltveTe, Trpt.v TavTriv afji<j>i.pa\r)ii6e Koviv, 
This lesson oft in life I sung. 
And from my {irave I still shall cry, 
"Drink, mortal, drink, while timo is young, 
Ere death has made thee cold as I." 
§ And with some maid, who breathes but love, 
To walk, at noontide, through the grove.] 
Thus Horace : 

Quid habes illius, illius 
Quc-o spirabatamorcs, 
C^UEB me surpaerat mihi. 

Lib. iv. Carra. 13. 
And does there then remain but this, 

And hast thou lost each rosy ray 
Of her, who breathed the soul of bliss. 
And stole me from myself away ? 
U The character of Anacreou is liere very 
strikingly depicted. His love of social, har- 
monized pleasures, is expressed witha warmtli, 
ami.ablo and endearing. Among the epigrams 
imput«d to Anacreon is the following ; it is the 



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MOaRE'S WORKS. 



Around me, let the youthful choir 
Respond to my enlivening lyre ; 
And while the red cup foams alonjj, 
Mingle in soul as well as song. 
Then, while I sit, withflow'rets crown'd, 
To regulate the goblet's round. 
Let but the nymph, our banquet's pride, 
Be seated smiling by my side, 
An d earth has not a gift or power 
That I would envy in that hem-. 
Envy ! — oh never let its blight 
Touch the gay hearts met here to-night. 
Far hence be slander's sidelong wounds, 
Nor harsh disputes, nor discord's sounds 
Disturb a scene, where all should be 
Attuned to peace and harmony. 

Come, let us hear the harp's gay note 
Upon the breeze inspiring float, 
"While round us, kindling into love, 
Toimg maidens through the light dance 
move. [peace. 

Thus blest with mirth, and love, and 
Sure such a life should never cease ! 



ODE XLIII. 

"While our rosy fillets shed 
Freshness o'er each fervid head, 

only one worth translation, and it breathes the 

same sentiments with this ode : — 

Ov f^iAo?, 05 Kpv)T>)pt napa TrAetu otcoTTOTa^uii/, 

Neixea Kat TToAfjiiOV SaKflvoiVTa Aeyfi. 
AAA'6crTi5 Mouo-ewi' re, icai ayAaa 6<up' A<^po5iTrjs 

Su/ijaiayajt', epaXT^? jurrjcr/ceTat eu<^pO(7ui'ij9. 
"When to the lip the brimming cup is press'd, 

And hearts are all afloat upon its stream, 
Then banish from my board th' unpolish'd guest, 

Who makes the feats of war his barbarous 
theme. 
But bring the man, who o'er his goblet wreathes 

The Muse's laurel Avith the Cyprian flower ; 
Oh! give me him, whose soul expansive 
breathes 

And blends refinement with the social hour. 

* And while the harp, impassion' d,Jiings 

Tuneful raptures from its strinr/s, de. \ Ee 



of the nature of the instrument. There is 
•carcely any point upon which we are so total- 
ly uninformed as the music of the ancients. The 
authors* extant upon the subject are, I imagine, 
little understood j and certainly if one of their 
moods was a progression by quarter-tones, 
which we are told was the nature of the enhar- 
monic scale, simplicity was by no means the 
characteristic of their melody; for this is a 
nicety of progression of which modern music is 
not susceptible. 

The invention of the barbiton is, by Atho- 
nffius, attributed to Anacreon. See his fourth 
book, where it is called to evpujixa tow Acaxf eoc- 
• Collectea by Mollwmlua. 



With many a cup and many a smile 
The festal moments we beguile. 
And while the harp, impassion'd, fling> 
Tuneful raptures from its strings,* 
Some airy nymph, with gi-aceful boitnd. 
Keeps measure to the music's sound; 
Waving, in her snowy baud, 
The leafy Bacchanalian wand, 
Which, as the tripping wanton flies, 
Trembles all over to her sighs. 
A youth the while, with loosen'd hair 
Floating on the listless air, 
Sings, to the wild harp's tender tone, 
A tale of woes, alas, his own ; 
And oh, the sadness in his sigh. 
As o'er his lip the accents die !t 
Xever sure on earth has been 
Half so bright, so blest a scene. 
It seems as Love himself had come 
To make this spot his chosen home ;t— 
And Venus, too, Avith all her wiles. 
And Bacchus, shedding rosy smiles, 
All, all are here, to hail with me 
The Genius of Festivity !§ 



ODE XLIV.ll 
Buds of roses, virgin flowers, 
CuU'd from Cupid's balmy bowers, 

Tos. Neanthes of Cyzicus, as quoted by Gyraldus. 
asserts the same. Vide Chabot. in Ilorat. on 
the words " Lesboum barbiton," in the first ode. 

t And oh, the sadness in his sigh. 

As o'er his lip the accents die !] Longepierre 
has quoted here an epigram from the Antholo 
gia : — 

Kovpr; Tt! n' e(f>iAr)'Te TTofleo-JTfpa j^eiAetrii' iiypot?. 
Nt-KTap c-qv TO <j>i\iqixa. to yap crTO/ia ve/CTapos 

Nuf ixeOvui TO (|)iXT)|U.a, ttoKvv toc epiora TremuKiw;. 

Of which the followiug paraphrase may give 
some idea :— 

The kiss that she left on my lip. 
Like a dewdrop shall lingering lie; 

'Twas neciar she gave me to sip, 
'Twas nectar I drank to her sigh. 

From the moment she printed that kiss, 
Nor reason, nor rest lias been mine ; 

My whole soul has been drunk with the bliss. 
And feels a delirium divine ! 

J It seems as Love himself had come 

To make this spot his chosen home; — ] The 
introduction of these deities to the festival is 
merely allegorical. Madame Dacier thinks that 
the poet describes a masquerade, where these 
deities were personated by the company in 
masks. The translation will conform with either 
idei. 

^All, all are here, to hail with me 

The Geniiis of Festivity !] Kiojuos, the deity 
or genius of mirth. Philostratus, in the third 
of his pictures, gives a very lively description 
of this god. 

II This spirited poem is a eulogy on the rose , 




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ODES OF ANACKEON". 



93 



In the bowl of Bacchus steep, 
Till with crimson drops they weep. 
Twine the rose, the garland twme, 
Every leaf distilling wine; 
Drink and smile, and leani to think 
That we were bom to smile and drink. 
Rose, thou art the sweetest flower 
That ever drank the amber shower ; 
Rose, thou art the fondest child [wild. 
Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph 
Even the Gods, who walk the sky 
Are amorous of thy scented sigh. 
Cupid, too, in Paphian shades, 
His hair with rosy fillet bvaids, 
TThen with the blushing, sister Graces, 
The wanton winding dance he traces.* 
Then bring me, showers of roses bring, 
And shed them o'er me while I sing. 
Or whUe, great BacchuSi wund thy 

shrine, 
"Wreathing my brow with rose and vine, 
I lead some bright nymph through the 

dance,t 
Commingling soul with every glance. 

nntl apnin, in the fifty-fifth ode, we shall find 
our authcir rich in the" praises of that flower. In 
a frag:iu('nt of Sappho, in the romance of Achil- 
les Tatius, to -nhich Barnes refers us, the rose 
is fancifully styled "tlie eye of flowers;" and 
the same poetess, in another fragment, calls the 
favors of the Muse ' ' tlie roses of Pieria." See 
the notes on the fifty -fifth ode. 

" (;ompare with this ode (says the German 
annotator) the beautiful ode of Uz, ' die Rose.' " 

* When with the blushing, sister Graces, 
The wanton wiiidincj dance he traces.] 
"This sweet idea of Love dancing with the 
Graces, is almost peculiar to Anacreon." — De- 
gen. 

1 1 lead some bright nymph through the dance, 
rf-c] The epithet ^aeu/coA77o?, which he gives 
to the nymph, is literally ' full-bosomed." 

J ITien let us never vainly stray. 
In search of thm-ns, from pleasure'' 8 way ; 
rfc ) I have thus endeavored to convey the 
nicaniug of ti &e rov fiiov TrAafw^xai ; according 
to liegnier's paraphrase of the line ;■ • 
E che val, fuor della strada 
Del piacere alma e gradita, 
Vaneggiare in questa vita ? 

5 The fastidious affectation of some commen- 
tators has denounced this ode as spurious. 
Dcgen pronounces the four last lines to 1)0 the 
patchwork of gome n;iseralile versiUcator, and 
lirunck condemns the whole ode. It appears 
to me, on the contrary, to be elegantly graphi- 
cal ; full of delicate expressions and luxuriant 
imagery. The abruptness of lie ttw? eapo? 
AavfuToq is Striking and spirited, and has been 
imitated rather languidly by Horace :— 

Vides ttt alta stet nive candidum 
Soracte 



ODE XLY. 
TViTHiN this goblet, rich and deep, 
I cradle all my woes to sleep. 
Why should we breathe the sigh of fear, 
Or pour the unavailing tear? 
For death will never heed the sigh, 
JSTor soften at the tearful eye ; 
And eyes that sparkle, eyes that weep, 
Must all alike be seal'd in sleep. 
Then let us never vainly stray. 
In search {f thorns, from pleasure's way ;> 
But wisely quatf the rosy wave, [gave, 
Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus 
And in the goblet, rich and deep. 
Cradle our crying woes to sleep. 

ODE XLYI.§ 
Behold, the young, the rosy Spring, 
Gives to the breeze her scented wing* 
While virgin Graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o'er hei dewy way.|| 
The murmuring billows of the deep 
Have languish'd into silent sleep jlT 

The imperative tSe is infinitely more impres- 
sive ; — as in Shakspearc, 

But look, the Aiorn, in russet mantle clad, 
Walks o'er the dew of yon high easterp hill. 

There is a, simple and poetical description of 
Spring in CatuUus's beautiful farewell to Bithy- 
nia. Carm. 44. 

Barnes conjectures, in his life of our poet 
that this ode was written after he had returned 
from Athens, to settle in his paternal seat at 
Teos; where, in a little villa at some distance 
from the city, commanding a view of the iEgean 
Sea and tho islands, ho contemplated the beau, 
ties of nature and enjoyed the felicities of re- 
tirement. Vide Barnes, in Auac. Vita, ^ xxxv. 
Tills supposition, however unauthenticated, 
forms a pleasing association, which renders the 
poem more interesting. 

Chevrean says, that Gregory Nazianzenus 
has paraphraseci somewhere this description o{ 
Spring ; but I cannot meet with it. See Cliev- 
reau, CEuvros Melees. 

"Compare with this ode (says Degen) the 
verses of Hagedorn, book fourth, 'der Priih- 
liug,' and book fifth, ' der Mai.' " 

II While virgin Graces, warm ioith May, 
Flinij roses o'er her dewy way.] De Paiiw 
reads, Xapira? poSa /Spuouo-if, "the roses dis- 
play their graces." This is not uningenious; 
but wo lose by it the beauty of the personifica- 
tion, to the boldness of which Regnier has 
rather frivolously objected. 

IT The murmuring billows of the deep 
Have languish'd into sdent Sleep ; d-c.\ it 
has been justly remarked, that the bqnid flow 
of the line a7raAu«Tai -iotrjn is i)erfcctlv ex- 
pressive of the tranquiUity which it describes. 




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94 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And mark ! the flitting sea-birds lave 
Their plumes in the reflectiug wave; 
While cranes from hoary winter fly 
To flutter in a liinder sky. 
Now the genial star of day 
Dissolves the murky clouds away; 
And cul tured tiel d, and winding stream,* 
Are freshly glittering in his beam. 

Now the earth prolific swells 
With leafy buds and flowery bells ; 
Gemming shoots the olive twine. 
Clusters ripe festoon the vine ; 
All along the branches creeping, 
Through the velvet foliage peeping, 
Little infant fruits we see, 
Nursing into luxury. 

ODE XLVII. 
'Tis tnie my fading years decline, 
Yet can I quafi' the brimming wine. 
As deep as any stripling fliir, 
Whose cheeks the flush of morning wear; 
And if, amidst the wanton crew, 
I'm call'd to wind the dance's clew, 
Then shalt thou see this vigorous hand, 
Not faltering on the Bacchant's wand. 
But brandishing a rosy flask, t 
The only thyrsus e'er I'll ask !t 

Let those, who pant for Glory's charms, 
Embrace her in the field of arms ; 
While my inglorious, placid soul 
"Breathes not a wish beyond this bowl. 
Then fill it high, my ruddy slave. 
And bathe me in its brimming wave. 
For though my fading years decay, 

* And cvltured field, and winding stream, 
rf-c. j 15y PpoTiov epya, " tlie works of men " (says 
Baxter,) lie means cities, temples, and towns, 
which are then illumiuated by the beams of the 
sun. 

1 But. brandishing a rosy flask, <£e.l Ao-ko? 
was a kind of leathern vessel for wine, very 
much la use, as should seem by the proverb 
acTKos Kai ^v\aKo%, which was applied to those 
who were intemperate in eating and drinking. 
This proverb is mentioned in some verses 
:iiiot.pd by Athenseus. from the Hesione of 
Alexis. 

\ The onlij thyrsus e'er I'll ask !] Phornutus 
assigns as a reason for the consecration of the 
thyrsus to Bacchus, that inebriety oftea renders 
the support of a stick very necessary. 

§ Ivy leaves my broio entwining, eCr.| " The 
ivy was consecrated to Bacchus, (says Mont- 
fancon.) because he formerly lay hid under that 
tree, or, as others will have it, because its 
leaves resemble those of the vine." Other rea- 
sons for its consecration, and the use ef it in 
garlands at banquets, may be found in Longe- 
pierre, Barnes, &c. &0. 



Though manhood's prime hath pass'd 
Like old Silenus, sire divine, [away, 
With blushes borrow'd from my wine, 
I'll wanton 'mid the dancing train. 
And live nfy folUes o'er again ! 



ODE XLYIIL 
When my thirsty soul I steep. 
Every sorrow's lull'd to sleep. 
Talk of monarchs ! I am then 
Richest, hapx)iest, first of men ; 
Careless o'er my cup I sing, 
Fancy makes me more than king; 
Gives me wealthy Crn?sus' store. 
Can I, can I wish for more ? 
On my velvet couch reclining, 
Ivy leaves my brow entwiuing,§ 
While my soul expands with glee. 
What are kings and crowns to me' 
If before my feet they lay, 
I would spurn them all away! 
Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, 
Hasten to the sanguine fight ;|| 
But let 7ne, my budding vine ! 
Spill no other blood than thine. 
Tender brimming goblet see. 
That alone shall vanquish me — 
Who think it better, wiser far 
To fall in banquet than in war. 



ODE XLIXir 
When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy, 
The rosy harbinger of joy. 
Who, with the sunshine of the bowl. 
Thaws the winter of our soul—** 
When to my inmost core he glides, 

II Ann ye, arm ye, men of might, 
Hasten to the sanguine fight ;\ I have adopt 
ed the interpretation of Keguier and others :— 
Altri segiia Marte fero ; 
Che solBacco 6 'Imio conforto. 
TT This, the preceding ode, and a few more ot 
the same character, are merely chansons a 
boire ;— the eflusions probably ol the moment of 
conviviality, and afterwards sung, wc may im- 
agine, with rapture throughout Greece. But 
that interesting association, )iy which they al- 
ways recalled the couvivinl emotions that pro- 
duced them, can now be little felt even by the 
most enthusiastic reader ; and much less by a 
phlegmatic grammarian, who sees nothiug iu 
them but dialects and particles. 
** TV /io. with the sunshine of the howl, 
Thaivs the winter of our so%il—(6c.] Auoto? is 
the title which he gives to Bacchus in the orig- 
inal. It is a curious circumstance that Plutarch 
mistook the name of Levi among the Jews for 
Aei)i, (one of the bacchanal cries,) and ac- 
cordingly aapposed that they worshipped Xao 



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ODES OF ANACREON". 



95 



And bathes it with his ruby tides, 
A flow of joy, a lively heat, 
Fires my brain, and wings my feet, 
Calling up round me visions known 
To lovers of the bowl alone. 

Sing, sing of love, let music's sound 
In melting cadence float around, 
"While, my young Venus, thou and I 
Responsive to its murmurs sigh. 
l;hen, waking from our blissful trance, 
^gain we'll sport, again we'll dance. 

ODE L.* 
"When wine I quaflf, before my eyes 
Dreams of poetic glory rise ; t 
And freshen'd by tue goblet's dews. 
My soul invokes the heavenly Muse. 
When wine I drink, all sorrow's o'er ; 
1 think of doubts and fears no more ; 
But scatter to the railing wind 
Each gloomy phantom of the mind. 
"When I drink wine, th' ethereal boy, 
3acchus himself, partakes my joy ; 
ind while we dance through vernal 
bowers, t [flowers, 

"Whose ev'ry breath comes fresh from 
In wine he makes my senses swim, 
Till the gale breathes of naught bat him ! 

Again I drink,— and, lo, there seems 

* Faber thinks this cde spurious ; but, I be- 
lieve, he is singular iu liis opinion. It has all 
the spirit of our author. Like the wreath which 
he presented in the dream, " it smells of 
Anacreon." 

The form of the original is remarkable. It is 
a kind of song of seven quatrain stanzas, each 
beginning with the line 

'Ot' 6-yti) TTita Tov oii'oi'. 

The first stanza alone is incomplete, consist- 
ing but of three lines. 

"Compare with this poem (says Degen) the 
verses of Hagcdorn, lib. v., 'der WeinV where 
that divine poet has wantoned in the praises of 
wine." 

t When wine I quaff, before my eyes 

Dreams of poetic glory rise ;] " Anacreon is 
not the only one (says Lougepicrre) whom wine 
has inspired with poetry. We find an epigram 
in the first book of the Anthologia, which begins 
thus: — 

Oivos Toi >;aptefTt fieya^ ■treXei, ittitos 0016(1), 

'ySoip 5e mvuiv, KaKov ov tckois cttos. 
If with water you fill up youi- glasses, 

You'll never write anything wise ; 

For wine's the true horse of Parnassus, 

"Which carries a bard to the skies ! 

I And while we dance through vernal bowers, 
cEc] If some of the translators had observed 
Doctor Trapp's caution with regard to no\vav- 
etaiv /*' tv avpois, " Cave nc coelum iutelligas," 



A calmer light to fill my dreams ; 
The lately ntfiled wreath I spread 
"With steadier hand around my head ; 
Then take the lyre, and sing " how blest 
The life of him who lives at rest ! " 
But then comes witching wine again, 
With glorious woman in its train ; 
And, while rich perfumes round me rise. 
That seem the breath of woman's sighs 
Bright shapes, of every hue and form, 
Upon my kindling fancy swarm. 
Till the whole world of beauty seems 
To crowd rato my dazzled dreams ! 
When thus I drink, my heart refines. 
And rises as the cup declines ; 
Rises in the genial flow 
That none but social spirits know, 
"When, with young revellers, round the 

bowl. 
The old themselves grow young in soul !§ 
Oh, when I drink, true joy is mine, 
There's bliss in every drop of wine. 
All other blessings I have known, 
I scarcely dared to call my own; 
But this the Fates can ne'er destroy; 
Till death o'ershadows all my joy. 



ODE LI. II 
Fly not thus my brow of snow. 
Lovely wanton ! fly not so. 

they would not have spoiled the simplicity oi 
Anacreon's fancy, by such extravagant concep- 
tions as the following : 

Quand je bois, mon ceil s'imagine 
Ouo, dans un tourbillon pleiii de parfums divers, 
Bacchus m'emporte dans les airs, 

Eempli de sa liqueur divine. 

Or this:— 

Indi mi mena 
Mentre lieto ebro, deliro, 
♦ Baccho in giro 

Per la vaga aura serena. 

5 VHien, ivith young revellers, round the bowl. 

The old themselves grow young in soul .'] 
Subjoined to Gail's edition of Anacreon, wo 
find some curious letters upon the ©laerot 
of the ancients, which appeared in the Frenoli 
Journals. At the opening of the Odeon in 
Paris, the managers of that spectacle requested 
. Professor Gail to give them some uncommon 
name for their fetes. He suggested the word 
" Thiase,'' which was adopted; but the literati 
of Paris questioned the propriety of the term, 
and addressed their criticisms to Gail through 
the medium of the public prints. 

II Alberti has imitated this ode ; and Capilupus, 
in the following epigram, has given a version 
of it: — 
Cur, Lalage, mea vita, meoscontemnisamores? 

Cur fugis e nostro pulchra puella sinu ? 
Ne fugias, sint sparsa licet mea tempora conis. 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 



Though the wane of age is mine, 
Though youth's brilhant flush be thine, 
Still I'm doomed to sigh for thee, 
Blest, if thou couldst sigh for me ! 
bee, in yonder flowery braid, 
Cull'd for thee, my blushing maid,* 
How the rose, of orient glow, 
Mingles with the lily's snow; 
Mark, how sweet their tints agree, 
Just, my girl, like thee and me I 

ODE Lll.t 
Away, away, ye men of rules, 
What have I to do with schools ? 
They'd make me learn, tkey'd make me 

think, 
But would they make me love and drink ? 
Teach me this, and let me swim 
My soul upon the goblet's brim ; 
Teach me this, and let me twine 
Some fond, responsive heart to niine,t 

Inqiie tno i-oseus fulgeat ore color. 
Aspice lit intextas deceant quoque flore corollas 
Candida purpm-eis lilia mista rosis. 

Oh ! why repel my soul's impassion'd vow, 

And fiy, belDve'd mnid. these longinp arms? 
Is it, that wintry time has strew'd my brow, 

While thine are all the summer's roseate 
charms? 
See the rich frarland cuU'd in vernal weather, 

Where the yoiinK rosebud with the lily plows. 
So, in Love's wreath we both may twine to- 
gether, 

And I the lily be, and thou the rose. 

*See, in -yonder flowery braid, 

CulVdfor thee, my blushing maid !\ " In the 
same manner that Anacreon pleads for the 
whiteness of his locks, from the beauty of the 
color in garlands, a sheplierd, in Theocritus, 
endeavors to recommend his black hair : — 

Kat TO lOi' /aeAa;' ecTTi, Kat a ypawra vaKivBoi, 
AAA' ejiAjras ev rots <m4>avoi.i ra irpuira KtyovTaL." 
Longepierre, Barnes, do. 

\ '' This is doubtless the work of a more 
modern poet than Anacreon; for at the period 
when he lived rhetoricians were not known."— 
Pegen. 

Though this ode is found in the Vatican 
manuscript, 1 am much inclined to agree in 
this argument against its authenticity ; for 
though t)ie dawnings of the art of rhetoric 
might already have appeared, the first who 
gave.it any celebrity was Corax of Syracuse, 
and he flourished in the century after Ana- 
creon. 

Our poet anticipated the ideas of Epicurus, in 
his aversion to tlie labors of learning, as well as 
his devotion to voluptuousness. Uaa-av nai&eiav 

fittKaptoi <l)fvyeTe, Said the philosopher of the 

garden in a letter to Pythoeles. 
} Teach me this, and let me twine ■ 
Some fond, responsive heart to wine.] By 



For, age begins to blanch my brow, 
I've time for naught but pleasure now 

Ply, and cool my goblet's glow 
At yonder fountain's gelid flow; 
I'll quaff", my boy, and calmly sink 
This soul to slumber as I drink. 
Soon, too soon, my jocimd slave, 
You'll deck your master's grassy grave', 
And there's an end — for ah, you know i 
They drink but little wine below !§ 

ODE LIII. 
When I behold the festive train 
Of dancing youth, I'm young again ! 
Memory wakes her magic trance, 
And wings me lightly through the dance. 
Come, Cybeba, smihng maid ! 
Cull the flower and twine the braid ; 
Bid the blush of summei-'s rose 
Bum upon my forehead's snows ;|| 
And let me, while the wild and young 

xpvo-rj? A(|)po5tTr)s here, I understand some beau- 
tiful girl, in the same manner that Avaio? ia 
often used for wine. '■ Golden" is frequently an 
epithet of beanty. Thus in Virgil, "Venus 
aurea ;" and in Propeitius, " Cynthia aurea. " 
TibuUus, however, callsan old woman"golden." 
The translation d'Autori Anonimi, as usual, 
wantons on this passage of Anacreon: 
E m' insegni con pin rare 
Forme nccorte d' involare 
Ad amabile beltade 
II hel cinto d' onestade. 
5 And there's an end— for ah, you know 
They drink but little wine belov I] Th«3 
Mamard : — 

La Mort nous guette ; et quand ses lois 
Nous ont enfermes une fois 
Au sein d'une fosse profonde, 
Adieu bons vius et bon repas; 
Ma scicLce ne trouve pas 
Des cabarets eu I'autre monde. 
From Mainard, Gombauld, and Do Cailly, 
old French poets, some of the best epigrams of 
the English language have been borrowed. 
WBid the blush of summer'' s rose 
Burn upon my forehead's snows ; d-c.] Li- 
cetus, in his Hieroglyphica, quoting two of our 
poet's odes, where he calls to his attendants for 
garlands, remarks, " Constat igitur floreas 
coronas poetis et potantibus in symixisio con- 
venire, non autem sapientibns et "phiiosophiam 
affectantibus." — ''It appears that wreaths of 
flowers were adapted for poets and revellers at 
banquets, but by no means became those who 
had pretensions to wisdom and philosophv." 
On this principle, in his 150d chapter he dis- 
covers a refinement in Virgil, describing the 
garland of the poet Silenus. as fallen olF; which 
distinguishes, he thinks, the divine intoxication 
of Silenus from that of common drunkards, who 
always wear their crowns while they drink. 
Such is the " labor ineptianum" of commeu- 
tators ! 



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ODES OF AXACREOK 



97 



Trip the mazy dance along, 
Fliug my heap of years^away, 
And be as wiW^ as young, as they. 
Hither haste, some cordial soul ! 
Help to my lips the brimming bowl! 
And you shall see this hoary sago 
Forget at once his locks and age. 
He still can chant the festive hymn, 
He still can kiss the goblet's brim ;* 
A.S deeply quaff, as largely fill, 
And play the fool right nobly still. 



ODE LIY.t 

Kethinks, the pictured bull we see 
Is amorous Jove— it must be he ! 
How fondly blest he seems to bear 
That fairest of Phoenician fair ! 
How proud he breasts the foamy tide, 
And spurns the billowy surge aside ! 

^ITe still can kiss the goblet's brim, &c.) Wine 
is prescril)etl by Galen, as an excellent medicine 
for old men : '' Quod friividos et humoiibus ex- 
pletos c;ili'faciat, &c.;" but Nature was Ana- 
creon's pliysieuan. 

There is a proverb in Eriplius.as quoted by 
Athenffius, which says, 'that wine malses an 
old man dance whether he will or not." 

Aoyo? ear' ap^ato?, ov icaKw? evtui', 
Oii'Oi' Aeyov(Ti Tov^ yepovTa^, m TTarep, 
IlctSeii' xopeeLv ov ^eAoi'Tas. 

f " This ode is written upon a picture which 
represented the rape of Europa.'' — Madame 
Dncier. 

It may pmbably have been a description of 
one of those coins, which the Sidonians siruck 
'iff in honor of Europa, representiuj? a woman 
carried across the sea by a bull. Thus Natalis 
Comes, lib. viii. cap. 23.' " Sidonii numismata 
cum foamina tauri dorso insidente ac mare 
transfretante cuderunt in ejus houorera." In 
the little treatise upon the goddess of Syria, at- 
tributed very falsely to Lueian. there "is men- 
tion of this coin, and of a temple dedicated by 
the Sidonians to Astart6, whom some, it ap- 
pears, confounded with Europa. 

The poet Moschns has left a very beautiful 
idyl on the story of Europa. 

X ^^o : he descends from climes above. 

He looks the Qod, he breathes of Jove!] Thus 
Moschus : — 
Kpi'i|/6 ^fov Kai Tpe\lie Sejias" (cai Yivero rnvpos. 

The God forgot himself, his heaven, for love, 

And a bull's form belied th' almifjhty .rove. 

§Tliis ode is a brilliant panepyric ou the rose. 
" All antiquity (says Barnes) has produced 
notliinp; more beautiful." 

From the idea of peculiar excellence, which 
the ancients attached to this flower, arose a 
pretty proverbial expression, used by Aristo- 
plianes, according to Suidas, po&a m'' eiprjta?, 
" You have spoken roses," a phrase somewhat 
Mmilar to the " dire des fleurettes" of the 



Could any beast of vulgar vein 
Undaimted thus defy the main ? 
2To : he descends from chmes above. 
He looks the God, he breathes of Jove \i 



ODE LY.§ 
While we invoke the wreathed spring, 
Resplendent rose ! to thee we'll sing :|| 
Whose breath peifumes th' Olympian 

bowers ; 
Whose virgin blush, of chastcn'd dye. 
Enchants so much our mortal eye. 
When pleasure 's springtide season glows, 
The Graces love to wreathe the rose ; 
And Venus, in its fresh-blown leaves, ^ 
An emblem of herself perceives. 
Oft hath the poet's magic tongue 
The rose's fair luxuriance sung ;** 
And long the Muses, heavenly maids, 

French. In the same idea of excellence origi- 
nated, I doubt not, a very curious application 
of tlie word poSoi; for which the inquisitive 
reader may consult Gaulminus upon the epi- 
tlialamium of our poet, where it is introduced 
in tlie romance of Theodorus. Muretus, in one 
of his elegies, calls his mistress his rose : — 
Jam te igitur rursus teneo, formosula, jam te 
(Quid trepidas tenoo ; jam, rosa, te teneo. 
Eleg. 8. 
Now I again may clasp thee, dearest, 
What is there now, on earth, thou fearest f 
Again these longing arns infold thee, 
Again, my rose, again Aiiold tliee. 

This, like most of the terms of endearment 
in the modern Latin poets, is taken from Plau- 
tus ; they were vulgar and colloquial in his 
time, Init are amongthe elegancies otthe mod- 
ern Latinists. 

Passeratius alludes to the ode befcn-o us, in the 
beginning of his poem on the Rose : — 
Carmine digna rosa est ; vellem caueretur ut 

illam 
Teius arguta cecinit testudine vntes. 

II llesplendentrose ! to thee we'll sing ;\ IhavB 
passed over the line crw eraipei av^n. /neAn-Tji-, 
which is corrupt in this original reading, and 
lias been very little improved by the annota- 
tors. I should suppose it to be an interpola- 
tion, if it were not for a line which occurs af 
terward-s : <frepe *tj i^ivaiv Aeyio|oiti'. 

IT And Yenxis, in itn fresh-bloivn leaves, (C-c.i 
Belloau, in a note upon an old French poet, 
quoting the original here a^pofiio-iujr t' a9vpiJ.(L, 
tran.slates it, '•comme les delices et mignardi- 
ses de Venus." 

** Oft hath the poet's magic tongue 

The rose's fair luxuriance sung; d-c] The 
following is a fragment of the Lesbian poetess. 
It is cited in the romance of Achilles Tatius, 
who appears to have resolved the numbers into 
prose. Ec Tois av6e<riv ijSeAei- 6 Zeu? eniOiivai 
^atji\€a, TO poSof a.y Tiui' af0eu>v e/iao"tAei'6. yij? 
«yTi KO<TiiOi,(t>vTuiv aykmiana, o(^SaA>*05 ay^zm.'"- 



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98 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



Have rear'd it in their tuneful shades. 
"When, at the early glance of mora, 
It sleeps upon the glittering thorn, 
'Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, 
To cull the timid flow'ret thence, 
And wipe with tender hand away 
The tear that on its blushes lay ! 
'Tis sweet to hold the infant stems, 
Yet dropping with Aurora's gems, 
And fi-esh iuhale the spicy sighs 
That from the weeping buds arise. 

. "When revel reigns, when mirth is high, 
>And Bacchus beams in every eye, 
Our rosy fillets scent exhale, 
And fill with balm the fainting gale. 
There's naught in natiire bright or gay. 
Where roses do not shed then- ray. 
When morning paints the orient skies. 
Her fingers bum with roseate dyes ;* 
Young nymphs betray the rose's hue. 
O'er whitest arms it kindles through. 
In Cytherea's form it glows, 
And mingles with the living snows. 

The rose distils a healing balm, 
The beating pulse of pain to cahn ; 

Xeiiawvo? epv9r)fjia, KaK\oi a<TTpairTOV. EpioTO? 
jri'et, \4}po&LTrji' Troo^eret, evetSeai <^uAAot? KOfia 
ei'KifrjTOis TreraAois rpv^a. to TreraAoc Toi Z€<j)vpti> 
yi\a. 

If Jove Tvoulil give the leafy bowers 
A queen for all their world of flo^-ers, 
The rose would be the choice of Jove, 
And blusli the queen of every grove. 
Sweetest child of weeping morning, 
Gem, the vest of earth adorning. 
Eye of gardens, light of lawns. 
Nursling of soft summer dawns ; 
Love's own earliest sigh it breathes, 
Beauty's brow with lustre wreathes. 
And, to young Zephyr's warm caresses, 
Spreads abroad its verdant tresses, 
Till, Ijlushing with the wanton's play, 
Its cheek wears e'en a richer ray ! 
* When morning paints the orient skies. 
Her fingers burn ivith roseate dyes; c£-c.] In 
the original here, he enumerates the many epi- 
tliets of beauty, borrowed from roses, which 
were used by the poets, -napa. twi/ cro<jiuyu. We 
see that jioets were dignified in Greece with 
'the title of sages ; even t!ie careless Anacreon, 
who lived but for love and voluptuousness, was 
called by Plato the wise Anacreon — "fuit La2c 
Bapientia quondam." 

T Preserves the cold inurned clay, <£c.] He 
here alludes to the use of the rose in embalm- 
ing ; and, perhaps, (as Barnes thinks.) to tlie 
rosy unguent with which Venus anointed the 
corpse of Hector. — Eomer's Iliad tp. It may 
likewise regard the ancient practice of putting 
garlands of roses on the dead, as in Statius, 
Theb. lib. x. 783. 
hi sertis, in veris lionoro soluto 



Preserves the cold inurned clay,t 
And mocks the v.estige of decay :t 
And when, at length, in pale decline, 
Its florid beauties fade and pine. 
Sweet as in youth, its balmy breath 
Difi'uses odor even m death !§ [sprung? 
Oh ! whence could such a plant have 
Listen, — for thus the tale is sung. 
"When, humid, from the silvery stream, 
Eifusing beauty's warmest beam, 
Venus appear'd, in flushing hues, 
Mellow'd by ocean's briny dews; 
"When, in the starry comts above, 
The pregnant brain of mighty Jove 
Disclosed the nymph of azure glance, 
The nymph who shakes the martial 

lance ;^ 
Then, then, in strange eventful hour, 
The earth produced an infant flower, 
"Which sprung, in blushing glories dress'd. 
And wanton'd o'er its parent breast. 
The gods beheld this brilliant bhth. 
And hail'd the Rose, the boon of earth: 
"With nectar drops, a ruby tide. 
The sweetly orient buds they dyed,|| 
And bade them bloom, the flowers divine 

Acenraulant artns, patriiique in sede reponunt 
Corpus odoratum. 

Where ''veris honor, "though itmean every kind 
of flowers, may seem more particularly to refer 
to the rose, which our poet in another ode calls 
eapo? fjie^rifia. We read, in the Hieroglyphics 
of Pierius, lib. Iv., that some of the ancients 
used to order in their wills, that roses should he 
annually scattered on their tombs, and Pierius 
has adduced some sepulchral inscriptions to 
this purpose. 

I And inocks the vestige of decay ,] Whenhesays 
that this flower prevails over time itself, hestilf 
alludes to its etiicacy in embalmment, (feuer.1 
poneret ossa rosil. Propert. lib. i. cleg. 17.) or 
perhaps to the subsequent idea of its fragrance 
surviving its beauty ; for he can scarcely mean 
to praise for duration the "nimium breves 
flores" of the rose. Philostrntus compares tliic 
flower with love, and says, that they Doth defy 
the influence of time ; xf^^"" ^« o^'^e Epuj?. ovre 
poSa oiSev. Unfortunately the similitude lies 
not in their duration, but thoir transience. 

^ fiweet as in youth, its balmy breath 
Diffuses odor cren in death!] Thus Casper 
Bailanis, iu his IMtus Nuptiarum: 
Ambrosium late rosa tunc quoque spargit odo- 
Cum iiuit, autmuUo languidasole jacet. [rem. 
Kor then the rose its odor loses. 

When all its flashing beauties die ; 
Nor less ambrosial balm diffuses. 
When wither'd by the solar eye. 

II With nectar drops, a ruby tide. 

The sweetly orient buds they dyed, rfc] Tho 
author of the " Pervigilium Veneris ' (a poem 
attributed to Catullus, the style of which ap 
pears to me to have all the labored luxuriance 



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ODES OF AlfACKEOir. 



Of him who gave the glorious vine ; 
And bade them on the spangled thorn 
Expand their bosoms to the mom. 

ODE LVI.* 

He, who instructs the youthful crew 
To bathe them in the brimmer's dew, 
And taste, uncloy'd by rich excesses, 
All the bliss that wine possesses ; 
He, who inspires the youth to bound 
Elastic through the dance's round, — 
Bacchus, the god again is here, 
And leads along the blushing year; 
The blushing year with vintage teems. 
Ready to shed those cordial streams, 
"Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth, 
Illuminate the sous of earth !t 

Then.when the ripe and vermil wine, — 
Blest iufaut of the pregnant vine, 
"WTiich now in mellow clusters swells, — 
Oh ! when it bursts its roseate cells, 
Brightly the joyous stream shall flow. 
To balsam every mortal wo ! 

of a much later period) ascribes the tincture of 
the rose to the blood from the wouud of 
Adouis — 

rosre 

Pusa3 aprino de cruore — 
acpordiiif;: to the emendation of Lipsius. In the 
followinsr epigram this hue is ditierently ac- 
counted for : — 

Ilia quidem studiosa sunm defendere Adonim, 

Gradivus stricto quern petit ense ferox, 
Aliixit duiis vestigia ciBca rcsetis, 

Albaque divino picta cruore rosa est. 
While the enamor'd queen of joy 
Ylics to protect her lovely boy, 

On whom the jealous Avargod rushes; 
She trends upon a thorned rose, 
And while tlie wound with crimson flows. 

The snowy flow'ret feels her blood, and 
blushes. 

* ' Compare with this elegant ode the verses 
of Tz, lib i. 'die Weinlese.'"— X)e.(/<!«. 

This appears to be one of the hymns which 
were sung at the anniversary festival of the 
vintage ; one of the cttiAyji'ioi vnvoi, as our poet 
hiraselftennsthemin the fifty-ninth ode. We 
cannot help feeling a sortof reverence for these 
classic rel ics of the religion of antiquity. Hor- 
ace may be supposed to have written the nine- 
teenth "ode of his second book, and the twenty- 
tifth of the thii-d, for some bacchanalian cele- 
bration of this kind. 

t Which, sparkling inthe cup of mirlh. 
Illuminate the sons of earth .'] In the orig- 
mal TTorov acTTovov Koixii<s>v. Madame Dacier 
thinks that the poet here had the nepenthe of 
Homer in his mind. Odyssey, lib. iv. This 
nepenthe wns a something of exquisite cliarin, 
intused by Helen into the wine of her guests, 
Which had the power of dispelllug every ani- 



None shall be then cast down or weak, 
For health aud joy shall light each cheek; 
iS^'o heart will then desponding sigh. 
For wine shall bid despondence fly. 
Thus — till another autumn's glow 
Shall bid another vintage flow. 

ODE LYII.t 

■Whose was the artist hand that spread 
Upon this disk the ocean's bed ?^ 
And, in a flight of fancy, high 
As aught on earthly wing can fly. 
Depicted thus, in semblance warm. 
The Queen of Love's voluptuous ibrm 
Floating along the silv'ry sea 
In beauty's naked majesty ! 
Oh ! he liath given th enamor'd sight 
A witching banquet of delight, [clear, 
"Where, gleaming through the waters 
Glimpses of undream'd charms appear. 
And all that mystery loves to screen. 
Fancy, like Faith, adores unseen. || 

Light as the leaf, that on the breeze 
Of summer skims the glassy seas, 

iety. A French writer, De Mere, conjectnies 
that this siiell, which made the bowl so beguil- 
ing, was the charm of Helen's conversation. 
See Baylo, art. Helen e. 

; This ode is a very animated description of 
a picture of Venus on a discus, which repre- 
sented the goddess in her first emergence from 
the waves. About two centuries after our poet 
wrote, the pencil of the artist Apelles embel- 
lished this subject, in his famous painting of the 
Venus Anadyomene, the model of which, as 
Pliny informs us, was the beautiful Carapaspe, 
iiiven to him by Alexander; though, according 
to Natalis Comes, lib. vii. cap. IC, it was I'hryne 
who sat to Apelles for the lace and breast of 
this Venus. 

There are a few blemishes In the reading of the 
ode before us, which have influenced Faber, 
Heyne, Brunck, &c., to denounce the whole 
poem as spurious. But, " lion ego panels otTeu- 
ilar maculis." I think it is quit* beautiful 
enough to be authentic. 

^ Whose was the artist hand that spread 
Upon this disk the ocean's bed (] The 
abruptness of opa rts ropei/o-e vovTov is finely 
expressive c;f sudden admiration, and is one of 
tho.se beauties wiiich we cannot but admire ia 
their source, though, by frequent imitation, they 
are now become familiar and unimpressive. 

II And all that mystery lones to screen. 
Fancy, likeFaith, adores unseen, d-c] The 
picture hero has all the delicate character of the 
semi-reducta Venus, and affords a happy speci- 
men of what the poetry of passion ought to be— 
glowing but through a veil, and stealing upon 
the heart from concealment. Few of the an- 
cients have attained this modesty of descrip- 
tion, which, like tlie golden cloud that huug 
over Jupiter and Juno, is impenious to every 
boam but that of fancy. 



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100 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



She floats along the ocean's breast. 
Which undulates in sleepy rest ,• 
While stealing on, she gently pillows 
Her bosom on the heaving billows. 
Her bosom, like the dew-wash'd rose,* 
Her neck, like April's sparkling snows, 
Illume the liquid path she traces, 
And burn within the stream's embraces. 
Thus on she moves in languid pride, 
Encircled by the azure tide, 
As some fair lily o'er a bed 
Of violets bends its gi-aceful head. 

Beneath their queen's inspiring glance, 
The dolphins o'er the green sea dance, 
Bearing in triumph young Desire,! 
A^nd infant Love with smiles of fire ! 
t7hile, glittering through the silver 
The tenants of the briny caves [waves, 
Around the pomp their gambols play. 
And gleam along the watery way. 

ODE LVIII4 

When Gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion. 
Escapes like any faithless Liinion,§ 
And flies me. (as he flies me ever,)|| 
Do I pursue him % never, r.ever ! 
ISTo, let the false deserter go, 
For who could court his direst foe ? 
But, when I feel my lighten'd mind 

* Ber bosom, like the dew-wash'd rose, <£e.] 

'Po&eu>v (says an aiioDymous annotator) is 

a -(vhirasical epithet for tlm bosom." Neither 

Catulhis nor Gray have been of his opinion. 

The former has tli'e expression, 

En liic in roseis latet papillis ; 
Antl the latter, 

Lo ! where the rosy-bosom'd hours, &c. 

Crottus, a modorn Latinist. might indeed be 

censured for too vajnie a use of the epithet 

" rosy," when he applies it to the eyes:— "e 

roseis oculis." 

t young Desire, cCc] In the orig- 
inal "lutpo?, who was the same dciiy with Jo- 
cns among the Komans. Aurelius Augurellus 
has a poem beginning— 

Invitat olim Bacehus ad coenam suos 
Comon, Jucum, Cupidiuem. 
Which Parnell has closely imitated :— 
Gay Bacchus, liking Estconrt's wine, 

A noble meal bespoke us ; 
And for the guests that were to dine, 
Brought <J(mius, Love, and Jocus, &c. 
+ 1 have followed Barnes's arrangement of 
this ode, which, though deviating somewhat 
from the Vatican MS., appears to me the more 
naturnl order. 
§ When Gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion. 
Escapes like any faithless minion, rfc] In 
the original 'O ^pairfTqi; 6 xP'^"'"?- There is 
a kind of pun in these words, as Madame Ba- 
cier has already remarked ; for Chrysos, which 



jSTo more by grovelling gold confined, 
Then loose I all such clinging cares. 
And cast them to the vagrant airs. 
Then feel I, too, the Muse's spell. 
And wake to life the dulcet shell, 
Which, roused once more, to beautj 

sings. 
While love dissolves along the strings I 

But scarcely has my heart been taught 
How little Gold deserves a thought, 
When lo ! the slave returns once more, 
And with him wafts delicious store 
Of racy wine, whose genial art 
In slumber seals the anxious heart. 
Again he tries my soul to sever 
From love and song, perhaps forever ! 

Away, deceiver ! why pursuing 
Ceaseless thus my heart's undoing? 
Sweet is the song of amorous fire, 
Sweet the sighs that thrill the lyre ; 
Oh ! sweetef far than all the gold 
Thy wings can waft, thy mines can hold. 
Well do I know thy arts, thy wiles— 
They wither'd Love's young wreathed 

smiles ; 
And o'er his lyre such darkness shed, 
I thought its soul of song was fled ! 
They dash'd the wine-cup, that, by him. 
Was filled with kisses to the brim.lF 

siamifies gold, was also a frequent name for f 
slave. In one of Lucian's dialogues, there is. 1 
think, a similar play upon the word, where the 
followers of Chrysi'ppus are called golden fishes. 
The puns of the ancients are, in general, even 
more vapid than our own : some of the best are 
those recorded of Diogenes. 

\\ And flies me, (as he flies me eecr.) <C-c.] Aet 
&', aei fi6 <<)€vye(.. This grace of iteration has 
already been taken notice of. Though some- 
times merely a playful beauty, it is peculiarly 
expressive of impassioned sentiment, and we 
may easily believe that it was one of the many 
sources of th.it energetic sensibility which 
breathed through the stvle of Sappho. See 
Gyrald. Vet. Poet. Dial. i). It will not be s;iid 
that this is a mechanical ornament by any one 
who can feel its charm in those lines of Catul- 
lus, where he complains of the iutidelity of his 
mistress, Lesbia: — 

Coeli, Lesbia nostra, Lesbia ilia, 
Ilia Lesbia, quam Catullus uuam. 
Plus quam se atque suos amavitomnes, 
Nunc, &c. 
Si sic omnia dixisset !— but the rest does not 
bear citation. 
^ They dash'd the wine-cup, that, by him, 
WasfilVd with ki,sses to the brim.] Original :— 

•ttArj/iaTioi/ 6e k^Svmv, 
UoBiav KuweAA/c (Ctpi'i)?. 

Horace has ' Desiderlque temperare pocu- 
lum," not figuratively, however, like Anacreon, 



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ODES OF AN-ACREOK 



101 



Go — fly to haunts of sordid men, 
But come not near the bard again. 
Thy glitter in the Muse's shade, 
Scares from her bower the tuneful maid, 
And not for worlds would I forego 
That moment of poetic glow, 
When my full soul, in Fancy's stream, 
Pours o'er the lyre its swelling theme. 
Away, away ! to worldlings hence, 
"Who feel not this diviner sense ; 
Give gold to those who love that pest, — 
But leave the poet poor and blest. 



ODE LIX.» 

Ripen'd by the solar beam, 

Now the ruddy clusters teem 

In osier baskets borne along 

By all the festal vintage throng 

Of rosy youths and virgins fair. 

Ripe as the melting fruits they bear. 

Now, now they press the pregnant 

grapes. 
And now the captive stream escapes, 
In fervid tide of nectar gushing. 
And for its bondage proudly blushing ! 
Wlhle, round the vat's impurpled brim, 
The choral song, the vintage hymn 
Of rosy youths and virgins fair. 
Steals on the charm'd and echoing air. 
JIark, how they drink, with all their eyes, 
The orient tide that sparkling flies, 
The infant Bacchus, born in mirth, 
While Love stands by, to hail the birth. 

When he, whose verging years decline 
As deep into the vale as mine, 
When he inhales the vintage-cup, 
His feet, new-wing'd, from earth spring 
up, 

but importinjr the love-philtres of the witches. 
V>y "cups of kisses" our poet may allude to a 
favorite f,Mlliuitiy among tl.o ancients, of (lrin"K- 
h\g when tlie lips of their mistresses had touch- 
ed the brim ; — 

" Or leave a kiss within the cup, 
And I'll not ask for wine." 
As in Ben Jonson's translation from Philostra- 
tns ; and Luciau has a conceit upon the same 

idea, "'Ii'a /cat Triirjs a/oia Kai. <|)iAr)s," ' (hat 

you may at once both drink and kiss." 

" The title ETrtATn/io? u^i/o?, which Barnes 
has given to this ode, is by no means appropri- 
ate. We havealrcady had one of tliose hymns, 
(ode 50,) but this is adoscriptiou oftlie vin'iacre ; 
and the title et? oivov, which it bears mtlie 
Vatican MS., is more correct than any that 
have been sufrirested. 

Degcn, in tiie true spirit of literary skepti- 
cism,'"doubts that this ode is genuine, witliout 
assigning any reason for such a suspicion ;— 



And as he dances, the fresh air 

Plays whispering through his silverj 

hair. 
Meanwhile young groups whom love in- 
vites. 
To joys e'en rivalling wine's delights. 
Seek, arm in arm, the shadowy grove. 
And there, in words and looks of love, 
Such as fond lovers look and say, 
Pass the sweet moonlight hours away.i 



ODE LX.t 

.A. WAKE to life, my sleeping shell. 
To Phoebus let thy numbers swell ; 
And though no glorious prize be thina, 
No Pythian wreath around thee twine, 
Yet every hour is glory's hour 
To him who gathers wisdom's flower. 
Then wake thee from thy voiceless slum- 
bers, 
And to the soft and Phrygian numbers, 
Which, tremblingly, my hps repeat, 
Send echoes from "thy chord as sweet. 
'Tis thus the swan, with fading notes, 
Down the Cayster's current floats. 
While amorous breezes linger round, 
And sigh responsive sound for sound. 

Muse of the Lyre ! illume my dream, 
Thy Phcobus is ruy fancy's theme ; 
Andhallow'd is the harp I bear, 
And hallow'd is the wreath I wear, 
Ha'.low'd by him, the god of lays, 
Who modulates the choral maze. 
I sing the love which Daphne twined 
Around the godhead's yielding mind • 
I sing the blushing Daphne's flight 
From this ethereal sun of Light ; 
And how the tender, timid maid 

" non amo to, Sabidi, nee possum dicerequare." 
But this is far from hriuix satistactory criticism. 

1 Those well acciuaiiited with tlie original 
need hardly bo reminded that, in these few con- 
cluding verses, I have thought risiht to pivo 
o.dy the general meaning of my author, leav- 
ing the details untouched. 

J This hymn to Apollo is supposed not to have 
been written by Anacreon ; and it is undoubt- 
edly rather a sublimer flight than the Teian 
wing is accustomed to soar. But, in a poet of 
whose works so small a proportion lias readied 
us, diversity of style is by no means a safe cri- 
terion. If wo knew Horace but as a satirist, 
should we easily believe there could dwell such 
nnimaticmin hislyre I Suidas says that our poet 
wrote hymns, and this perhaps is oiio of them. 
We can iierooive in what an altered and im 
perfect state his works are at present, when we 
tind a seholiast upon Jlorace citing an ode from 
the third book of Anacreon. 




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102 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



Flew trembling to the kindly shade,* 
Kesign'd a form, alas, too fair, 
And grew a verdant laui-el there ; 
Whose leaves, with sympathetic thrill. 
In teiTor seem'd to tremble still! 
The god pursued, with wing'd desire ; 
And when his hopes were all on fire, 
And when to clasp the nymph he 

thought, 
A lifeless tree was all he caught ; 
And, 'stead of sighs that pleasure heaves. 
Heard but the west- wind in the leaves ! 

But, pause, my soul, no more, no 
moi'e— 
Enthusiast, whither do I soar? 
This sweetly-madd'niug dream of sold 
Hath hmTied me beyond the goal. 
Why should I sing the mighty darts 
Which fly to wound celestial hearts. 
When ah, the song, with sweeter tone. 
Can tell the darts that wound my own ? 
Still bo Anacreon, still inspire 

* And how the tender, timid maid 
Fleio trembling to the kindly shade, c£c.] 
Original :— 

To fj.€v eK7retf}€vye Kevrpov, 
4>uo-eios &' aixtujje iJiOpij>rjV. 

I find the word Kevrpov hero has a double 
force, as it also sip;nities that " omnium pa- 
reutem, quam sanctus Numa, &c. &c " (See 
Martial.) In order to coufirm this import of 
tlie word here, those who are curious in new 
readings, may place the stop after <l>v(Teui^, 
thus:— 

To ixev €Kne(t)evye Kevrpov 
*U(Teus, &' a/i6n//e ii.op'^TjV. 
f Still he Anacreon, still inspire 

The descant of the Teian lyre : ] The original 
is Toi- AvaKpeovTa fiiixov. I have translated it 
under the supposition that the hymn is by Ana- 
oreon ; though, I fear, from this very line, that 
his claim to it can scarcely be supported. 

Toi/ Ai'OKpfoi'Ta piiixov, '■ Iraitiite Anacreon." 
Such is the lesson given us by the lyrist; and 
if, in poetry, a simple elenaiice of sentiment, 
enriched by the most pliiyful felicities of fancy, 
be a charm which invites or deserves imitation, 
where sliall we find sucli a guide as Anacreon? 
Tn morality, too, wfth some little reserve, we 
reed not blush, I think, to follow in his foot- 
»teps. For, if his song be the language of his 
J^art, though luxurious and relaxed, he was 
artless and benevolent; and who would not for- 
give a few irregnlaritiea, when atoned for by 
virtues so rare and so endearing ? When we 
think of the sentiment iu tliose lines:— 

Away ! I li:Ue tlie sland'rous dart. 

Which steals to wound th' unwary heart, 
how many are there in the world, to whom we 

would wish to say, Toi/ Avaxpeovra fii/jLOV I 

I Here ends the last of the odes in the Vati- 
can MS., whose authority helps to contirm the 
genuine antiquity of them all, tliough a few 
have stolen among the number, which we may 



The descant of the Teian lyre : t 
Still let the nectar'd numbers float, 
Distilling love in every note ! [soul 

And when some youth, whose glowing 
Has felt the Paphian star's control, 
When he the liquid lays shall hear, 
His heart will flutter to his ear, 
And drinking there of song divine. 
Banquet on intellectual wine ! t 



ODE LXL$ 

Youth's endearing charms are fled ; 
Hoary locks deform my head ; 
Bloomy graces, dalliance gay, 
All the flowers of life decay, i| 
Withering age begins to trace 
Sad memorials o'er my face ; 
Time has shed .ts sweetest bloom, 
All the future must be gloom. 
This it is that sets me sighing ; 

hesitate in attributing to Anacreon. In tho 
little essay pretixed to this translation, I observ- 
ed that liarnes has quoted this manuscript in- 
correctly, relying upon an imperfect copy of it 
which Isnac Vossius had taken. I shall just 
mention two or three inst&nces of this inaceu- 
racy— the first which occur to me. In tlie ode 

of the Dove, on the words nrepoKri o-uy<aAin//w, 

he says, " Vatican MS. (rva-Kia^iuv, etiam Pris- 
ciano invito ; " but the MS. reads awKaXv^M, 
with <7viTKLaaru) interlined. Degen too, on 
the same line, is somewhat in error. _ In tlio 
twenty-second ode of this series, line thirteenth, 
the MS. has Teni) with oi interlined, and 
Barnes imputes to it the reading of rei'Sr;. 
In the fifty-seventh, line twelfth, he professes 
to have preserved the reading of the ilS. 
A\a\r)p.evri S' €;r' aurrj, while the latter has 
a\a\r,nevoi S' ew' aura. Almost all the Other «n- 
notators have transplanted these errors from 
Barnes. 

§TIie intrusion of this melancholy ode, among 
the careless levities of our poet, reminds us of 
the skeletons which the Egyptians used to hang 
up in their banquet-rooms, to inculcate a 
thonglit of mortality even amidst tlie dissipa- 
tions of mirth. If it were not for tlie beauty of 
its numbers, the Teian Muse shoidd disown this 
ode. "Quid habet illius, illius qute spirabat 
amores?" 
To Stob.'eus we are indebted for it. 
II Bloomy graces, dalliance guy. 

All the flowers of life decay. ] Horace often, 
with feeling and elegance, deplores tho fugaci- 
ty of human enjoyments. See book ii. ode 11; 
and thus in llie second epistle, book ii. : — 

Singula de nobis anni prtedantur eunte.^; 

Eripiicre jocos, veuerem, convivia, ludum. 

The wing of every passing day 

Withers some blooming joy away; 

And wafts from our eniimor'd arms 

The banquet's mirth, the virgin's charms. 




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ODES OP AE"ACREON". 



lOS 



Dreary is the thought of dying ! * 
Lone and dismal is the road, 
Down to Pluto's dark abode ; 
And, when once the journey's o'er, 
Ah ! we can return no more !t 



ODE LXILt 

Fill me, hoy, as deep a draught. 

As e'er was lUl'd, as e'er was quafFd; 

But let the water amply flow, 

To cool the grape's intemperate glow ;§ 

Let not the lierj^ god be single, 

But with the nj-mphs in union mingle. 

For though the bowl's the grave of sad- 

jS^e'erletitbethebirthof madness, [ness, 

No, banish from our board to-night 

The reveliies of rude delight ; 

To Scythians leave these wild excesses, 

Ours be the joy that soothes and blesses ! 

A.nd while the temperate bowl we 

wreathe. 
In concert let our voices breathe. 
Beguiling every hour along 
With harmony of soul and song, 

^Dreary is the ihoiiijht of dying, c£c.] Keg- 
niei'i^ libertine Freuijli poet, has written some 
somiets on the approach of doath, full of plooniy 
and trembling repentance. Chaulieu, however, 
supports more consistently tlie spirit of the 
Epicurean philosoplier. See his poem, address- 
ed to the Marquis de Lafare — 

Plus j'approche du termo et moins jclore- 
doute, &c. 

t And, xvhen once the journey's o'er, 
Ah ! we can return no more ! \ Scaliger, 
upon Catullus's well-known lines, " Qui nunc it 
per iter, &c." remarks that Acheron, with the 
same idea, is called ave|o6os by Theocritus, 
and 6v(reK6po|no; by Nicander. 

; This ode consists of two fragments, which 
are to be found in Athen:cus, book x., and 
wliieh Barnes, from the similarity of their teu- 
dency, has combined into one. I think this a 
very justifiable liberty, and have adopted it in 
some other fragments of our poet. 

Degen refers us here to verses of Uz, lib. 
iv., " der Triuker." 

§ But let the ivater amply flow. 

To cool the grape's intemperate gloio; dbc] 
It was Amphictyon who first taught the Greeks 
to mix water with their wine ; in commemora- 
tion of which circumstance they erected altars 
to Bacchus and the nymphs. On this niytholog- 
i«al allegory the following epigi-am is louuded: 

Ardentem ex utero Semcles lavere Lyseum 
Naiades, extincto fulminis igne sacri j 

Ciun nymphis igitur tractabiils, at sine 
nympUis 
Candenti rursus fulmine corripitur. 

PlEUIUS YALEUIANnS. 

Wliich is, non yerbum verbo, — 



ODE LXIII :i 

To Love, the soft and blooming child, 
I touch the harp in descant wild ; 
To Love, the bal:ie of Cyprian bowers, 
The boy, who breathes and blushes flow- 
ers; 
To Love, for heaven and earth adore Mm, 
And gods and mortals bow before him ! 



ODE LXIY.U 

Haste thee, nymph, whose well-aim'd 

spear 
"Wounds the fleeting mountain-deer ! 
Dian, Jove's immortal chfld, 
Huntress of the savage wild ! 
Goddess with the sun-bright hair 1 
Listen lo a people's prayer. 
Tiurn, to Lethe's river turn, 
There thy vauquish'd people mourn !*•* 
Come to Lsthe's wavy shore. 
Tell them they shall mourn no more. 
Thine their hearts, their altars thine ; 
Must they Dian — must they pine ? 

WTiile heavenly fire consumed his Theban-ilara«, 
A Naiad caught young Bacchus fri)m the flame, 

And dipp'd him burning in her purest lymph; 
Hence, still he loves the Naiad's crystal urn, 
And when his native fires too fiercely burn, 

Seeks the cool waters of the fountain-nyraph. 

II " This fragment is preserved in Clemens 
Alexandrinus, Strom, lib. vi., uud ia Arseuius, 
Collect. Griec."— -Banics- 

It appears to have been the opening of a 
hymn in praise of Love. 

T[ This hymn to Diana is extant in Hephres- 
tion. There is an anecdote of our poet, which 
has led some to doubt whether he ever wrote 
any odes of this kind. It ia related by the 
Scholiast upon Pindar (Tsthmionic. od. ii. t. 1, 
as cited by Barnes) that Anacreon being asked, 
why he addressed all liis hymns to women, 
and none to the deities ? answered, " Because 
women are my deities. " 

1 have assumed, it will bo seen, in reporting 
this anecdote, the same liberty which I have 
thought it right to take in translating some ot 
the odes ; and it were to be wislied that these 
little infidelities were always allowable in in- 
terpreting the writings of the ancients ; thus, 
A\hen nature is forgotten in the original, in the 
translation "tame'n usqne recurret." 

** Turn, to Lethe's river turn, 

There thy vanqnish'd people mourn .'] 
Lethe, a river of Ionia, according to Strabo, 
falling into the IVreander. In its neighborhood 
was the city called Mn?;nosia. in favor of whoso 
inhabitants our poet is supposed to have ad- 
dressed this siippliealioM to Diana. It w.is 
written (as Madame Dacier conjectures) on 
the occasion of sonic battle, in which th^ Mag 
nesians had been defeated. 



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104 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



ODE LXY.* 

Like some ■wanton filly sporting, 
Maid of Tlirace, thou fly'st my courting. 
"Wanton filly ! teU me why 
Thou tripp'st away, with scornful eye, 
And seem'st to think my doating heart 
Is novice in the bridling art ? 
Believe me, girl, it is not so ; 
Thou'lt find this skilful hand can throw 
The reins around that tender form, 
However wild, however warm. 
Yes— trust me I can tame thy force. 
And turn and wind thee in the course. 
Though, wasting now thy careless hours, 
Thou sport amid the herbs and flowers, 
Soon shalt thou feel the rein's control, 
And tremble at the wish'd-lbr goal ! 



ODE LXVLt 

To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine, 
Fairest of all that fairest shine ; 
To thee, who rul'st with darts of fu"e 
This world of mortals, young Desire ! 
And oh ! thou nuptial Power, totheo 
"Who bear'st of life the guardian key, 
Breatlnng my soul iu fervent praise. 
And weaving wild my votive lays, 
For thee, Queeu ! I wake the"^lyre. 
For thee, thou blushing young Desire, 
And oh ! for thee, thou nuptial Power, 
Come, and illume this genial hour. 

* This ode, which is addressed to some 
Thracian girl, exists in Heraclides, and has 
Ijeen imitated very frequently by Horace, as 
all the annotators have remarked. Madame 
Dacierrejectstlie allegory, which runs so ob- 
Tiously through the ijoem, and supuoses it to 
have been addressed to a young mare belong- 
ing to Poly crates. 

Pierius, in the fourth book of his Hieroglyph- 
ics, cites this ode, and informs us that the 
horse was the hieroglyphical emblem of pride. 

t This ode is mtroduccd in the Romance of 
TheodorJS Proilroraus, and is that kind of 
opithaliimium which was sung like a scholium 
at the nuptial banquet. 

Amoug the many works of the impassioned 
Sappho, of which time and ignorant supersti- 
tion liavo deprived us, the loss of her epithala- 
miuras is not one of the least that we deplore. 
The following lines are cited as a relic of one 
of those poems : — 

0A/3ie yauPpt. <roi /icv Sr) ya/aos <I)S apao, 
EKTeTcAear', <xeic Se napBtvov av apao. 

See Scaliger, in his Poetics, on the Epithala- 
mium. 

t And foster there an infant tree, 

To bloom like her, and tower like thee !\ Orig- 
fDa« KuirapiTTOS Se 7re<|)>"cot <r£v evi (Cijttw. Pas- 



Look on thy bride, too happy boy, 
And while thy lambent glance of joy 
Plays over all her blushing charms, 
Delay not, snatch her to thine arms. 
Before thy lovely, trembling prey. 
Like a young bu-dling, wing away ! 
Turn, Stratocles, too happy youth, 
Dear to the Queen of amorous truth, 
And dear to her, wliose yielding zona 
"WUl soon resign her all "thine own. 
Turn to Myr^la, turn thine eye, 
Breathe to Myrilla, breathe thy sigho 
To those bewitching beauties turn ; 
For thee they blush, for thee they bum. 

l^ot more the rose, the queen of flow 
Outblushes all the bloom of bowers, [ers, 
Thau she unrivall'd grace discloses, 
The sweetest rose, where all are roses. 
Oh ! may the sun, benignant, shed 
His blandest influence o'er thy bed ; 
And foster there an infant tree. 
To bloom like her, and tower like theo^ ti 



ODE LXYII.$ 

Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn 
The wealth of Amalthea's horn ; • 
Nor should I ask to call the throne 
Of the Tartessian prince my own ;|| 
To totter through his train of years 
The victim of declining fears. 

seratius, upon the words "cum castum amisit 
florem," in the Nuptial Song of UatuUus, aft-er 
explaining " flos" in somewhat a similar sense 
to that which Gnulminus attributes to poSoe, 
says, "Hortum quoque vocant in quo llos ille 
carpitur, et Gnecis Kriirov tan to e(f>-qfiat.oi' 
yvvaLKujv." 

I may remark, in passing, that the author of 
the Jreek version or this charming odo of Ca- 
tullus, has neglected a most striking and ana- 
creontic beauty in those verses " tJt fios in 
septis, &c." which is the repetition of the line, 
" Multi ilium pueri. multie optavere puelliB,'' 
with the slight ulteratiou of nulli and nullre. 
Catullus himself, however, has been equally in- 
judicious iu his version of the famous ode of 
Sappho; having translated ycAuxra^ i^i.epoei', 
but omitted all notice of the accompanying 
charm, aSv (fxavovaa^. Horace Las caught the 
spirit of it more faithfully : — 

Dulce ridentera Lalagen amabo, 
Dulce loquentem. 

^This fragment is preserved in the third book 
of Strabo. 

„ Of the Tartessian prince my 07vn ; ] He here 
alludes to Arganthonius, who lived, according 
to Lucian, a hundred and fifty years; and 
reigned, according to Herodotus, eighty. See 
Barnes. 




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ODES OF ANACKEOX. 



lOh 



One little hour of joy to me 
Is worth a dull eternity ! 

ODE LXVIIL* 

Now ITeptune's month our sky deforms, 
The angry night-cloud teems with storms; 
And savage winds, infmiate driven. 
Fly howling in the face of heaven ! 
Now, now, my friends, the gatliering 

gloom 
With roseate rays of wine illume : 
And while our wreaths of parsley spread 
Their fadeless foliage round our head. 
Let's hymn th' almighty power of wine, 
And shed libations on his shrine ! 

ODE LXIX.t 

They wove the lotus hand to deck 
And fan with pensile wreath each neck; 
And every guest, to shade his head, 
Three little fragrant chaplets spreitd ;t 
And one was of th' Egyptian leaf, 
The rest were roses, fair and brief; 
"While from a golden vase profound. 
To all on flowery beds around, 
A Hebe, of celestial shape, 
Pour'd the rich droppings of the grape ! 

ODE LXX.§ 
A BROKEN cake, with honey sweet, 
Is all my spare and simple treat : 

* This is composed of two fraj^ments ; the 
seventieth and ciiihty -first in Barnes. They 
are both fonnd iu Eustutliius. 

t Three fragments form this little ode, all of 
which are preserved in A then reus. They are 
tlie eighty-second, seventy-fifth, and eighty- 
third, iu Barnes. 

lAnd every guest, to shade his head, 

Threelittle fragrant chaplets spread; \ Longe- 
pierre, to sive an idea of the luxurious estima- 
tion in which garlands were hel 1 by the an- 
cients, r(»lates an anecdote of a courtesan, who. 
in order to gratify three lovers, without leaving: 
cause for jealousy with any of them, gave a kiss 
to one, let the other drink after her, and put a 
garland on the brow of the third ; so that each 
was satisfied with liis favor, and flattered him- 
self with the preference. 

This circumstance resembles very much 
the subject of one of the tensons of Savari 
de Mauleon, a troubadour. See L'Histoire 
Litteraire des Troubadours. The recital is a 
curious picture of the puerile gallantries of 
chivalry. 

§ Compiled by Earnes, from Atlicnfeus, He- 
phicstion, and Arsenius. See Barnes, 80th. 

IIThisIhave formed from the eighty- fourth 
and eighty-fifth of Barnes's edition. Tlie two 
fragments are found iu Atheniens. 



And while a generous bowl I croAvn 
To float my httle banquet down, 
I take the soft, the amorous IjTe, 
And sing of love's delicious fire: 
In mirthful measures warm and free, 
I sing, dear maid, and sing for thee ! 



ODE LXXI.II 
"With twenty chords my lyre is hung 

And while I wake them all for thee, 
Thou, maiden, wild and young, 

Disport' st in airy levity. 

The nursling fawn, that in some shade 
Its antler'd mother leaves behind,1I 

Is not more wantonly afraid. 
More timid of the rustUng wind ! 

ODE LXXII.*" 
Fare thee well, perfidious raaid. 
My soul, too long on earth delay'd, 
Delay'd, perfidious girl, liy thee, 
Is on the wing for liberty. 
I fly to seek a kindlier sphere, 
Since thou hast ceased to love me here' 



ODE LXXIII tt 

Awhile I bloom d, a happy flower, 
Till love approach'd one fatal hour, 
And made my tender branches feel 
The wounds of his avenging steel. 

IT The nursling fawn, that in some shade 
Its antler d mother leaves behind, tic.l la 
the original:— 

'Os ev vAtj Kepoe(T<Trj'; 
AiTo\eL4>0eis vrro fiJjTpo?. 

"Homed" here, nndoiibtodly, seems a 
strange epithet ; JSI.-id;iini' Dacier" liowoverol)- 
serves, that Sophocles (^ulliinaclius, &c., have 
all applied it in tlio mm y sniic manner, and slie 
seems to agree in the coniccinie of the scholi- 
ast upon Pindar, that pcrhai)s horns are not 
always peculiar to tlio males I think wo may 
with'more ease conclude it to be n license of the 
poet, "jussit habere paellam cornuu." 

♦-This fragment is preserved by the scholi- 
ast upon Aiistophanes, and is the eighty- 
seventh in Barnes. 

tt This is to be found in Hephijestion, and is 
the eighty ninth of Barnes's edition. 

I have omitted, from among these scraps, a 
very considerable fraement imputed to our 
poet, Sai'dri S' EvpvTrv\ri ^ueAet, Arc, which is 
preserved in the twelfth book of Athenreus, and 
IS the ninety-first in Barnes. If it was really 
Anacreoii who wrote it, " nil fuit nnquam sie 
inipar sibi." It is in a style of gross satire, 
and abounds with expressiotis that never coulj 
be gracefully translated. 



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106 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



Then lost I fell, like some poor willow 
That falls across the wintry billow ! 



ODE LXXIY.* 
Monarch Love, resistless hoy, 
"With whom the rosy Queen of Joy, 
And nymphs, whose eyes have Hea- 
ven's hue, 
Disporting tread the mountain-dew ; 
I'"opitious, oh I receive my sighs, 
Which, glowing with entreaty, rise. 
That thou wilt whisper to the breast 
Of her I love thy soft behest ; 
And counsel her to learu from thee, 
That lesson thou hast taught to me. 
Ah ! if my heart no flattery tell, [well ! 
Thou'lt own I've learn'd that 



ODE LXXV.t 
Spirit of Love, whose locks unroll'd, 
Stream on the breeze like floating gold ; 
Come, within a fragrant cloud 
Blushing with hght, thy votary shroud ; 
And, on those wings that sparkling play, 
"Waft, oh, waft me hence away ! 
Love ! my soul is full of thee, 
Alive to all thy luxury. 
But she, the nymph for whom I glow. 
The lovely Lesbian mocks my wo ; 
Smiles at the chill and hoary hues. 
That time upon my forehead strews. 
Alas ! I fear she keeps her charms, 
In store for younger, happier arms ! 



ODE LXXYI.t 
Hither, gentle Muse of mine, 
Come and teach thy votary old 

* A fragment preserved by Dion Chrysostom. 
Orat. ii. de Iiec:iio. See Barnes, 93. 

tThis fragment, which is extant in Athe- 
nseus, (Barnes, 101,) is supposed, on the author- 
ity of CliaraiBleon, to have been addressed to 
Sapplio. We have also a stanza attributed to 
her, which some romancers have supposed to bo 
her answer to Anacreon. " Mais par malheur, 
(as Bayle says.) Sappho vint an monde environ 
cent ou sis vingt ans avant Anacreon."— A'^oic 
velles df la Jiep.des Lett torn. ii. de Novembre, 
1684. The following is her fragment, the com- 
pliment of which is finely imagined ; she sup- 
poses that the Muse has dictated the verses 
of Anacreon — 

Keii'oi', u> xpvaoBpovi Mouct' eviains 
'\lxvov, ex T7)5 xaAAiyuj'atKOS etrSAas 
TtjIos X'^P"^^ °^ aeiSe TcpTrvcus 
npe<rj3u9 ayavo<;. 

Oh Muse ! who sitt'st on golden throne, 
Full many a hymn of witching tone 

The Teian sage is taught by thee ! 
But, Goddess, from thy throue of gold, 



Many a golden hymn divine, 
For the nymph with vest of gold. 

Pretty nymph, of tender age. 
Fair thy silky locks vmfold ; 

Listen to a hoary sage. 
Sweetest maid with vest of gold! 



ODE LXXYIL§ 
"Would that I were a tuneful lyre, 

Of burnish' d ivory fkir, 
"Which, in the Diouysian choir, 

Some blooming boy should bear ! 
"Would that I were a golden vase. 

That some bright nymph might hold 
My spotless frame, with blushing grace, 

Herself as pm-e as gold ! 

ODE LXXVIII.ll 
"When Cupid sees how thickly now 
The snows of Time fall o'er my brow, 
Upon his wing of golden light, 
He passes with an eaglet's flight, 
And flitting onward seems to say, 
" Fare thee well, thou'st had thy day !" 



CiTPiD, whose lamp has lent the ray, 
That lights our life's meandering way, 
That God, within this bosom stealing. 
Hath waken'da strange, mingled feeling, 
■Which pleases, though so sadly teasing. 
And teases, though so sweetly pleasing H 

Let me resign this wretched breath, 

Since now remains to me 
N"o other balm than kindly death, 

To soothe my misery !** 

The sweetest hymn thou'st ever told. 
He lately learn'd and sung for me. 

{ Formed of the IS-Jth and 119th fragments in 
Barnes, both of which are to be found in Scal- 
iger's Poetics. 

De Pauw thinks that these detached linos and 
couplets, which Scaliger has adduced as exam- 

Eles in his Poetics, are by no means authentic, 
ut of his own fabrication. 

§This is generally inserted among the remains 
of Aloieus. Some, however, have attribnted it to 
Anacreon. See our poet's twenty-second ode, 
aud the notes. 

II See Barnes, 173d. This fragment, to which 
I have taken the liberty of adding a turn not to 
be found in the original, is cited by Lucian in 
his short essay on the Gallic Hercules. 

tBarnes, 125th. This is in Scaliger's Poetics. 
Gail has omitted it in his collection of frag- 
ments. 

** This fragment is extant in Arsennis and 
Hephffistion. See Barnes, (69th,) who ha3 
arranged the metre of it very skillfully 



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ODES OF ANACEEON. 



107 



I KNOW thou lov'st a brimming measure, 
And art a kindly, cordial host ; 

But let me fill and di-ink at pleasure — 
Thus I enjoy the goblet most.* 

I FEAR that love disturbs my rest, 
Yet feel not love's impassion'd care ; 

I think there's madness in my breast. 
Yet cannot find that madness there ! \ 



Prom dread Leucadia's frowning steep 
I'll plunge into the whitening deep : 
And there lie cold, to death resigu'd, 
Since Love intoxicates my mind !j: 



Mix me, child, a cup divine. 
Crystal water, ruby wine : 
"Weave the frontlet, richly flushing. 
O'er my wintry temples blushing. 
Mix the brimmer — Love and I 
Shall no more the contest try. 
Here — upon this holy bowl, 
I siUTcndcr all my soul !§ 



Among the Epigrams of the Antho- 
logia, are found some panegyrics on Ana- 
creou, which I had translated, and 
originally intended as a sort of Coronis 
to this work. But I found, upon con- 
sideration, that they wanted variety ; 
and that a frequent recurrence, in them, 
of the same thought, would render a 
collection of such poems uninteresting. I 
shall take the liberty, ho\\-evcr, of subjoin- 
ing a few, selected from the number, 
that I may not appear to have totally 
neglected those ancient tributes to the 
fame of Anacreon. The four epigrams 
which I give are imputed to Antipater 
Sidonius. They are rendered, perhaps, 

* Barnes, 72d. This fraj^ment, -nhicli is found 
inAthenaius, contains an excellent lesson lorthe 
votaries of Jupiter Hospitalis. 

1 Found id Hephaestion, (see Barnes. 95th.) 
and reminds one somewhat of the following : — 
Odi et amo ; quare id faciara fortasse requiris ; 
Nescio : sed fieri sentio, et excrucior. Carm. 53. 
I love thee and hate thee, but if I can tell 

The causeof my love and my hate, may I die. 
I can feel it, alas; I can feel it too well, (why. 

Tliat I love thee and hate thee, but cannot te'U 

J This is also in Hephfestion, and perhaps is 
a fragment of some poem in which Anacreon 
had comniemorated the fate of Sappho. It is 
the 123d of Barnes. 

§ Collected by Barnes, from Demetrius Plia- 
larens and Eustathius, and subjoined in his 
edition to the epigrams attributed to our poet. 
And here is the last of tliose little scattered 
Bowers, which I thought 1 might venture 
with any grace to transplant}— happy if it 



with too much freedom ; but designing 
originally a tran,slation of all that are 
extant on the subject, I endeavored to 
enliven their uniformity by some;,imer 
indulging in the liberties of paraphrase. 



ANTinATPOY SIAnXIOY, EI2 ANAKPE- 

ONTA. 
©.\AAOI TerpaKopv/x^So?, AvaKpeov, a/xt^t at 

a/3pa re Aei^iMcioi' TTopit>vpe<i>v TreraAa 
TTTjyo.t 6' apyii'oei'TO? ava9\L^oi.vTO yaXaxTO^, 
euwie; 6' arro yr)<; r/5u xeoiTO fxeOv, 

0<^pa KG Tot tTTTU^LT] TC Kat OaTCa Tcp^jjlU apT^Tttl, 

£1 56 Tis <^8i/if cois ;^pi/i7rTeTai ev4>po(7vt'a 
u> TO (/)tAoi' CTTfp^a?, (|>tAe, ^apfiiTou^ a> o'ut' aoiSa 
TrafTa fiian-Auxra? Kai aw epcoTt ^lor. 

Around the tomb, oh, bard divine ! 

Where soft thy hallow'd brow reposes, 
Long may the deathless ivy twine, 

And summer spread her waste of roses 1 
And there shall many a fount di.stil. 

And many a rill refresh the flowers ; 
But wine shall be each purple rill, 

And every fount be milky showers. 
Thus, shade of him, whom Nature taught 

To tuue his lyi-e and soul to pleasm-e, 
Who gave to love his tenderest thought, 

Who gave to love his fondest mea- 
sure, — 
Thus, after death, if shades cau feel. 

Thou may'st, fi-om odors round thee 
streaming, 
A pulse of past enjoyment steal, 

And live again in blissful dreaming !1| 

TOY AYTOY, EI2 TON AYTON. 
TYMB02 AraxpeiorTO^. 6 Trjioy ei'0a&e KVKVOi 

EwSet, XV TTatStoi/ ^otpoTaTrj fxavfq. 
A/</ir)i» Acipioei'Ti p.e\i^eTai ap.'^i Ba9i;AAai 

'Initpa- Kai Kicrcrov Acdko? o&ioSe Ai^05. 
OuS' Ai6r)? aot cpojTa? aireafieaev, ev 6' A^epOfTO? 

ill', 6A05 loSii'eis Kvv-olSl 9ep/aoTep»). 

could be said of the garland which they form, 
To S' (o^' Ai'a/cpeoi'TO?. 

II Antipater Sidonius, the author of this epi- 
gram, lived, according to Yossius, do Portis 
(inec'is. in the second year of tlio ItiiHh Olym- 
piad. He appears, from whatCieci-o and (^lin 
lilian have said of him, to have becnu kind of 
iraprovvisatoro. See Institut. Oral. lib. x. cap. 
7. There is nothing more known respecting 
this poet, except some particulars about his 
illness and death, which are mentioned as 
curious by Pliny and others ; — and there remain 
of his works but a few epigrams in the Antho- 
logia, among which are found these inscriptions 
upon Anacreon. These remains have been 
sometimes imputed to another poet* of the same 
name, of whom Vossius gives us the followmv 
account:— "Antipater Thessalonicensis vixu 
tempore Augusti Cajsaris, ut qui saltanteni 

•Pleraqne tamen Thessalonlcensl trlbuenda vlicn. 
tur.— Brunch, Lectionct et Eimndat, 



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108 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Here sleeps Anacreon, in this ivied 

shade; [laid.* 

Here mute in death the Tcian swan is 

Cold, cold that heart, which -vrhile on 

earth it dvrelt [fult. 

All the sweet phrensy of love's passion 

And yet, oh Bard ! thou art not mute in 

death, [breath ;t 

Still do we catch thy lyre's luxurious 

And still thy songs of soft Bathylla 

bloom, [tomb. 

Green as the ivy round thy mould'ring 

Nor yet has death obscured thy lire of 

love, [ian grove, 

Tor stiU it lights thee through the Elys- 

"Where dreams arc thine, that bless Ih' 

elect alone, [own ! 

And Venus calls thee even in death her 

Tiderit Pyladein, sicut constat ox quodam ejus 

epiprammate Ai'SoAoyia!, lib. iv. tit. eis opxeo-- 

Tpi6a5. At euin ac Bnthjlluui jiiiraos luisso 

pantomimos ac sub Aujiusto claruisse, satis 

uotuiu ex Dione, &c. &c." 

The reader, who thinlss it worth observinfc, 
may find a strauge oversight iu Hott'mairs 
quotation of this article from Vossius, Lexic. 
tlni vers. By tlie omission of a sentence, he has 
made Vossius assert tliat tlie poet Antipater 
was one of the first pantomime dancers in Rome. 
Barnes, upon tlio epigram before us, mentions 
a version of it by BrodtBus, which is not to be 
found in that commentator ; but he more tlian 
once confounds Brodteus with another anuota- 
tor on the Autliologia, Vinceutius Obsopoeus, 
who has given a translation of the epigram. 

* the Tcian swan is laid.] Thus Horace 

of Pindar:— 

Multa DiresBum levat aura cycnum, 
A swan was the hioroglyphicul emblem of a 
poet. Anacreon has been called the swan of 
Xeos by another of his eulogists. 

Ec Tois ficAixpoi? 'Ijnepoio-i iTvvTpo<f>ov 
Avaios AvaKfxovTa, TiqCov kvki'OV, 
Efft^TjAa? vypt} I'eKTapo? fxeArjdoff^M 

EvYerous, AvdoKoy. 
God of the grape 1 thou has betray'd 

In wine's bewildering dream, 
The fairest swan that ever play'd 
Along the Muse's stream 1— 
The Teian, nursed with all those honey'd boys. 
The young Desires, light Loves, androse-lipp'd 
' .Toys ! 

t Still do vje catch thy lyre's luxurious breath;] 
Tlius Simonides, speaking of our poet:— 
MoAttt/? 6' ov \Tj9rj ju.eAiTt-p7reo? aAA' ert Ktii'O 

2i/oioi't6ou, AfOoKoy. 
Nor yet are all lii.s numbers mute, 

Though darli within the tomb he lies ; 
But living still, his amorous lute 
With sleepless animation sighs ! 
This is the famous Simonides, whom Plato styled 
" divine," thouuhLe Fevre, inhisPoetesGrecs, 
supposes that the epigrams imder his name are 
all falsely imi)Uted. The most considerable of 
his reraiiins is a satirical poem upon women, 
preserved by Stobteus, i//oyo« yuvotKioF. 



TOY AYTOY, EI2 TON AYTON. 

HEINE, Ta<f>ov napa Aitov Ai-axpeioi'TO? afxn^ov, 
El Ti Toi ex 0i/3Au)i' ijAeer efjLiuv oc|)«Aos, 

OcrTcd y-qOiqae rap.a fOTifo^tefa, 
'n? 6 ^lovvaov /Lt€jLL€A77/j.efo? ovacrt K10MO9, 

'n? 6 (^lAflKprjTou i7vi'rpo<f>o<; ap^aoi'iTj;, 
Mr)6e KaTaipSLfj.ei'oi BaKxov Sii^a todtoi' vttoktm 

Tof yeveri ixeponvov x.'^pou o^xi^ofxevoi-.t 

On stranger! if Anacreon's shell 
Has ever taught thy heart to swell$ 
With passion's throb or pleasure's sigh, 
In pity turu, as wand'ring nigh. 
And drop thy goblet's richest tear|| 
In tcnderestlibation here ! 
So shall my sleeping ashes thrill 
With visions of enjoyment still. 
E"ot even iu death can I resign 
The festal joys that once were mine, 

"We may .judge from tlie lines I havejnst 
quoted, and the import of the epigram before 
ns, that the works of Anacrecm Mere jierfect in 
tlie times of Simonides and AiitipaU'r. Ob- 
sopa^us. the commentator here, appears to ex- 
ult in tlieir destruction, and teDinir us thry 
were burned by tlie bishops and patriarchs, lie 
adds, " noc sane id necquicquam feceruiit," 
attributing to this outrage an effect which it 
could not possibly have produced. 

J The spirit ol Anacreon is supposed to utter 
these verses from the tomb, — somewhat " mu- 
tatus ab illo," at least in simplicity of expression. 

§ if Anacreon's shell 

Has ever taur/ht thy heart to swell, del We 
may guess from the words «« ^ijiXuiv fixiov, 
that Anacreon was not merely a writer of bil- 
lets-doux, as some French critics have called 
him. Among those iZr. Le Fevre, with all his 
professed admiration, has gi\ea our poet a 
character by no means of an elevated cast : — 
A ussi cost pour cela que la pnsterite 
L'atoujours justement d'age en age chante 
Comme un franc goguenard, ami d j goinfrerie, 
Ami de billets-doux et (',0 badinerie. 
See the verses prefixed to his Poetes Grocs. 
This is unlilje tlie language of Theocritus, to 
whom Anacreon is indebted for the following 
simple eulogium : — 

EI2 ANAKPE0NT02 ANAPIANTA. 
©ao-oi TOI/ avSpiavTa toutov, 10 ^c're, 

o-irovSa, xai Ae-y', eTrai/ e; oikoj' ei'07)S. 
AvaKpeovTOi hkov' eiSov ev Tew, 

TturTTpoo-^' et Ti TTepto-croi' u}&ononov* 
jrpocrfleis 6e x'^''''' ''■"'^ veoio-ii' aSeTo, 
epeis oTpeKew; oAoi' TOi' avSpa, 

Upon the Statue of Anacreon. 
Stranger! who near this statue chance to roam, 

Let^t awhile yonr studious eyes engage ; 
That you may say, returning to your home, 

" I've seen the image of the Teiau sage. 

Best of the bards who deck the Muse's page." 
Then, if you add, "That striplings loved him 

You tell them all he was, and aptly tell, [well," 
I have endeavored to do justice to the sinplieity 
of this inscriptiim by rendering it as literally, 
I believe, as a verse translation will allow. 

II And drop thy goblet's richest tear, dc] 




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s^^sv-- 




ODES OF AN-ACEEON". 



105 



When Harmony pursued my -^ays, 
And Bacchus wanton'd to luy lays.* 
Oh ! if delight could charm no more, 
If all the goblet's bliss were o'er, 
Whcu fite'had ouce our doom decreed, 
Then dying would be death indeed ; 
Xor could I think, unhless'd by wine 
Divinity itself divine ! 

TOY AYTOY, EI2 TON AYTON. 
EYAEI2 eu <f>9iiJ.evoitTii', AvaKpsoir, ccr^Aa 
jro>'i)cra? 
euSet 6' r] y\xtK€prj vvKTt.\a\o^ Kidapa^ 
euSei Kai 2|U6p5i<r, to lloScui' cap, o> crv tie\i(TStav, 

^ap^ir', afexpovov le/crap fyaptioviov 
fl'iOct-oif yap EpwTO? e'/>i'? (tkoko^^ e? 8e ae fj.ovi'oi' 
Tofa Te Kai aKoAia? ei^f '' e^jjiSoAias. 

At length thy golden hours have wing'd 
thek flight, 
And drowsy death that eyelid steepeth; 

Tims Simonides, in another of his epitaphs on 

our poet : — 

Km fULV del reyyoi ^oTepij Spoco?, jj? 6 yepaios 

AapoTepou p-aXaKuit^ eni/^eu e/c crTOfj.aToji', 

Let vines, in clnst'rins beauty wreath'd, 
Drop (ill their treasures on his head, 

"Whose lips a dev," of sweetness breathed, 
Eieher than vine hath ever shed ! 

* And BaccMiswanton'dtnmylat/D, <Cc.] The 
oria:inal here is corrupted, the line «us 6 Aioyv- 
a-ov, &o., is unintellifrible. 

Brunek's emendation improves tli3 sense, but 
I doubt if it can be commeuded for elegance. 
He reads the lino thus: — 

<us 6 Aiiofvcroio \e\a(Ttievoi ovnore ku^uc. 

See Tirunck, Analecta Veter. Poet. Griec, vol. 
ii. 

f Thy harp, that whisper'd throufjh each lin- 
gering night, etc.] In another of these poems, 
tlie " nishtlyspeakins bre " o( the bard is rep- 
resented as not yet silent even after his death. 

<u? 6 (J)tAaicp7)T0? re Kai. OLvo^ap-qi; (piXoKiop.O'; 
iTavvv)(io^ Kpovot* Ttjv (/)iAo7rai3a ;y;eAiii'. 

Xt/J.uivi.Sov, eis AiaKpeovTa. 

To beauty's smile and wine's delijrht, 

To joys he loved on earth so well. 
Still shall his spirit, all the ni}j;ht. 
Attune the wild, aerial shell ! 
t The purest ner.tar of its nitmhcr.f, d-c."] Thus, 
snys Brunck, ia the prologue to the satires of 
Persius: — 

Centare credas Pei;aseium nectar. 
" Mclos ' is the usual reading in this line, and 
Casaubon lias defended it; but "nectar" is, I 
think, much more spirited. 

^ She, the young spring of thy denres, t£c.] 
The original, to UoBmv tap, is beautiful. We 
regret that such praise should be lavished so 
preposterously, and feel that the poet's mistress 
Eurypyle would have deserved it better. Her 
name has been told us by Meleager, as already 
quoted, and in another epigram by Antipater. 



Thy harp, that whisper'd through each 
lingering night, t 
Xow mutely in oblivion sleepeth ! 

She too, for whom that harp profusely 
shed 
The purest nectar of its numbers, t 
She, the young spring of thy desires, 
hath fled, 
And with her blest Anacreon slumbers!^ 

Farewell ! thou hadst a pulse for every 
dart II 
That mighty Love could scatter from 
his quiver ; 
And each new beauty foimd in thee a 
heart, 
Which thou, with all thy heart and soulj 
didst give her !^ 

iiypa Sa S^pKOnevoKTiv (v oixixaaiv ovAoi' aetSoiSr 

aiOvaamv Ki.-napy)<; avOot; vittpBe KO/i))S, 
i)e T7poi Eupi'iroArji/ TfTpa/J./xero? .... 

Long may the nymph around thee play, 

Eurypyle. thy'soul's desire, 
Basking her beauties in the ray 

That lights thine eye's dissolving fire! 
Sing of her smile's bewitching power. 

Her every grace that warms and blessei 
Sing of her brow's hixuri.int flower. 

The beaming glory other tresses. 

The expression here ai'9o? (coixjj?, "the flower 
ot the hair," is borrowed from Anacreon him- 
self, as appears by a fragment of the poet pre- 
served in Stobaeus : ATrexeipaj 6' awaArjs a/ioixof 
ai'So?. 

II Fareivell ! thou hadst a puhe for every dart, 
tCc] 6(^1^5 (j-Koiros, " Scopus eras naturi," not 
'• speculator," as Barnes very falsely interprets 
it. 

VincentiusObsopoeus, upon this passage, con- 
trives to indulge us with a little astrological 
wisdom, and talks in a style of learned scand.ol 
about Venus, " male positacum Marte in dome 
Saturni.'' 

U And each new beauty found in thee aheart, 
<fc.] This couplet is not otherwise warranted 
by the original, tlian as it dilates the thought 
which Antipater has figuratively expressed. 

Critias, ot Athens, pays a tribute to the legit- 
imate gallantry of Anacreon, calling him, with 
elegant conciseness, ywaiKuiv rjTrepoirei'fia. 
Toi- 5€ yvvoLKiiuiV fxeXeutv irKe^avra jtot' <o5as, 
'HBvv AvaKpnovTaA Teio? ei; E\Ka&' avr^yiv. 
'S.vixTTOci.MV (ptBicriia, yvfaLxtov 7)7Tepo;reu/iia. 

Teos gave to Greece her treasure. 
Sage Anacreon, sage in loving; 

Fondly weaving lays of pleasure 
For the maids who blush'd approving. 

When in nightly banquets sporting, 
Where's the gnest could ever flj; him t 

When with love's seduction courting, 
Where's the nymph could e'er deny him ? 

t Thus Scallger, In his dedicatory verses to Bon 
BlanduB, suavlloquus, dnlcls Anacroon. 




Mm 




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no MOORE'S WORKS. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



PREFACE, 

BY THE EDITOR.* 

The Poems which I take the liberty 
of publishing, were never intended by 
the autnoi to pass beyond the circle of 
his friends, no thought, with some jus- 
tice, that what ara called Occasional 
Poems must be always msipid and unin- 
teresting to the greater part of their read- 
ers. The particular situations in which 
they were written ; the character of the 
author and of his associates ; all these 
peculiarities must be known and felt be- 
fore we can enter into the spirit of such 
compositions. This consideration would 
have always, I believe, prevented the 
author himself from submitting these 
trifles to the eye of dispassionate criti- 
cism : and if their posthumous introduc- 
tion to the world be injustice to his 
memory, or intrasion on the public, the 
eiTor must be imputed to the injudicious 
partiality of friendship. 

Mr. Little died in his one and twenti- 
eth year, and most of these Poems were 
written at so early a period that their 
en-ors may lay claim to some indulgence 
from the critic. Their author, as unam- 
bitious as indolent, scarce ever looked 
beyond the moment of composition; 
but, in generjtl, wrote as he pleased, 
careless whether he pleased as he wrote. 
It may likewise be remembered, that 
they were all the productions of an age 
when the passions very often give a 
coloring too warm to the imagination ; 
and this may palliate, if it cannot ex- 
cuse, that air of levity which pervades 
so many of them. The "aurea legge, 

* A portion of these Poems were publislied 
originally as the works of " the Lite Thomas 
Little," with the 1 reface here given prefixed 
to them. 



s'ei place ei lice," he too much pursued, 
and too much inculcates. Few can re- 
gret this more sincerely than myself; 
and if my friend had lived, the judg- 
ment of riper years would have chas- 
tened his mind, and tempered the luxuri- 
ance of his fancy. 

Mr. Little gave much of his time to 
the study of the amatory writers. II; 
ever he expected to find in the ancients 
that delicacy of sentiment, and variety 
of fancy, which are so necessary to re- 
fine and animate the poetry of love, he 
was much disappointed. I know not 
anyone of them who can be regarded as 
a model in that style ; Ovid made love 
Mke a rake, and Propertius like a school- 
master. The mythological allusions of 
the latter are called erudition by his 
commentators; but such ostentatious 
display, upon a subject so simple as 
love, would be now esteemed vague 
and puerile, and was even in his own 
times pedantic. It is astonishing that 
so many critics should have preferred 
him to the gentle and touching Tibnllus; 
but those defects, I believe, which a 
common reader condemns, have been 
regarded rather as beauties by those 
erudite men, the commentators; who 
find a field for their ingenuitj*- and re- 
search, in his Grecian learning and 
quaint obscurities. 

Tibnllus abounds with touches of fine 
and natural feeling. The idea of his uu- 
expected return to Deha, " Tunc veniam 
subito,"t &c., is imagined with all the 
delicate ardor of a lover ; and the senti- 
ment of '*nec te posse carere vehm," 
however colloquial the expression may 
have been, is natural, and from the 
heart. But the poet of Verona, in my 

tLib.i. Eleg. 3. 




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JUYENILE POEMS. 



Ill 



opinion, possessed more genuine feeling 
than any of them. His life was, I be- 
lieve, unfortunate ; his associates were 
wild and abandoned; and the warmth 
of his nature took too much advantage 
of the latitude which the morals of 
those times so criminally allowed to the 
passions. All this depraved his imagi- 
nation, and made it the slave of his 
senses. But still a native sensibility is 
often very warmly perceptible; and 
when he touches the chord of pathos, 
he reaches immediately the heart. They 
who have felt the sweets of return to a 
home from which they have lon^ been 
absent, will confess the beauty ol 
simpi 



Medio de fonte Icponim 

Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus 
an sat. t 

It has often been remarked, that the 
ancients knew nothing of gallantry ; and 
we are sometimes told there was too 
much sincerity in their love to allow 
them to trifle thus with the semblauce 
of passion. But I cannot perceive that 
they were anything more constant than 
the modems : they felt all the same dis- 
sipation of the heart, though they knew 
not those seductive graces by which 
gallantry almost teaches it to be amiable. 
Wotton, the learned advocate for the 
modems, deserts them in considering 
this point of comparison, and praises the 
ancients for their ignorance of such refine- 
ments. But he seems to have collected 
his notions of gallantry from the insipid 
fadcurs of the French romances, which 
have nothing congenial with the graceful 
levity, the "grata protervitas," of a 
Rochester or a Sedley. 

As far as I can judge, the early poets 
of oi:r own language were the mod- 
els which Mr. "^Little selected for 
imitation. To attain their simplicity 
("fevo rarissima nostro simphcitas") 
was his fondest ambition. He could not 
have aimed at a grace more difficult of 
attainment ;1. and his life was of too 
short a date to allow him to perfect such 
a taste; but how far he was likely to 
have succeeded the critic may judge 
from his productions. 

I have found among his papers a 
novel, in rather an imperfect state, 
which, as soon as I have an-anged and 
collected it, shall be Bubmitted to the 
public eye. 

Where Mr. Little was born, or what 
is the genealogy of his parents, are 
points in which very few readers can bo 
intei-ested. His life was one of those 
humble streams which have scarcely a 
name in the map of life, and the traveller 
may pass it by without inquiring its 
source or direction. His character was 
well known to all who were acquainted 
with him ; for he had too much vanity" to 

* In the following Poems, will be found a simplicity requires, that the Ramblers of Jo]in- 

translation of one of his finest Carmina; but I soli, elaborate as they appear, were written 

fancy it is only a mere schoolboy's essay, and with fluency, and seldom required revision : 

deserves to be praised for little inore than the while tlie simple language of Kousseau, whicli 

attempt. seems to come flowing from the heart, was the 

1 Lucretius slow production of painful labor, pausing on 

I It is a curious illustration of the labor which every word, and balancing every Beutencc. 



O quid solutis est beatius cnris ! 
Cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino 
Lahore fcssi venimus Larem ad nostrum 
Desideratoque acquiescimns lecto. 

Carm. xxix. 

His sorrows on the death of his bro- 
ther are the very tears of poesy; and 
when he complains of the ingratitude of 
mankind, even the inexperienced can- 
not but sympathize with him. I wish 
I were a poet ; I should then endeavor 
to catch, by translation, the spirit of 
those beauties which I have always so 
warmly admired. * 

It seems to have been peculiarly the 
fate of Catullus, that the better and more 
valuable part of his poetry has not 
reached us; for there is confessedly 
nothing in his extant works to authorize 
the epithet ' ' doctus, " so universally be- 
stowed upon him by the ancients. If 
time had suffered his other writings to 
escape, we perhaps should have found 
among them some more purely amatory ; 
hut of those we possess, can there be a 
sweeter specimen of warm, yet chastened 
descripti(m, than his loves of Acme and 
Septimius? and the few little songs of 
dalliance to Lesbia are distinguished by 
such an exquisite playfulness, that they 
have always been assumed as models by 
the most elegant modem Latinists. Still, 
it must be confessed, in the midst of all 
these beauties, 



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112 



MOORE'S TV^ORKS. 



hide its virtues and not enough of art to 
conceal its defects. The lighter traits of 
his mind may be traced perhaps in his 
writmgs ; but the few for which he was 
valued live only in the remembrance of 
his friends. T. M. 



TO JOSEPH ATKINSOif, ESQ. 

My dear Sir: — I feel a very sincere 
pleasure in dedicating to you the Second 
Edition of our friend Little's Poems. I 
am not unconscious that there are many 
in the collection which perhaps it would 
be prudent to have altered or omitted ; 
and, to say the truth, I more than once 
revised them for that purpose; but, I 
know not why, I distrusted either my 
heart or my judgment ; and the conse- 
quence is, you have them in then- 
original form : 

Hon possuiit nostros multse, Faustine, lituriB 
Etneudiire jocos ; uua litura potest. 

I am convmced, however, that, though 
not quite a casuiste relache, you have 
charity enough to forgive such inofien- 
sive follies; you know that the pious 
Beza was not the less revered for those 
sportive Juvenilia which he pubhshed 
under a fictitious name ; nor did the 
levity of Bembo's poems prevent him 
from making a very good cardinal. 
Believe me, my dear Friend, 
"With the truest esteem, 
Yours, T. M. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



FRAGMENTS OF COLLEGE EXER- 
CISES. 
Nobilitas sola est atque nnica virtus. Juv. 
Mark those proud boasters of a splen- 
did line, [they shine, 
Like gilded ruins, mould'riug while 
How heavy sits that weight of alien show, 
Like martial helm upon an infant's brow ; 
Those borrow'd splendors, whose con- 
trasting light [or night. 
Throws back the native shades in deep- 
Ask the proud train who glory's shade 
pursue, [grew ? 
Where are the arts by which that glory 
The genuine virtues that with eagle-gazo 



Sought young Renown in all her onein 

blaze ! [Gned. 

Where is the heart by chymic truth re- 

Th' exploring soul, whose eye had read 

mankind ? [heavenly art, 

Where are the links that twined, vrith 

His country's interest round the patriot's 

heart ? 



Justum bellura quibiis necessarium, et pla 
anna quibus nulla nisi in armisreUnquitur spes. 
— Livv. 



Is there no call, no consecrating cause, 
Approved by Heav'n,. ordain'd by na- 
ture's laws, 
Where justice Hies the herald of our way, 
And truth's pure beams upon the ban- 
ners play ? 
Yes, there's a call sweet as an angel's 
breath [death ; 

To slumb'riug babes, or innocence iii 
And urgent as the tongue of Heav'n 
within, [sin. 

When the mind's balance trembles upon 

Oh ! 'tis our country's voice, whose claim 

should meet 
An echo in the soul's most deep retreat ; 
Along the heart's responding chords 

should run, [one 

Not let a tone there vibrate — ^but the 



YARIBTY. 

Ask what prevailing, pleasing power 
Allures the sportive, wandering bee 

To roam, untired, from flower to flower. 
He'll tell you, 'tis variety. 

Look Nature round, her features trace, 
Her seasons, all her changes see; 

And own, upon Creation's face. 
The greatest chami 's variety. 

For me, ye gracious powers above ! 

Still let me roam, unfis'd and free ; 
In all things, — but the nymph I love^ 

I'll change, and taste variety. 

But, Patty, not a world of charms 
Could e'er estrange my heart fi:Oll 
thee ; — 

No, let me ever seek those arms, 
There still I'll find variety. 



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JUTEiflLE POEMS. 



TO A BOY, WITH A WATCH. 

WRITTEN FOB A FRIEND. 

Is it not sweet, beloved youth, 
To rove through Erudition's bowers, 

And cull the golden fruits of truth, 
And gather Fancy's brilliant llowera? 

And is it not more sweet than this, 
To feel thy parents' hearts approving, 

And pay them back in suras of bliss 
The dear, the eudb',ss debt of loving ? 

It must be so to thee, my youth ; 

With this idea toil is lighter ; 
This sweetens all the fruits of truth, 

And makes the flower of fancy brighter. 

The little gift we send thee, boy, 
May sometimes teach thy soul to pon- 

If indolence or siren joy [der, 

Should ever tempt that soul to wander. 

'Twill tell thee that the winged day [or, 
Can ne'er be chain'd by man's endeav- 

That life and time shall fade away, 
While heav'n and virtue bloom forever. 



SOISQ. 



If I swear by that eye, you'll allow. 
Its look is so shifting and new, 

That the oath I might take on it now 
The very next glance would undo. 

Those babies that nestle so sly 

Such thousands of arrows have got, 

That an oath, on the glance of an eye 
Such as yours, may be oil" in a shot. 

Should I swear by the dew on your lip, 
Though each moment the treasui-e 
renews, 

If my constancy wishes to trip, 
I may kiss off the oath when I choose. 

Or a sigh may disperse from that flow'r 
Both the dew and the oath that are 
there ; 

And I'd make a new vow every hour. 
To lose them so sweetly in air. 

But clear up the heav'n of your brow, 
Nor fancy my faith is a feather; 

On my heart I will pledge you my vow, 
And they both must be broken to- 
gether 1 



TO 



Eemember him thou leav'st behind, 
Whose heart is warmly bound to thee, 

Close as the tend'rest links can bind 
A heart as warm as heart can be. 

Oh ! I had long in freedom roved, 
Though many seem'd my soul to share; 

'Twas passion when I thought I loved, 
'Twas fancy when I thought theu! 
fair. 

Ev'n she, my muse's early theme. 
Beguiled me only while she warm'd ; 

'Twas young desire that fed the dream. 
And "reason broke what passion fornVd. 

But thou — ah ! better had it been 
If I had still in freedom roved. 

If I had ne'er thy beauties seen, 
For then I never should have loved. 

Then all the pain which lovers feel 
Had never to this heart been known -, 

But then, the joys that lovers steal. 
Should they have ever been my own I 

Oh ! trust me, when I swear thee this, 
Dearest ! the pain of loving thee, , 

The very pain is sweeter bliss 
Than passion's wildest ecstasy. 

That little cage I would not part. 

In which my soul is prison 'd now, 
For the most light and winged heart 

That wantons on the passing vow. 
Still, my beloved ! still kee^ "n mind, 

However far removed from me. 
That there is one thou leav'st behind, 

Whose heart respires for only thee I 

And though ungenial ties have bound 

Thy fate unto another's care, 
That arm, which clasps thy bosom round, 

Cannot confine the heart that's there. 
No, no ! that heart is only mine 

By ties all other ties above, 
For I have wed it at a shrine 

Where we have had no priest but Love. 



SONG. 

When Time, who steals our years away. 

Shall steal our pleasures too. 
The mem'ry of the past will stay, 

And half our joys renew. 
Then, Julia, when thy beauty's flow'r 

Shall feel tha wintry air. 




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114 



MOOKE'S WORES. 



Remembrance will recall the hour 

When tbou alone wert fair. 
Then talk no more of future gloom ; 

Our joys shaU always last ; 
For Hope shall brighten days to come, 

And Mem'ry gUd the past. 

Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl, 

1 drink to Love and thee: 
Thou never canst decay in soul, 

Thou'lt still be young for me. 
And as thy lips the tear-drop chase, 

Which on my cheek they find. 
So bope shall steal away the trace 

That sorrow leaves behind. 
Then fill the bowl — away with gloom ! 

Our joys shall always last ; 
For Hope shall brighten days to come, 

And Mem'ry gild the past. 

But mark, at thought of future years 

"When love shall lose its soul. 
My Chloe drops ber timid tears, 

They mingle witb my bowl. 
How like this bowl of wine, my fair. 

Our loving life shall fleet; [there, 

Though tears may sometimes mingle 

The draught will still be sweet. 
Thfen fill the cup — away with gloom ! 

Our joys shall always last; 
For Hope will brighten days to come, 

And Mem'ry gild the past. 

SOifG. 

Have you not seen the timid tear, 

Steal trembling from mine eye ? 
Have you not mark'd the flush of fear, 

Or caught the mm-mur'd sigb ? 
And can you think my love is chiU, 

Nor fis'd on you alone ? 
And can you rend, by doubting still, 

A heart so much yom- own ? 

To you my soul's afiections move 

Devoutly, warmly trae ; 
My life has been a task of love, 

One long, long thought of you. 
If all your tender faith be o'er, 

If still my tnith you'll try ; 
Alas, I know but one proof more— 

I'll bless your name, and die I 

REUBEN AND ROSE. 

A TALE OF ROMANCE. 

The darkness that hung upon "Willum- 

berg's walls, [and dismay ; 

Had long been remember'd with awe 



For years not a sunbeam had play'd m 

its balls, [gionsofday 

And it seem'd as shut out from the re- 

Though the valleys were brighten'd bj 

many a beam, [illume ; 

Yet none could the woods of that castle 

And the lightning, which flash'd on the 

neighboring stream, [gloom ! 

Flew back, as if feaiing to enter the 

" Oh ! when shall this horrible darkness 

disperse !" [the Cave ;- - 

Said Willumberg's lord to the Seer of 

"It can never dispel, " said the wizard 

of verse, [in the wave !" 

"Till the bright star of chivalry sinks 

And who was the bright star of chivalr7 

then ? [of the age> 

"Who could be but Reuben, the flower 

For Reuben was first in the combat of 

men, [name on her page. 

Though Youth had scarce written his 

For "Willumberg's daughter his young 
heart had beat, — [of dawn. 

For Rose, who was bright as the spirit 
When with wand dropping diamonds, 
and silvery feet, 
It walks o'er the flow'rs of the moun- 
tain and lawn. 

Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally 

sever? [the Cave, 

Sad, sad were the words of the Seer of 

That darkness should cover that castle 

forever, [wave ! 

Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless 

To the wizard she flew, saying, " Tell 
me, oh, tell ! [to my eyes ?" 

Shall my Reuben no more be restored 
"Yes, yes— when a spirit shall toll th& 
gi-eat bell 
Of the mouldering abbey, your Reu- 
ben shall rise !" 

Twice, thnce he repeated "Your Reu- 
ben shall rise !" [her pain ; 
And Rose felt a moment'ii release from 
And wiped, while she lisien'd, the tears 
from her eyes, [again. 
And hoped she might yet see her hero 

That hero could smile at the terrors of 
death, [of his Rose , 

"When he felt that he died for the sire 
To the Oder he flew, and there, plung- 
ing beneath, [found his repose.— 
In the depth of the billows soon 



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JUVENILE POEMS. 



116 



How strangely the order of destiny 

falls !— [lay, 

Ivot long in the waters the warrior 

When a sunlieam was seen to glance 

over the walls, 

And the castle of Willumberg bask'd 

in the ray ! 

411, all but the soul of the maid was in 

light, [and blank : 

There sorrow and terror lay gloomy 

Two days did she wander, and all the 

long night, [er's bank. 

In quest of her love, on the wide riv- 

0ft, oft did she pause for the toll of the 

bell, [in the air ; 

And heard but the breathings of night 

Long, long did she gaze on the watery 

swell, 

And saw but the foam of the white 

bUlow there. 

And often as midnight its veil would un- 
draw, [in the stream, 
As she look'd at the light of the moon 
She thought 'twas his helmet of silver 
she saw, 
As the curl of the surge glitter ' d high in 
the beam. 

And. now the third night was begemming 

the sky ; [reclined, 

Poor Rose, on the cold dewy margent 

There wept till the tear almost froze in 

her eye, [deep in the wind ! 

"WTien, hark ! — 'twas the bell that came 

She startled, and saw, through the glim- 
mering shade, 
A form o'er the waters in majesty glide ; 
She knew 'twas her love, though his 
check was decay' d, [by the tide. 
And his helmet of silver was wash'd 

Was this what the Seer of the Cave had 

foretold ?— 

Dim, dim through the phantom the 

moon shot a gleam ; [and cold, 

'Twas Reuben, but, ah ! he was deathly 

And fleeted away like the spell of a 

dream ! 

Twice, thrice did lie rise, and as often 

she thought 

From the bank to embrace him, but 

vain her endeavor ! [caught, 

Then, plunging beneath, at a billow she 

And simk to repose on its bosom for- 

/\'er I 



DID NOT. 

'Twas a new feeling — something more 
Than we had dared to own before. 

Which then we hid not ; 
We saw it in each other's eye, 
And wish'd, in every half-breathed sigh. 

To speak, but did not. 

She felt my lips' impassion'd touch — 
'Twas the first time I dared so much. 

And yet she chid not ; 
But wrusper'd o'er my buming brow, 
" Oh ! do you doubt I love you now ?" 

Sweet soul ! I did not. 

Warmly I felt her bosom thiiU, 
I press'd it closer, closer stUl, 

Though gently bid not ; 
Till — oh ! the world hath seldom heard 
Of lovers, who so nearly err'd, 

And yet, who did not. 



TO 



That wrinkle, when first I espied it 
At once put my heart out of pain ; 

Till the eye, that was glowing beside it 
Disturb'd my ideas again. 

Thou art just in the twilight at present, 
When woman's declension begins ; 

When, fading from all that is pleasant, 
She bids a good night to her sins. 

Yet thou still art so lovely to me, 

I would sooner, my exquisite mother J 

Repose in the sunset of thee. 
Than bask in the noon of another. 



TO MRS. 



ON SOME CALUMNIES AGAINST HER 
CHARACTER. 

Is not thy mind a gentle mind ? 
Is not that heart a heart refined? 
Hast thou not every gentle grace. 
We love in woman's mind and face ? 
And, oh ! art tJiou a shrine for Sin 
To hold her hateful worship in ? 

Xo, no, be happy — dry that tear — 
Though some thy heart hath harbor'd 

near, 
May now repay its love with blame ; 
Though man, who ought to shield thy 

fame. 
Ungenerous man, be first to shun thee , 
Though all the world look cold upon thee^ 




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IIG 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Yet shall thy pureness keep thee still 
Unhariu'd by that surrounding chill ; 
Like the famed drop, in crystal found,* 
Floating, while all was froz'u around, — 
Unchill'd, unchanging shalt thou be, 
Safe in thy own sweet puiity. 



AN"ACREONTIC. 

— ^in lachrymas verterat omiie merurn. 
Tuj. lib. i. eleg. 5. 
Press the grape, and let it pour 
Around tlie board its purple shower ; 
And, while the drops my goblet steep, 
I'll think in wo the clusters weep. 

Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine! 
Heav'n grant no tears, but tears of wine. 
Weep on ; and, as th}^ sorrows flow, 
t'll taste the luxury of wo. 



TO 



When I loved you, I can't but allow 
I had many an exquisite minute ; 

But the scorn that I feel for you now 
Hath even more luxury in i^. 

Thu.?, whether we're on or we're off, 
Some witchery seems to await you; 

To love you was pleasant enough. 
And, oh ! 'tis delicious to hate you ! 



TO JULIA. 

IN ALLUSION TO SOME ILLIBERAL CRITI- 
CISMS. 

Why. let the stingless critic chide 
With all that fume of vacant pride 
Which mantles o'er the pedant fool, 
Like vapor on a stagnant pool. 
Oh ! if the song, to feeling true, 
Can please th' elect, the sacred few, 
Whose souls, by Taste and Nature 
taught, [thought — 

Thrill with the genuine pulse of 
If some fond feeling maid like thee. 
The warm-eyed child of Sympathy, 
Shall say. while o'er my simple 
She languishes in Passion's dream, 
" He was, indeed, a tender soul — 
"No critic law, no chill control, 

* This alludes to a curious gem, upon which 
Clauiiiau has left us some very elaborate epi- 
grams. It was a drop of pnre water enclosed 
withiu a piece of crystal, bee Claudian. Epi- 

fram. " de Crystallo cui aqua inerat." Ad- 
ison mentions a curiosity of this kind at Mi- 
lan; and adds, "It is such a rarity aa this 



"Should ever freeze, by timid art, 
" The Sowings of so fond a heart !" 
Yes, soul of Nature ! soul of Love ! 
That, hov'ring like a snow-wing'd dove, 
Breathed o'er my cradle warblings wild, 
And haU'd me Passion's wannest child,— 
Grant me the tear from Beauty's ej^e, 
From Feeling's breast the votive sigh; 
Oh! let my song, mj mem'ry, find 
A shrine within the tender mind ; 
And I will smile when critics chide, 
And I will scorn the fume of pride 
Which mantles o'er the pedant fool, 
Like vapor round some stagnant pool ! 



TO JULIA. 
Mock me no more with Love's beguil- 
ing dream, 
A dream, I find, illusory as sweet ; 
One smile of friendship, nay, of cokl es- 
teem, [deceit' 
Far dearer were than passion's bland 

I've heard you oft eternal truth declare; 
Your heart was only mine, I once be- 
lieved. 
Ah ! shall I say that all your vows were 
air? [deceived'! 

And must I say, my hopes were all 

Vow, then, no longer that our souls are 

twined, [zeal ; 

That all our joys are felt with mutual 

Julia ! — 'tis pity, pity makes you kind ; 

You know I love, audyou would seem 

to feel. 

But shall I still go seek within those arms 

A joy in which aflection takes no part f 

No, no, farewell ! you give me but your 

charms, [your heart. 

When I had fondly thought you ga\ e 

THE SHRINE. 



My fates had destined me to rove 
A long, long pilgrimage of love ; 
And many an altar on my way 
Has lured my pious steps to stay ; 
For, if the saint was young and fair, 
I tum'd and simg my vespers there. 

that I saw at Vendorae in France, which 
thoy there pretend is a tear that our Saviour 
she'd over Laziinis, and was gathered up by 
an angel, who put it into a little crystal vial, 
and made a present of it to Mary Magda- 
len."— jid(ii«o»'s Remarks on several Parts V 
Italy. 




ST. AUGUSTINB'S SISTER. 

' The sacred pages of God's own book 
Shall be the spring, the eternal brook, 
In whose holy mirror, night and day, 
Tboii "It study Heaven's reflert-H rav.' 




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JUVENTLE POEMS. 



117 



This, from a youthful pilgrim's fire, 
Is what your pretty saints require : 
To pass, nor tell a single bead, 
With them would be profane indeed! 
But, trust me, all this young devotion 
"Was but to keep my zeal in motion ; 
And, ev'ry humbler altar past, 
I now have reach'd the shrine at last ! 



TO A LADY, 

WITH SOME MANUSCRIPT POEMS, ON 
LEAVING THE COUNTRY. 

When, casting many a look behind, 
I leave the friends I cherish here — 

Perchance some other friends to find, 
But surely fijidlng none so dear — 

Haply the little simple page, 

"Which votive thus I've traced for thee, 
May now and then a look engage, 

And steal one moment's thought for me. 

But, oh ! in pity let not those 

Whose hearts are not of gentle mould. 
Let not the ej'e that seldom flows 

With feeling's tear, my song behold. 

For, trust me, they who never melt 

With pity, never melt with love; 
And such will frown at all I've felt. 

And all my loving lays reprove. 
But if, perhaps, some gentler mind. 

Which rather loves to praise than 
blame. 
Should in my page an interest find, 

And linger kindly on my name ; 

Tell him — or, oh ! if, gentler still. 
By female Ups my name be blest : 

For, where do all affecticms thrill 
So sweetly as in woman's breast? — 

Tell her, that he whose loving themes 
Her eye indulgent wanders o'er. 

Could sometimes wake from idle dreams, 
And bolder flights of fancy soar ; 

That Glory oft would claim the lay. 
And Friendship oft his numbers move ; 

But whisper then, that, " sooth to say, 
" His sweetest song was giv'n to 
Love !" 



TO JULIA. 

Though Fate, my girl, may bid us part. 
Our souls it cannot, shall not sever; 

The heart will seek its kindred heart. 
And cling to it as close as ever. 



But must we, must we part indeed ? 

Is all our dream of rapture over ? 
And does not Julia's bosom bleed 

To leave so dear, so fond a lover ? 

Does slie too mourn ? — Perhaps she may ; 

Perhaps she mourns our bliss so fieet- 
But why is Juha's eye so gay, [ing 

If Julia's heart like mine is beating ? 

I oft have loved that sunny glow 
Of gladness in her blue eye gleaming— 

But can the bosom bleed with wo. 
While joy is in the glances beaming ? 

N"o, no ! — Yet, love, I will not chide ; 
Although your heart were fond of rev- 

Nor that, nor all the world beside 
Could keep your faithful boy from 
loving. 

You'll soon be distant from his eye. 
And, with you, aU that's worth pos- 



Oh ! then it will be sweet to die. 
When life has lost its ou^y blessing ! 



TO 



Sweet lady, look not thus again : 
Those bright deluding smiles recall— 

A maid remembei-'d now with pain. 
Who was my love, my life, my aU ! 

Oh ! while this heart bewilder'd took 
Sweet poison from her thrilling eye, 

Thus would she smile, and lisp, and look, 
And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh! 

Yes, I did love her — wildly love — 
She was her sex's best deceiver! 

And oft she swore she'd never rove^ 
And I was destined to believe her! 

Then, lady, do not wear the smile 
Of one whose smile could thus betray; 

Alas ! i think the lovely wile 
Again could steal my heart away. 

For, when those spells that charm'd mj 
On lips so pure as thine I see, [mind, 

I fear the heart which she resign'd 
Will err again, and fly to thee ! 

NATURE'S LABELS. 

A FRAGMENT. 

In vain we fondly strive to trace 
The soul's reflection in the face; 
In vain we dwell on lines and crosses, 
Crooked mouth, or short proboscis ; 




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118 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Boobies have look'd as wise and bright 
A.S Plato or the Stagirite : 
A.nd many a sage and learned skull 
Has peep'd through windows dark and 

dull. 
Since then, though art do all it can, 
We ne'er can reach the inward man, 
Nor ( howsoe'er " leam'd Thebans " 

doubt) 
The inward woman, from without, 
Methinks 'twere well if Nature could 
(And Nature could, if Nature would) 
Some pithy, short description write, 
On tablets large, in black and white, 
Which she might hang about our throt- 
Like labels upon physic-bottles ; [ties, 
And where all men might read — but 
As dialectic sages say, [stay — 

The argument most apt and ample 
For common use is the example. 
For instance, then, if Nature's care 
Had not portray'd, in lines so fair, 
The inward soul of Lucy L-nd-n, 
This is the label she'd have pinn'd on : 

LABEL FIRST. 

Within this form there lies enshrined 
The purest, brightest gem of mind. 
Though Feeling's hand may sometimes 

throw 
Upon its charms the shade of wo, 
The lustre of the gem, when veil'd, 
Shall be but mellow'd, not conceal' d. 



Though some of the leaves might be 

suUied with tears, [heav'u. 

Yet the flow'rs were all gather'd m 

And long may this garland be sweet to 
the eye, 
May its verdure forever be new ; 
Young Love shall emich it with many % 
sigh, 
And Sympathy nurse it with dew. 



A REFLECTION AT SEA. 

See how, beneath the moonbeam's smile. 
Yon little billow heaves its breast. 

And foams and sparkles for awhile, — 
Then mm-muring su1)sides to rest. 

Thus man, the sport of bliss and care, 
Rises on Time's eventful sea ; 

And, having swell'd a moment there, 
Thus melts into eternity ! 



Now, sirs, imagine, if you're able. 
That Natiu-e wrote a second label ; 
They're her own words, — at least sup- 
pose so — 
And boldly piu it on Pomposo. 

LABEL SECOXD. 

When I composed the fustian brain 
Of this redoubted Captain Vain, 
I had at hand but few ingredients, 
And so was forced to use expedients. 
I put therein some small discerning, 
A grain of sense, a grain of learning ; 
Aiid when I saw the void behind, 
I iill'd it up with — froth and wind ! 



TO JULIA. 

ON HER BIRTHDAY. 

When Time was entwining the garland 

ofyears; [gi"^en, 

Which to crown my beloved was 



CLORIS AND FANNY. 

Cloris ! if I were Persia's king, 
I'd make my graceful queen of thee ; 

While Fanny, wild and artless thing. 
Should but thy humble handmaid be. 

There is but one objection in it — 
That, verily, I'm much afraid 

I should, in some unlucky minute. 
Forsake the mistress for the maid. 



THE SHIELD. 

Sat, did you not hear a voice of death ! 

And did you not mark the paly form 

Which rode on the silvery mist of the 

heath, 

And sung a ghostly dirge in the storm ? 

Was it the wailing bu-d of the gloom, 
That shrieks on the house of wo all 
night ? 
Or a shiv'riug fiend that flew to a tomb, 
To howl and to feed tiU the glance of 
hght? 

'Twas not the death-bkd's cry from the 

r?ood, [blast ; 

Nor sMv'ring fiend that hung on the 

'Twas the shade of Helderic— man of 

blood- [are past. 

It screams for the guilt of days that 

See, how the red, red lightning strays, 
And scares the gliding ghosts of the 
heath! 



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JUYEN-ILB POEMS. 



119 



Kow on the leafless yew it plays, 
Wliere hangs the shield of this son of 
death. 

That shield is blushing with murd'rous 

stains ; [spray ; 

Long has it hung from the cold yew's 

It is blown by storms and wash'd by 

rains, 

But neither can take the blood away ! 

Oft by that yew, on the blasted field, 
Demons dance to the red moon's light; 

"WTiile the damp boughs creak, and the 
swinging shield 
Sings to the raving spuit of rdghtl 



TO JULIA, 

WEEPING. 

Oh ! if your tears are giv'n to care. 
If real wo disturbs your peace, 

Come to my bosom, weeping fair ! 
And I will bid your weeping cease. 

But if with Fancy's vision'd fears, 
With dreams of wo your bosom thrill; 

Yon look so lovely in your tears, 
That I must bid you drop them stUl. 

DREAMS. 



In slumber, I prithee how is it 
That souls are oft taking the air, 

Ajid paying each other a visit, 
WMe bodies are heaven knows where ? 

Last night, 'tis in vain to deny it. 
Tour Soul took a fancy to roam. 

For I heard her, on tiptoe so quiet. 
Come ask, whether mine was at home. 

And mine let b'^" in with delight, 
And they talked and they laugh'd the 
time through; 
For, when souls come together at night, 
There's no saying what they mayn't 
do! 

And yonr little Soul, heaven bless her ! 

Had much to complain and to say, 
Of how sadly you wrong and oppress 
her 

By keeping her prison'd all day. 

"If I happen," said she, "but lo steal 
" For a peep now and then to her eye, 

" Or, to quiet the fever I feel, 
" Just venture abroad on a sigh ; 



" In an instant she frightens me in 
" With some phantom of prudence oi 
terror, 

"For fear I should stray into sin, 
" Or, what is stiU worse, into eiTor ! 

" So, instead of displaying my graces, 
"By dayhght, hi language and mien, 

" I am shut up in corners and places, 
" Where truly I blush to be seen ! " 

Upon hearing this piteous confession, 
My Soul, looking tenderly at her. 

Declared, as for gi-ace and discretion. 
He did not know much of the matter; 

" But, to-morrow, sweet Spirit," he said, 
" Be at home after midnight, and then 

" I will come when your lady's in bed, 
"And we'll talk o'er the subject again. 

So she whisper'd a word in his ear, 
I suppose to her door to direct him. 

And, just after midnight, my dear, 
Your poUte little Soul may expect 
him. 



TO EOSA. 

WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS. 

The wisest soul, by anguish torn, 
WiU soon unlearn the lore it knew ; 

And when the shining casket's worn. 
The gem within will tarnish too. 

But love's an essence of the soul, [clay; 

Which sinks not with this chain oJ 
Which throbs beyond the chill control 

Of with'ring pain or pale decay. 

And surely, when the touch of Death 
Dissolves the spirit's earthly ties. 

Love still attends th' immortal breath. 
And makes it pm-er for the skies ! 

Oh Eosa, when, to seek its sphere, 
My soul shall leave this orb of men, 

That love which form'd its treasure here. 
Shall be its best of treasures then ! 

And as, in fabled dreams of old, 
Some air-bom genius, child of time. 

Presided o'er each star that roll'd. 
And track'd it through its path sub* 
lime j 

So thou, fair planet, not unled, 
Shalt through thy mortal orbit stray 

Thy lover's shade, to thee still wed, 
Shall linger round thy earthly way. 



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MOORE'S "WORKS. 



Let other spirits range the sky, 
And piay around each starry gem ; 

I'll bask beneath that lucid eye, 
Sox envy worlds of suns to them. 

And when that heart shall cease to beat. 
And when that breath at length is free. 

Then, Rosa, soul to suul we'll meet, 
And mingle to eternity I 

SONG. 

rHE wreath you wove, the wreath you 
Is fair— but oh, how fan*, [wove 

If Pity's hand had stol'n from Love 
One leaf to mingle there ! 

If every rose with gold were tied. 
Did gems for dewdrops fall, 

One faded leaf where Love had sigh'd 
Were sweetly worth them all. 

The wreath you wove, the wreath you 
Our emblem well may be ; [wove 

Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love 
Must keep its tears for me. 

THE SALE OP LOVES. 

i DREAMT that, in the Paphian groves. 

My nest by moonlight laying, 
I caught a flight of wanton Loves, 

Among the rose-beds playing. 
Some just had left their silv'ry shell, 

While some were full in feather ; 
So pretty a lot of Loves to sell, 
Were never yet strung together. 
Come buy my Loves, 
Come buy my Loves, 
Ye dames and rose-lipp'd misses! — 
They're new and bright, 
The cost is light, 
For the coin of this isle is kisses. 

First Cloris came, with looks sedate. 
Their coin on her lips was ready ; 
" I buy, " quoth she, " my Love by weight, 
"Full grown, if you please, and 
steady." ["pray — 

"■' Let mine be light," said Fanny, 
" Such lasting toys undo one ; 
A light little Love that will last to-day — 
" To-morrow I'll sport a new one." 
Come buy my Loves, 
Come buy my Loves, 
Y& dames and rose-lipp'd misses!— 
There's some will keep. 
Some light and cheap, 
At from ten to twenty kisses. 



The learned Pme took a pert young 

To diverther virgin Muse with, [thing, 
And pluck sometimes a quiU from his 

To indite her billet-doux with, [wing, 
Poor Cloe would give for a well-fledged 

Her only eye, if you'd ask it ; [pan* 
And Tabitha begg'd, old toothless fair. 

For the youngest Love in the basket. 
Come buy my Loves, &,c. <fec. 

But one was left, when Susan came. 

One worth them all together ; 
At sight of her dear looks of shame. 
He smiled, and pruned his feather. 
She wish'd the boy — 'twas more than 
whim — 
Her looks, her sighs betray'd it; 
But kisses were not enough for hin, 
I ask'd a heart, and she paid it 1 
Good-by, my Loves, 
Good-by, my Loves, 
'Twould make you smUe to've seen us 
First trade for this 
Sweet child of bhss, 
And then nurse the boy between us. 



TO 



The world had just begun to steal 
Each hope that led me lightly on ; 

I felt not, as I used to feel. 
And life grew dark and love was gone. 

So eye to mingle sorrow's tear, 
]S!"o lip to mingle pleasure's breath, 

So circling arms to draw me near — 
'Twas gloomy, and I wish'd for death 

But when I saw that gentle eye, 

Oh ! something seem'd to tell me then, 

That I v.'as yet too young to die, 
And hope and bliss might bloom again. 

With every gentle smile that cross'd 
Your kindling cheek, you Lighted homo 

Some feeling, which my heart had lost. 
And peace, which far had learn'd to 
roam. 

'Twas then indeed so sweet to live, 
Hope look'd so new and Love so kind, 

That, though I mourn, I yet forgive 
The ruin they have left behind. 

I couJd have loved you — oh, so well !— 
The dream, that wishing boyhood 
knows, 

Is but a bright, beguiling spell, 
That only lives while passion glows ? 



J 




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JUTEWILE POEMS. 



121 



But, -wlien tbis early flush declines, 
WTien the heart's suuny morning fleet?, 

Tou know not then how close it twines 
Eound the first kindred soul it meets. 

Tes, yes, I could have loved, as one 
Who, while his youth's enchantments 
fall, 

Finds something dear to rest upon, 
"Which pays him for the loss of all. 



TO 



Kever mind how the pedagogue proses, 
Tou want not antiquity's stamp j 

A lip, that such fragrance discloses. 
Oh ! never should smell of the lamp. 

Old Cloe, whose withering kiss 
Hath long set the Loves at defiance, 

.N^ow, done with the science of bhss. 
May take to the blisses of science. 

But for you to be buried in books^ 
Ah, Fanny, they're pitiful sages, 

Who could not in one of your looks 
Eead more than in millions of pages. 

Astronomy finds in those eyes 
Better light than the studies above ; 

And Music would borrow your sighs 
As the melody fittest for Love. 

Tour Arithmetic only can trip 
If to count your own charms you en- 
deavor ; 
And Eloquence glows on your lip 
When you swear, that you'll love me 
forever. 

Thus you see, what a brilliant alliance 
Of arts is assembled in you; — 

A course of more exquisite science 
Man never need wish to pursue. 

And, oh ! — if a fellow like me 
May confer a diploma of hearts, 

With my hp thus I seal your degree, 
My divine little Mistress of Arts I 



OlSr THE DEATH OP A LADT. 

Sweet spirit ! if thy airy sleep 

Nor sees my tears nor hears my sighs, 
Then will T weep, in anguish weep. 

Till tne last heart's drop fills mine eyes. 
But ii" thy sainted soul can feel. 

And mingles in our misery ; 
Then, then my breaking heart I'll seal — 

Thou Shalt not hear one sigh from me. 



The beam of mom was on the stream. 
But sullen clouds the day deform ; 

Like thee was that young, "orient beam, 
Like death, alas, that sullen storm ! 

Thou wert not form'd for living here. 
So link'd thy soul was with the sky ; 

Tet, ah, we held thee all so dear. 
We thought thou wert not form'd to die. 



INCOXSTAKCT. 

And do I then wonder that Julia ce- 

ceives me, [more common ? 

When surely there's nothing in nature 

She vows to be true, and while vowing 

she leaves me — [woman '? 

And could I expect any more from a 

Oh, woman ! your heart is a pitiful 
treasure ; [severe. 

And Mahomet's doctrine was not too 
When he held that you were but mate- 
rials of pleasure, [your sphere. 
And reason and thinking were out of 

By your heart, when the fond sighing 

lover can win it, 

He thinks that an age of anxiety's paid; 

But, oh, while he's blest, let him die at 

the miuute— [lietray'd. 

If he Mve but a day, he'll be surely 



THE N"ATAL GENIUS. A DEEAM. 
TO 

THE MORNING OF HER BIRTHDAY. 

In witching slumbers of the night, 
I dreamt I was the airy sprite 

That on thy natal moment smiled ; 
And thought I wafted on my wing 
Those flowers which in Elysium spring, 

To crown my lovely mortal child. 

With olive-branch I bound thy head. 
Heart's ease along thy path I shed, 

Which was to bloom through all thy 
Nor yet did I forget to bind [years"; 
Love's roses, with his myrtle twined, 

And dew'd by sympathetic tears. 

Such was the wild but precious boon 
Which Fancy, at her magic noon. 

Bade me to Nona's image pay; 
And were it thus my fate to be 
Thy little guardian deity, 

How blest around thy steps I'd play! 




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122 



MOOEE'S -VTOEKS. 



Thy life should glide in peace along, 
Catni as some lonely shepherd's song 

That's heard at distance in the grove ; 
No cloud should ever dim thy sky, 
No thorns along thy pathway lie, 

But all be beauty, peace, and love. 

Indulgent Time should never bring 
To thee one blight upon his wing, 

So gently o'er thy brow he'd tly; 
And death itself should but be felt 
^ike that of daybeams, when they melt. 

Bright to the last, in evening's sky ! 

ELEGIAC STANZAS, 

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY JULIA, ON 
THE DEATH OF HER BROTHER. 

Though sorrow long has worn my heart; 

Though every day I've counted o'er 
Hath brought a new and quick'ning 
smart 

To wounds that rankled fresh before ; 

Though in my earliest life bereft 
Of tender links by nature tied ; 

Though hope deceived, and pleasm-e left; 
Though friends betray'd and foes be- 
lied; 

I still had hopes — for hope will stay 
After the sunset of delight ; 

So like the star which ushers day, 
"We scarce can think it heralds night ! — 

I hoped that, after all its strife. 
My weary heart at length should rest. 

And, fainting from the waves of life. 
Find harbor in a brother's breast. 

That brother's breast was warm with 
truth, 

"Was bright with honor's purest ray ; 
He was the dearest, gentlest youth — 

Ah, why then was he torn away "? 

He should have stay'd, have linger'd 
To soothe his Julia's every wo ; [here 

He should have chased each bitter tear, 
And not have caused those tears to 



■We saw within his soul expand 

The fruits of genius, nursed by taste ; 

While Science, with a fost'ring hand. 
Upon his brow her chaplet placed. 

We saw, by bright degrees, his mind 
Grow rich in all that makes men 

Enlighten'd, social, and refined, [dear;— 
In friendship firm, in love sincere. 



Such was the youth we loved so well, 
And such the hopes that fate denied;— 

We loved, but ah ! could scarcely tell 
How deep, how dearly, till he died ! 

Close as the fondest links could strain. 
Twined with my very heart he grew ; 

And by that fate which breaks the chain, 
The heart is almost broken too. 



TO THE LAEGB AND BEAUTIFUL 
MISS , 



IMPROMPTU. 

—Ego pars Virg. 

In wedlock a species of lottery lies. 

Where in blanks and in prizes we deal; 
But how comes it that you, such a capi 
tal prize. 
Should so long have remain'd in the 
w-heel ? 

If ever, by Fortune's indulgent decree, 
To me such a ticket should roll, 

A sixteenth, Heav'n knows ! were suffi- 
cient for me ; 
For what could / do with the whole T 



A DREAM. 
I thought this heart enkindled lay 

On Cupid's burning shiine : 
I thought he stole thy heart away. 

And placed it near to mine. 

I saw thy heart begin to melt. 

Like ice before the sun ; 
Till both a glow congenial felt, 

And mingled into one ! 



TO 



With all my soul, then, let us part. 
Since both are anxious to be free ; 

And I will send you home your heart, 
And you will send back "mine to me. 

We've had some happy hom-s together 
But joy must often change its wing ; 

And spring would be but gloomy weath- 
If we had nothing else but spring, [er, 

'Tis not that I expect to find 

A more devoted, fond, and tme one, 
With rosier cheek or sweeter mind — 

Enough for me that she's a new on«. 




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JUYBNILE POEMS. 



123 



Thus let us leave the bower of love, 
"Where we have loiter'd long in bliss ; 

And you may down that pathway rove, 
While I shall take my way through 
this. 



AN"ACREONTIO. 

" She never look'd so kind before — 
" Yet why the wanton's smile recall ? 

" I've seen this witchery o'er and o'er, 
" 'Tis hollow, vain, and heartless all!" 

Thus I said, and, sighing, drain'd 
The cup which she so late had tasted ; 

Upon whose rim still fresh remain'd 
The breath, so oft in falsehood wasted. 

I took the harp, and would have sung 
As if 'twere not of her I sang ; 

But still the notes on Lamia hung — 
On whom but Lamia coM?cZthey hang? 

Those eyes of hers, that floating shine. 
Like diamonds in some Eastern river; 

That kiss, for which, it worlds were mine, 
A world for every kiss I'd give her. 

That frame so delicate, yet warm'd 
With flushes of love's genial hue;^ 

A mould transparent, as if form'd 
To let the spirit's light shine through. 

Of these I sung, and notes and words 
Were sweet, as if the very air 

From Lamia's lip hung o'er the chords, 
And Lamia's voice still warbledthere ! 

But when, alas, I tum'd the theme. 
And when of vows and oaths I spoke, 

Of truth and hope's seducing dream— 
The chord beneath, my finger broke. 

False harp ! false woman ! — such, oh 
such [ing ; 

Are lutes too frail and hearts too will- 
Any hand, whate'er its touch, 

Can set their chords or pulses thrilling. 

And when that thrill is most awake, 
And when you think Heav'n's joys 
await you, [will break — 

The nymph will change, the chord 
Oh Love, oil Music, how I hate you ! 

* The laurel, for the common uses of the 
ti'mple, for sulorning the altars and sweep- 
i'.ig- the pavement, was supplied by a tree 
near the fountain of Castalia; but upon nil 
important occ:isions, they sent to Tempd 
for their laurel. "We fincf, in Pausanias, that 
this valley supplied the branches, of which 



TO JULIA. 
I SAW the peasant's hand unkind 

From yonder oak the ivy sever ; 
They seem'd in very being twined ; 

Yet now the oak is fresh as ever ! 

Not so the widow'd ivy shines : 
Tom from its dear and only stay, 

In drooping widowhood it pines, 
And scatters all its bloom away. 

Thus, Julia, did our hearts entwine, 
Till Fate disturb'd their tender ties : 

Thus gay indifi'erence blooms in thine. 
While mine, deserted, droops and dies. 



hym:!^ of a viRGiJsr of Delphi, 

AT THE TOMB OF HER MOTHER. 

Oh, lost, forever lost— no more 

Shall Yesper hght our dewy way 
Along the rocks of Crissa's shore. 

To hymn the fading fires of day ; 
N"o more to Tempe's distant vale 

In holy musings shaU we roam. 
Through summer's glow and winter's 
gale. 

To bear the mystic chaplets home.* 
'Twas then my soul's expanding zeal. 

By nature warm'd and led by thee. 
In every breeze was taught to feel 

The breathings of a Deity, 
Guide of my heart ! still hovering round. 

Thy looks, thy words are still my own — 
I see'thee raising from the ground 

Some laurel, by the winds o'erthrown. 
And hear thee say, " This humble bough 

"Was planted for a doom divine ; 
" And, though it droop in languor now, 

" Shall flourish on the Delphic shrine ! 
" Thus, in the vale of earthly sense, 

" Though sunk awhile the spirit lies, 
" A viewless hand shall cull it thence. 

" To bloom immortal in the skies ! " 

All that the young should feel and know. 
By thee was taught so sweetly well. 

Thy words fell soft as vernal snow. 
And all was brightness where they 

Fond soother of my infant tear, [fell ! 
Fond sharer of my infant joy, 

the temple was originally constructed; and 
Plutarch says, in his Dialogue on Music, 
" The youth who brings the Tempic .laurel 
to Delphi is always attended by a player on 
the flute." AAAa iJ.riv xai. tu KaTaKo/j-i^ovTi 
naiSi. rrjv Te/iifftKiji' Sa<f>vriv tK AeAi^ous nap» 
Miipret avAijTTjs. 



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124 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Is not thy shade still ling'rmg here ? 

Am I not still thy soul's employ ? 
Oh yes — and, as in former days, 

When, meeting on the sacred mount, 
Our nymphs awaked their choral lays. 

And danced around Cassotis' fount ; 
As then, 'twas all thy wish and care, 

That mine should be the simplest 
mien. 
My lyre and voice the sweetest there. 

My foot the lightest o'er the green : 
So still, each look and step to mould, 

Thy guardian care is round me spread, 
Arranging every snowy fold. 

And guiding every mazy tread. 
And, when I lead the hymning choir, 

Thy spirit still, unseen and free, 
Hovers between ray lip and lyre. 

And weds them into harmony. 
Flow, Plistus, flow, thy murmuring wave 

Shall never drop it's silv'ry tear 
TJpon so pure, so blest a grave. 

To memory so entirely dear ! 



SYMPATHY. 

TO JULIA. 

. sine ine sit nulla Venns. Sulpicia. 

OtTR hearts, my love, were form'd to be 
The genuine twins of Sympathy, 

They live with one sensation : 
In joy or grief, but most in love, 
Like chords in unison they move, 

And thrill with like vibration. 

How oft I've heard thee fondly say, 
Thy vital pulse shall cease to play 

"When mine no more is moving ; 
Since, now, to feel a joy alone 
Were worse to thee than feeling none : 

So twinn'd are we in loving I 



THE TEAR. 
On^ beds of snow the moonbeam slept. 

And chilly was the midnight gloom, 
When by the damp grave Ellen wept— 

Fond maid J it was her Lindor's tomb! 

A warm tear gush'd, the wintry air 
Congeal'd it as it flow'd away : 

AH night it lay an ice-drop there. 
At mom it glitter'd in the ray. 

An angel, wand'ring from her sphere. 
Who saw this bright, tjis frozen gem. 

To dew-eyed Pity brought the tear, 
And hung it on her diadem 1 



THE SIJ"AFE. 

Mt love and I, the other day. 
Within a myrtle arbor lay, 
When near us, from a rosy bed. 
A little Snake put forth its head. 

"See," said the maid, with thoughtful 

eyes — 
"Yonder the fatal emblem lies ! 
" Who could expect such hidden hami 
" Beneath the rose's smiling charm ? ' 
Never did grave remark occur 
Less u-propos than this from her. 

I rose to kUl the snake, but she. 
Half-smiling, pray'd it might not be. 
" jSTo," said the maiden — and, alas, 
Hei eyes spoke volumes, while she 
said it — 
" Long as the snake is in the grass, 
" One may, perhaps, have cause to 
dread it : 
" But, when its wacked eyes appear, 
" And when we know for what they 
wink so, 
' ' One must be very simple, dear, 
"To let it wound one — don't you 
think so?" 



TO ROSA. 

Is the song of Rosa mute ? 
Once such lays inspired her lute 1 
Never doth a sweeter song 
Steal the breezy lyre along. 
When the wind, iia odors dying, 
Woos it with enamor'd sighing. 

Is my Rosa's lute unstmng? 
Once a tale of peace it sung 
To her lover's throbbing breast — 
Then was he divinely blest ! 
Ah ! but Rosa loves no more. 
Therefore Rosa's song is o'er ; 
And her lute neglected lies ; 
And her boy forgotten sighs. 
Silent lute— forgotten lover- 
Rosa's love and song are over! 



ELEGIAC STANZAS. 
Sic juvat perire. 

When wearied wretches sink to sleep, 
How heavenly soft their slumbers he ! 

How sweet is death to those who weep, 
To those who weep and long to die ! 




Mary's tbars. 
' Were not the sinful Mary's te»ii 
An offering worthy Heaven, 
when o'er the faults of former vemn 
She wnt. and was forgiven?" 



? 



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JUVENILE POEMS. 



195 



Saw you the soft and p:i-ass7 bed, 
■Wliere flo-n-'rets deck the green earth's 
breast 1 

'Tis there I -u-ish to lay my head, 
'Tis there I wish to sleep at rest. 

Oh, let not tears embalm my tomb, — 
JS^oue but the dews at twilight given ! 

Oh, let not sighs disturb the gloom, — 
o^one but "the whisp'riug ' winds of 
heaven ! 



LOVE a:n^d makriage. 

Eque brevi verbo ferre pereniie malum. 

SiiCDNDUS, eleg. vii. 

Still the question I must parry, 
Still a wayward truant prove' : 

"Where I love, I must not marry ; 
"Where I marry, cannot love. 

Were she fairest of creation, 
"With the least presuming mind ; 

Learned without affection ; 
Not deceitful, yet refined ; 

Wise enough, but never rigid ; 

Gay, but not too lightly free ; 
Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid ,• 

Fond, yet satisfied with mo : 

"Were she all this ten times over. 
All that heav'n to earth allows, 

I should be too much her lover 
Ever to become her spouse. 

Love will never bear enslaving; 

Summer garments suit him best ; 
Bhss itself is not worth having, 

If we're by compulsion blest. 

AN"ACREON"TIC. 
I ftll'd to thee, to thee I drank, 

I nothing did but drink and fill ; 
The bowl by turns was bright and blank, 

'Twas drinking, filling, drinking still. 

At length I bid an artist paint 
Thy image in this ample cup, 

That I might see the dimpled saint. 
To whom I quaffd my nectar up. 

Behold, how bright that purple lip 
Now blushes through the wave at me ; 

Every roseate drop I sip 
Is just like kissing wine from thee 

And still I drink the more for this ; 

For, ever when the draught I drain. 
Thy lip invites another kiss. 

And — in the nectar flows again. 



So, here's to thee, my gentle dear, 
And may that eyelid never shine 

Beneath a darker, bitterer tear 
Than bathes it in this bowl of mine ! 



THE SURPRISE. 
Chloris, I swear, by all I ever swore. 
That from this hour I shall not love thee 

more. — 
""What ! love no more ? Oh! why this 

alter'd vowf " 
Because I cannot love thee more than 



TO MISS , 

ON HER ASKING THK AUTHOR WHY SHE 
HAD SLEKPLESS NIGHTS. 

I'll ask the sylph who round thee flies, 
And in thy breath his pinion dips, 

"Who suns him in thy radiant eyes. 
And faints upon thy sighing lips : 

I'll ask him where's the veil of sleep 
That used to shade thy looks of fight : 

And why those eyes their vigil keep, 
"When other suns are sunk'm night ? 

And I will say— her angel breast 
Has never throbb'd with guilty sting ; 

Her bosom is the sweetest nest 
"Where Slumber could repose his wing ! 

And I will say — her cheeks that flush. 
Like vernal roses in the sun. 

Have ne'er by shame been taught to 
blush, 
Except for what her eyes have done ' 

Then tell me, why, thou child of air ! 

Does slumber from her eyelids rove ? 
What is her heart's impassion'd care ? — 

Perhaps, oh sylph ! perhaps, 'tis love. 

THE "WONDER. 

Come, teU me where the maid is foimd, 
"Whose heart can love without deceit, 

And I will range the world around. 
To sigh one moment at her feet. 

Oh ! tell me where's her sainted home, 
"What air receives her blessed sigh, 

A pOgrimage of years I'U r >am 
'lo catch one sparkle of her eye ! 

And if her cheek be smooth and bright, 
"While tnith within her bosom lies, 

I'll gaze upon her mom and night, [eyes. 
Till my heart leave mo through my 




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126 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



Show me on earth a thing so rare, 
I'll own all miracles are true ; 

To make one maid sincere and fair, 
Oh, 'tis the utmost Heav'n can do ! 



LYING. 



Che con le lor bugie pajon divini. 

Mauro d'Arcano. 

I DO confess, in many a sigh, 
My lips have breathed you many a lie ; 
And who, with such delights in view, 
Would lose them, for a lie or two ? 

Nay, — loolc not thus, with brow re- 
pro\ing ; 
lAes are, my dear, the soul of loving. 
If half we tell the girls were true. 
If half we swear to think and do. 
Were aught but lying's bright illusion. 
This world would be in strange confu- 
If ladies' eyes were, every one, [sion. 
As lovers swear, a radiant sun. 
Astronomy must leave the skies, 
To learn her lore in ladies' eyes. 
Oh, no, believe me, lovely girl, 
When nature tiu-ns your teeth to pearl, 
Tour neck to snow, your eyes to fire, 
Tcmr amber locks to golden wire. 
Then, only then can Heaven decree, 
That you should live for only me, 
Or I for you, as night and morn, [sworn. 
We've swearing kiss'd, and kissing 

And now, my gentle hints to clear. 
For once I'll tell you truth, my dear. 
Whenever you may chance to meet 
Some loving youth, whose love is sweet. 
Long as you're false and he believes 

you, 
Long as you trust and he deceives you, 
So long the blissful bond endm-es, 
And while he lies, his heart is yours : 
But, oh ! you've wholly lost the youth 
The instant that he tells you truth. 

* It does not appear to have been very diffi- 
cult to become a philosopher among the an- 
cients. A moderate store of learning, with a 
considerable portion of coiidence, and just wit 
enough to jiroduce an occasional apophthegm, 
seem to have been all the qualifications neces- 
sary for the purpose. The principles of moral sci- 
ence were so very imperiectly understood, that 
the founder of a new sect, in forming his ethical 
code, mightconsult either fancy or temperament, 
and adapt it to his own passions and propensi- 
ties ; so that Mahomet, with a little more learn- 
ing, might have flourished as a philosopher in 



those d.iys, aud would have required^ but the 
polish of the 



to become the rival of Aris- 



ANACREONTIC. 

Friend of my soul, this goblet sip, 

'Twill chase that pensive tear; 
'Tis not so sweet as woman's lip. 
But, oh ! 'tis more sincere. 
Like her delusive beam, 

'Twill steal away thy mind: 
But, truer than love's dream, 
It leaves no sting behind. 

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows tn 
shade ; 
These flow'rs were cull'd at noon ; — 
Like woman's love the rose will fade. 
But, ah ! not half so soon. 
For though the flower's decay'd, 

Its fragrance is not o'er ; 
But once when love's betray 'd. 
Its sweet life blooms no more. 



THE 



ARISTIP- 



PHILOSOPHER 
PUS,* 

TO A LAMP 
WHICH HAD BEEN GIVEN HIM BY LAIS. 

Dulcis conscia leetuli Incerna. 

Martial., lib. xiv. epig. 39. 

"On! love the Lamp," (my Mistress 
said,^ 

"The faithful Lamp, that, many a 
" Beside thy Lais' lonely bed [night, 

" Has kept its little watch of light. 

" FuU often has it seen her weep, 
" And fix her eye upon its flame, 

"TiU, weary, she has sunk to sleep, 
" Repeating her beloved's name. 

"Then love the Lamp— 'twill often lead 
" Thy step through learning's sacred 
way; 
"And when those studious eyes shall 
read, 
" At midnight, by its lonely ray, 

tippus in morality. In the science of nature, 
too. though some valu.able truths were discov- 
ered by them, they seemed hardly to know they 
were truths, or at least were as well satisfied 
with errors; and Xenophanes, who asserted 
that the stars were igneous clouds, lighted up 
every night and extinguished again in the morn- 
ing, was thought and styled a philosopher, as 
generally as he who anticipated Newton in de- 
veloping the arrangement of the universe. 

For this opinion of Xenophanes. see Plutarch, 
de Placit. Philosoph.. lib. ii. cap. 13. It is im- 
possible to read this treatise of Plutarch, with- 
out alternately admiring the genius, and smiling 
at the absurdit-ies of the philosopher. 




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JTJYEmLE POEMS. 



12? 



"Of things sublime, of nature's birth, 
" Of all that's bright in heaven or 
earth, [given, 

"Oh, think that she, by whom "'twas 
" Adores thee more than earth or hea- 
ven !" 

Yes— dearest Lamp, by every charm 
On which thy midnight beam has 
himg;* 

The head reclined, the graceful arm 
Across the brow of ivory flung ; 

The heaving bosom, partly hid. 
The severed lip's unconscious sighs, 

The fiinge that from the half-shutlid 
Adown the cheek of roses lies : 

By these, by all that bloom untold, 
And long as all shall charm my heart, 

i'll love my httle Lamp of gold — 
My Lamp and I shaU never part. 

And often, as she smiling said. 

In fancy's hour, thy gentle raya 
Shall guide my visionary tread 

Through poesy's enchanting maze. 
Thy flame shall light the page refined, 

IVhere still we catch the Chian's breath, 

Where still the bard, though cold in 
death, 
Has left his soul unquench'd behind. 
Or, o'er thy humbler legend shine, 

Oh man of Ascra's dreary glades !l 
To whom the nightly warbling Nine t 

A wand of inspiration gave, § [shades 
Pluck'd from the greenest tree, that 

The crystal of Castalia's wave. 

Then, turning to a purer lore, 
We'll cull the sages' deep-hid store ; 
From Science steal her golden clew, 
And every mystic path pursue, 
Where Nature, far from vulgar eyes. 
Through labyrinths of wonder flies. 

■* The ancients had their lucernae cubicnIarisB 
or bed-chamber lamps, which, as the emperor 
Galieuus said, " nil eras meminere ;" and, with 
the same commendation of secrecy, Praxagora 
addresses her lamp in Aristoplianes, Ex/cAr;?. 
We may .judpe how fanciful they were, in the 
Bse and embellishment of their lamps, from the 
famous symbolic Lucerna which we find in tlie 
Komanum Museum Mich. Ang. Causei, p. 127. 

t Hesiod, who tells us in melancholy terms of 
his father's flight to the wretched village of 
Ascra. Epy. xai 'H/ixep. V. 251. 

t ^vvvxi-at (TTeixov, nepLKaWea o<r<Tav (et<rai. 
Theog. V. 10. 

§ Kai fioi, (7<r)nTpov eSov, Sa<f>vr)i eptOriKta oCov. 
Id.V. 3a 



'Tis thus my heart shall learn to know 
How fleeting is this wcrld below. 
Where all that meets the morning light, 
Is changed before the fall of night !l( 

I'll teU thee, as I trim thy fire, 

"Swift, swift the tide of being rurs, 

"And Time, who bids thy flame expire, 
"Will also quench yon heaven oi 
suns." 

Oh, then if earth's united power 
Can never chain one feathery hour; 
If every print we leave to-day 
To-morrow's wave will sweep away; 
Who pauses to inquire of heaven 
Why were the fleeting treasures given. 
The sunny days, the shady nights, 
And all their brief but dear delights, 
Which heaven has made for man to use, 
And man should think it crime to k)se T 
Who that has cull'd a fresh-l^lowu rose 
Will ask it why it breathes and glows, 
Unmindful of the blushing ray, 
In which it shines its soul away ; 
Unmindful of the scented sigh," 
With which it dies and loves to die ? 

Pleasure, thou only good on earth If 
One precious moment given to thee— 

Oh ! by my Lais' lip, 'tis worth 
The sage's immortality. 

Then far be aU the wisdom hence, 
That would our joys one horn- delay ! 

Alas, the feast of soul and sense 
Love calls us to in youth's bright day, 
If not soon tasted, fleets away. 

Ne'er wert thou form'd, my Lamp, to 
shed 

Thy splendor on a lifeless page ; — 
Whate'er my blushing Lais said 

Of thoughtful lore and studies sage, 

|l 'Veiv ra b\a jrora^iov SiKriv, ns expressed 
among the dogmas of Heraclitus the Epliesian, 
and with the same image by Seneca, in whom 
we find a beautiful diffnsiim of the thought. 
" Nemo est mane, qui fuit pridie. Corpora 
nostra rapiuntur flnrainum more; quidquid 
vides currit cum tempore. Nihil ex his qusa 
videmus manet. Ego ipse, dum loquor mutari 
ipsa, mutatus sum," &c. 

TIAristippns considered motion as the princi- 
ple of happmess, in which idea he differed from 
the Epicureans, who looked to a state of repose 
as the only true volu[)tuousness, and avoided 
even the too lively agitations of pleasure, as a 
violent and ungraceful derangement of the 
senses. 




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128 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



'Twas mockery all — her glance of joy 
Told me thy dearest, best employ.* 

A.iid, soon as night shall close the eye 

Ot" heaven's young wanderer in the 
west ; 
When seers are gazing on the sky, 

To find their future orbs of rest ; 
Then shall I take my trembling way, 

Unseen but to those worlds above, 
And, led by thy mysterious ray, 

Steal to the night-bower of my love. 

TO MRS. . 



ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSLATION OF 

voiture's kiss. 

Mon fl,me siir mon levre 6toit lore tonte enti^re, 
I'our savourer le miel qui sur la votre etoit ; 

Mnis en lue rctiriiiit, elle rosta tlerriero, 
Tiint de ce doux plaisir Taniorce la restoit. 

VOITUI ,. 

How heav'nly was the poet's doom, 
To breathe his spirit through a kiss 

And lose within so sweet a tomb 
The trembling messenger of bliss ! 

And, sm'e his soul retum'd to feel 
That it again could ravish'd be ; 

Por in the kiss that thou didst steal. 
His life and soul have fled to thee. 



RONDEAU. 

•* Good night ! good night !"— And is it 
And must I from my Rosa go? [so ? 
Oh Rosa, say "Good night!" once 
And I'll repeat it o'er and o'er, [more. 
Till the first glance of dawning fight 
Shall find us saying, stiU, " Good night." 

And still " Good night," my Rosa, say- 
But whisper still, " A minute stay ;" 
And I will stay, and every minute 
Shall have an age of transport in it ; 
Till Time himself shall stay his flight. 
To fisten to our sweet " Good night." 

" Good night !" you'll murmur with a 
4.nd tell me it is time to fly ; [sigh, 

* Mau]iertuis has been still more explicit 
#ian this pliilosopher, in ranking tlie pleasures 
of sense above the snblimest pursuits of wis- 
dom SpeakiiiR- of the infant man in his pro- 
duction, he calls him, " nne nouvelle creature, 
qui pourra comprendre les choscs les plus 
sublimes, et ce qui est bien au-dessus, qui 
pourra goftter les memes plaisirs." See 
Lis V^nus Physique. Tliis appears to be one 
of the efforts at Fontenelle's gallantry of man- 
ner, for which the learned President is so well 



And I will vow, will swear to go, ["No!'' 
"While still that sweet voice murmurs 
Till slumber seal our weary sight — 
And then, my love, my soul, " Good 
niffhtl" 



SONG. 
"Why does azure deck the sky ? 

'Tis to be fike thine eyes of blue ; 
"Why is red the rose's dye ? 

Because it is thy blushes' hue. 
All that's fair, byLovc's decree, 
Has been made resembling thee ! 

"Why is falling snow so white, 
But to be like thy bosom fair ? 

"Why are solar beams so bright ? 

That they may seem thy golden hair f 

All that's bright, by Love's decree, 

Has been made resembling thee ! 

"WTiy are nature's beauties felt? 

Oh ! 'tis thine in her we see ! 
"Why has music power to melt? 

Oh ! because it speaks fike thee I 
AU that's sweet, by Love's decree, 
Has been made resembfing thee. 



TO ROSA. 
Like one who trusts to summer sMes, 

And puts his little bark to sea, 
Is he who, lured by smiling eyes, 

Consigns his simple heart to thee. 

For ficlde is the summer wind, 
And sadly may the bark be toss'd ; 

For thou art sure to change thy mind, 
And then the wretched heart is lost ! 



"WRITTEN IN A COMMONPLACE 
BOOK, CALLED " THE BOOK OF 
FOLLIES !" 



TO THE book of FOLLIES. 

This tribute's from a wretched elf, 
"Who hails thee, emblem of himself. 

and justly ridiculed in the Akakia of Voltaire. 
Maupertuis may be thought to have borrow- 
ed from the ancient Aristippus that indiscrimi- 
nate tlieory of pleasures which he has set forth 
in his Essai de Philosophic Morale, and for 
which ho was so very justly condemned. Aris- 
tippus, according to Laertius, held mt Si-a>t>epfiv 
T€ riSovriv jjSorrjs, which irrational sentiment 
has been adopted by Maupertuis: " Tant 
qu'on ne consid6re quo r(5tat present, tons les 
plaisirs sont du menie genre," &c, &o. 




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JTTYEiflLE POEMS. 



12S 



The book of life, which I have traced, 
Has been, like thee, a motley waste 
Of follies scribbled o'er and o'er, 
One folly bringing hundreds more. 
Some have indeed been writ so neat. 
In characters so fair, so sweet, 
That those who judge not too severely, 
Have said they loved such folhes dearly; 
Yet still, book ! the allusion stands ; 
For these were penn'd hy female hands ; 
The rest— alas ! I own the truth — 
Have all been scribl)led so uncouth 
That Prudence, with a with'ring look, 
Disdainful, flings away the book. 
Like thine, it's pages here and there 
Have oft been stain'd with blots of care ; 
And sometimes hours of peace, I own, 
Upon some fairer leaves have shone, 
White as the snowings of that heav'n 
By which those hours of peace were 

given. 
But now no longer— sucb, oh, such 
The blast of Disappointment's touch ! — 
No longer now those hours appear ; 
Each leaf is sullied by a tear : 
Blank, blank is ev'ry page with care, 
Not ev'n a folly brightens there. 
Will they yet brighten ?— never, never I 
Then shut the book, God, forever I 



TO ROSA. 
Say, why should the girl of my soul be 
in tears 
At a meeting of rapture like this, 
When the glooms of the past and the 
son'ow of years 
Have been paid by one moment of 
bliss? 

Are they shed for that moment of bliss- 
ful delight, 
Which dwells on her memory yet? 
Do they flow, like the dews of 'the love- 
breathing night, [set 'I 
From the warmth ot the sun that has 

Oh ! sweet is the tear on that languish- 
ing smile, 
That smile, which is loveliest then ; 
And if such are the drops that dehght 
can beguile, 
Thou Shalt weep them again and again. 

• Eyx«t, (cat iroAii' eiire, iraXiv, rrakiv, 'HAioSapaf 
Etn-e, j-vv axpTjTctf to y\vKV nitry' ovofia. 
Kai ^oi Tor Spex^fTi nvpoi? icai x^'-i"" <ovTO, 
iivaiJLOavvov K6ifa?, a/bi^iTidet. tTTt<j)avov' 



LIGHT SOUNDS THE HARP. 
Light sounds the harp when the com- 
bat is over, [bloom; 
When heroes are resting, and joy is in 
When laurels hang loose from the brow 
of the lover, [rior's plume. 
And Cupid makes wings of the war- 
But, when the foe returns. 
Again the hero bums ; 
High flames the sword in his hand once 
more ; 
The clang of mingling arms 
Is then the sound that charms. 
And brazen notes of war, that stirring 

trumpets pour ; — 
Then, again comes the Harp, when the 
combat is over— 
When heroes are resting, and Joy 
is in bloom — [of the lover. 
When laurels hang loose from the brow 
And Cupid makes wings of the war- 
rior's plume. 

Light went the harp when the War-God, 
reclining, [to rest, 

Lay luU'd on the white arm of Beauty 
When round his rich annor the myrtle 
hung twining, ^ 
And flights of young doves made his 
helmet their nest. 
But, when the battle came, 
The hero's eye breathed flame r 
Soon from his neck the white arm was 
flung ; 
While, to his wak'ning ear, 
No other sounds were dear 
But brazen notes of war, by thousand 

trumpets sung. 
But then came the light harp, when 
danger was ended, 
And Beauty once more liill'd the War- 
God to rest ; [lay blended. 
When tresses of gold with his laurels 
And flights of young doves made his 
helmet their nest. 



FROM THE GREEK OF MELEA- 

GER.* 
Fill high the cup with liquid flame, 
And speak my Heliodora's name. 
Repeat its magic o'er and o'er. 
And let the sound my hps adore, 

Aa/cpvei (^lAeoao-rov iSov poSav, oiiveKa Kcipap 
AModi k' ov koAttoi! rinerfpoi.'; faopa. 

Bkunck. Analect. turn. i. p. 96> 



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13C 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



Live in the breeze, till every tone, 
And word, and breath, speaks her alone. 

Give me the wreath that withers there, 

It was but last delicious night 
It circled her luxuiiant hair, 

And caught her eyes' reflected L'ght. 
Oh ! haste, and twine it round my brow: 
'Tis all of her that's left me now. 
And see — each rosebud drops a tear, 
To find the nymph no longer here — 
jSTo longer, where such heavenly charms 
AS hers should be — within these arms. 



SOlfG. 

Ply from the world, Bessy! to me, 
Thou wilt never find any sincerer ; 

I'll give up the world, Bessy ! for thee, 
I can never meet any that's dearer. 

Then tell me no more, with a tear and 
a sigh, [many; 



wiU 



All, ail have their follies, and who 
deny 
That GUI'S is the sweetest of any ? 

"WTien your lip has met mine, in com- 
munion so sweet, 
Have we felt as if virtue forbid it ?— 
Have we felt as if heav'n denied them 
to meet ? — 
ITo. rather 'twas heav'n that did it._ 
So mnoceut, love, is the joy we then sip, 

So little of wrong is there in it. 
That I wish all my en'ors were lodged 
on your lip. 
And I'll kiss them away in a minute. 

Then come to your lover, oh ! fly to his 
shed, [spisest; 

From a world which I know thou de- 
And slumber wiU hover as light o'er our 
bed 
As e'er on the coucL of the wisest. 
And when o'er our pillow the tempest is 
driven, 
And thou, pretty innocent, fearest, 
I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of 
heaven, 
'Tis only our lullaby, dearest. 

And, oh I while we lie on our deathbed^ 

my love, 

Looking back en the scene of our errors, 

A sigh from my Bessy shaU plead then 

above, 

And Death be disarm'd of his terrors. 



And each to the other embracing will say, 
'Farewell! let us hope we're for- 
given." ["""ay. 
Thy last fading glance will illumine the 
And a kiss be our passport to heaven I 

THE RESEMBLANCE. 

TO cercand' io, 
Donna, quant'e possibile, in altml 
La desiata vostra forma vera. 

Petuauc. Sonnett. 14. 

Yes, if 'twere any common love. 
That led my pliant heart astray, 

I grant, there's not a power above, 
Could wipe the faithless crime away, 

But, 'twas my doom to err with one 
In every look so like to thee 

That, underneath yon blessed sun. 
So fair there are but thou and she. 

Both born of beauty, at a birth, 

She held with thine a kindred sway. 
And wore the only shape on earth 

That could have lured my soul to stray 
Then blame me not, if false I be, 

'Twas love that waked the fond excess, 
My heart had been more trae to thee, 

Had mine eye piized thy beauty less. 



FANNY, DEAREST. 

Yes ! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, 

Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh ; 
And every smile on my cheek should 

To tears when thou art nigh. [turn 
But, between love, and wine, and sleep. 

So busy a life I live, [weep 

That even the time it would take to 

Is more than my heart can give. 
Then bid me not to despair and pine, 

Fanny, dearest of all the dears ! 
The Love that's ordei-'d to bathe in wine, 

"Would be sure to take cold m tears. 

Reflected bright in this heart of mme, 

Fanny, dearest, thy image lies ; 
But, ah, the miiTor would cease to shine, 

If dimm'd too often with sighs. 
They lose the half of beauty's light. 

Who view it through sorrow's tear ; 
And 'tis but to see thee truly bright 

That I keep my eye-beam clear. 
Then wait no longer till tears shall flow 
1 Fanny, dearest — the hope is vain ; 
1 U sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, 
I I shall never attempt it with rain. 




THB RING. 



" All, all that day a gloomy cloua 
Was seen on Rupert's brows : 
Fair Isabel was likewise sad, 
But strove to chrer hei -innuse 




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Sa. m/— ' 



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JTJVENILE POEMS. 



131 



THE KIN"G. 



^o — Lady ! Lady ! keep the ring : 
Oh ! thiuk, how many a future year, 

Of ijlacid smile and downy wing, 
May sleep witliin its holy sphere. 

Do not disturb their tranquil dream, 
Though love hath ne'er the myst'ry 
warm'd ; 

Yet heaven will shed a soothing beam, 
To bless the bond itself hath form'd. 

But, then, that eye, that burning eye, — 

Oh ! it doth ask, with witching power. 
If heaven can ever bless the tie [erf 

"Where love inwreathes no genial flow- 
Away, away, bewildering look. 

Or all the boast of virtue's o'er : 
Go— hie thee to the sage's book. 

And learn from him to feel no more. 

I cannot warn thee : every touch, 
That brings my pulses close to thine. 

Tells me I want thy aid as much — 
Ev'u more, alas, than thou dost mine. 

Yet, stay, —one hope, one effort yet — 
A moment turn those eyes away. 

And let me, if I can, forget 
The light that leads my soul astray. 

Thou say'st, that we were bom to meet. 
That oui hearts bear one common 
seal ; — 

Think, Lady, think, how man's deceit 
Can seem to sigh and feign to feel. 

When, o'er thy face some gleam of 
thought, [air. 

Like daybeams through the morning 
Hath gradual stole, and I have caught 

The feeliug ere it kindled there ; 

The sympathy I then betray' d. 
Perhaps was but the child of art. 

The guile of one, who long hath play'd 
With all these wily nets of heart. 

! thine is not my earliest vow ; 

Though few the years I yet have told, 
Canst thou believe I've lived till now, 

"With loveless heart or senses cold ? 

N"o — other nymphs to joy and pain 
This wild and wandering heart hath 
moved ; 

"With some it sported, wild and vain, 
With some it dearly, truly loved. 



The cheek to thine I fondly lay, 
To theu's hath been as fondly laid ; 

The words to thee I warmly say, 
To them have been as warmly said. 

Then, scorn at once a woithless heart. 
Worthless ahke, or fix'd or free ; 

Think of the pure, bright soul thou art. 
And — love not me, oh love not me I 

Enough — now, turn thine eyes again ; 

What, still that look and still that sighl 
Dost thou not feel my counsel then ? 

Oh 1 no, beloved, — nor do I. 



TO THE IXYISIBLE GIRL. 
They try to persuade me, my dear little 
sprite, [and hght. 

That you're not a true daughter of ether 
Nor have any concern with those fanciful 
fcrms [storms ; 

That dance upon rainbows and ride upon 
That, in short, you're a woman ; your lip 

and your eye 
As mortal as ever drew gods from the sky. 
But I will not beheve them— no, Science, 
to you [adieu: 

I have long bid a last and a careless 
Still flying from Ifature to study her 
laws, [cause. 

And dulling delight by exploring its 
You forget how superior, for mortals be- 
low, [that they know. 
Is the fiction they dream to the truth 
Oh ! who, that has e'er enjoy'd rapture 
complete, [sweet ; 
Would ask how we feel it, or why it is 
How rays are confused, or how particles 
fly [or a sigh; 
Through the medium refined of a glance 
Is there one, who but once would not 

rather have known it. 
Than written, with Harvey, whole vol- 
umes upon it "? 

As for you, my sweet-voiced and in- 
visible love, [that rove 
You must surely be one of those spirits. 
By the bank where, at twilight, the poet 
reclines, [shines. 
When the star of the west on his solitude 
And the magical figures of fancy have 
hung [with a tongue. 
Every breeze with a sigh, every leaf 
Oh! hint to him then, 'tis retirement 



Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone ; 



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132 



MOOKE'S T\^OEKS. 



Like you, with a veil of seclusion be- 
tween, [unseen, 

His song to the world let him utter 

And lii<e you, a legitimate child of the 
spheres, [ears. 

Escape from the eye to enrapture the 

Sweet spu-it of mystery ! how I should 
love, [rove, 

In the wearisome ways I am fated to 

To have you thus ever invisibly nigh. 

Inhaling forever your song and your sigh! 

'Mid the crowds of the world and the 
murmurs of care, 

I might sometimes converse with my 
nymph of the air. 

And turn with distaste from the clamor- 
ous crew, [you. 

To steal in the pauses one whisper iVom 

Then, come and be near me, forever be 

mine, [divine. 

We shall hold in the air a communion 

As sweet as, of old, was imagined to 

dwell 
In the grotto of Numa, or Socrates' cell. 
And oft, at those lingeriug moments of 
night, [put slumber to flight, 
When the heart's busy thoughts have 
You shall come to my pillow and tell me 
of love, [above. 

Such as angel to angel might wiusper 
Sweet spirit ! — and tlien, could you bor- 
row the tone 
Of that voice, to my ear like some fahy- 

song known, 
The voice of the one upon earth, who 
has twined [mind, 

With her being forever my heart and my 
Thougli louely and far from the light of 
her smile, [while. 

An exile, and weary and hopeless the 
Could you shed for a moment her voice 
on my ear, [is near ; 

I wiU think, for that moment, that Cara 
That she comes with consoling enchant- 
ment to speak, [my cheek, 
And lasses my eyelid and breathes on 
And teUs me, the night shall go rapidly 
by, [is nigh. 
For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven 

* I should he sorry to think that my friend had 
any serious intentions of frighteninsthe nursery 
by this story: I rather hope— though the manner 
of it leads liio to doubt— that his design was to 
ridicule thitt distempered taste which prefers 
those monsters of the fancy to the " speciosa 
miracula " of true poetic imagination. 



Fair spirit ! if such be your magical 

power, ' [hour ; 

It wiU lighten the lapse of fuU many an 

And, let fortune's realities frown as thev 

will, [still. 

Hope, fancy, and Cara may smile for mo 



THE RING.* 

A TALE. 
Annulns illc viri. — Ovid. Amor. lib. ii. cleg. 15. 

The happy day at length anived 

When Eupeit was to wed 
The fairest maid iu Saxony, 

And take her to his bed. 

As soon as morn was in the sky, 
The feast and sports began ; 

The men admired the happy maid. 
The maids the happy man. 

In many a sweet device of mirth 

The day was pass'd along ; 
And some the featly dauce amused, 

And some the dulcet song. 

The younger maids with Isabel 
Disported through the bowers, [head 

And deck'd her robe, and crown'd her 
With motley bridal flowers. 

The matrons all in rich attire. 

Within the castle walls. 
Sat listening to the choral strains 

That echo'd through the halls. 

Young Rupert and his friends repair'd 

Unto a spacious court. 
To strike the bounding tennis-ball 

In feat and manly sport. 

The bridegroom on his finger wore 
The wcdding-riug so bright. 

Which was to grace the lily hand 
Of Isabel that night. 

And fearing he might break the gem, 

Or lose it in the play, 
He look'd around the court, to see 

Where he the ring might lay. 

N'ow in the com-t a statue stood, 
Which there fuU hmg had been ; 

It might a Heathen goddess be, 
Or else, a Heathen queen. 

I find, by a note in the manuscript, that he 
met with this story in a German author, From- 
man vpon Fascination, book iii. part vi. ch. 
18. On consulting the work I perceive that 
Froraman quotes it from Beluacensis, among 
many other stories equally diabolical and inter- 
esting. E. 



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JTJVEXILE POEMS. 



133 



Upon its marble finger then 

He tried the ring to fit; 
And, thinking it was safest there. 

Thereon he fasten'd it. 

And now the tennis sports went on, 

Till they were wearied all, 
And messengers announced to them 

Their dinner in the hall. 

Young Rupert for his wedding-ring 

Unto the statue went ; 
But, oh, bow shock'd was he to find 

The marble finger bent ! 

The hand was closed upon the ring 
With firm and mighty clasp ; 

In vain he tried, and tried, and tried, 
He could not loose the grasp ! 

Then sore surprised was Rupert's mind — 
And well his mind might be ; 

" I'll come," quoth he, " at night again, 
" When none are here to see." 

He went unto the feast, and much 

He thought upon his ring ; 
And marveU'd sorely what could mean 

So very strange a thing ! 

The feast was o'er, and to the court 

He hied without delay. 
Resolved to break the marble hand 

And force the ring away. 

But, mark a stranger wonder still^ 
The riug was there no more, 

And yet the marble hand ungrasp'd. 
And open as before ! 

He search'd the base, and all the court. 

But nothing could he find ; 
Then to the castle hied he back 

With sore bewilder'd miud. 

Within he found them all in mirth, 

The night in dancing flew ; 
The youth another ring procured. 

And none the adventure knew. 

And now the priest has join'd their 
The hours of love advance : [hands, 

Rupert almost forgets to think 
Upon the morn's mischance. 

Withm tne hed fair Isabe? 

In blushing sweetness lay, 
Like flowers, half-opcn'd by the dawn, 

And waiting for the day. 

And Rupert, hy her lovely side. 
In youthful beauty glows. 



Like Phrebus, when he bends to cast 
His beams upon a rose. 

And here my song would leave them 
Xor let the rest be told, [both, 

If 'twere not for the horrid tale 
It yet has to unfold. 

Soon Rupert, 'twixt his bride and him,' 
A death-cold carcass found ; 

He saw it not, but thought he felt 
Its arms embrace him round. 

He started up, and then return'd. 
But found the phantom still ; 

In vain he shrunk, it clipp'd him round, 
With damp and deadly chill ! 

And when he bent, the earthy lips 

A kiss of horror gave ; 
'Twas like the smeU from chamel vaults, 

Or from the mould'ring grave ! 

lU-fated Rupert ! — wild and loud 

Then cried he to his wife, 
" Oh ! save me from this horrid fiend, 

" My Isabel ! my Mfe ! " 

But Isabel had nothing seen. 

She look'd around in vain ; 
And much she mouni'd the mad conceit 

That rack'd her Rupert's brain. 

At length from this invisible 
These words to Rupert came : 

(Oh God ! while he did hear the words 
What terror shook his frame !) 

" Husband, husband, I've the ring 
" Thou gav'st to-day to me; 

" And thou'rt to me forever wed, 
" As I am wed to thee ! " 

And aU the night the demon lay 

Cold-chilling by his side, [grasp, 

And strain'd him witli such deadly 
He thought he should have died. 

But when the dawn of day was near. 

The horrid phantom fleil, 
And left th' affrighted youth to weep 

By Isabel in bed. 

And all that day a gloomy cloud 
Was seen on Rupert's brows ; 

Fair Isabel was hkewise sad. 
But strove to cheer her spouse. 

And, as the day advanced, he thought 

Of coming night with fear: 
Alas, that he should dread to view 

The bed that should be dear J 




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134 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



At length the second night arrived^ 
Again their couch they press'd ; 

Poor Rupert hoped that all was o'er, 
And look'd for love and rest. 

But oh ! when midnight came, again 

The fiend was at his side, 
And, as it strain'd him in its grasp, 

With howl exulting cried: — 

" Husband, husband, I've the ring, 
" The ring thou gav'st to me ; 

" And thou'rt to me forever wed, 
" As I am wed to thee ! " 

In agony of wild despair, 

He started from the bed ; 
And thus to his bewilder'd wife 

The trembhug Rupert said : 

" Oh Isabel ! dost thou cot see 

" A shape of hoiTors here, 
" That strains me to its deadly kiss, 

" And keeps me from my dear ?" 

"Jfo, no, my love ! my Rupert, I 

" No shape of horrors see ; 
" And much I mourn the phantasy 

" That keeps my dear from me." 

This night, just like the night before. 

In terrors pass'd away, 
KoT did the demon vanish thence 

Before the dawn of day. 

Said Rupert then, " My Isabel, 

" Dear partner of m}^ wo, 

'* To Father Austin's holy cave 

" This instant will I go." 

Now Austin was a reverend man. 
Who acted wonders maint — 

Whom all the country round believed 
A devil or a saint ! 

To Father Austin's holy cave 
Then Rupert straightway went ; 

And told him all, and ask'd him how 
These horrors to prevent. 

The Father heard the youth, and then 

Retired awhile to pray ; 
And, having pray'd for half an hour, 

Thus to the youth did say : 

" There is a place where four roads meet, 

" Which I will tell to thee ; 
" Be there this eve, at fajl of night, 

"And list what thou shalt see: 

^'Thou'lt see a group of figures pass 
" In strange diaonler'd crowd. 



"Travelling by torchlight through the 
roads, 
" With noises strange and loud. 

"And one that's high above the rest, 

" Terrific towering o'er, 
"Will make thee know him at a glance, 

" So I need say no more. 

" To him from me these tablets give, 
" They'll quick be understood ; 

" Thou need'st not fear, but give them 
straight, 
" I've scrawl'd them with my blood !" 

The nightfall came, and Rupert all 

In pale amazement went 
To where the ci'ossroads met, as ho 

Was by the Father sent. 

And lo ! a group of fig-ures came 
In strange disorder'd crowd, 

Travelling by torchlight through the 
With noises strange and loud, [road^ 

And, as the gloomy train advanced, 

Rupert beheld from far 
A female form of wanton mien 

High seated on a car. 

And Rupert, as he gazed upon 

The loosely vested dame. 
Thought of the marble statue's looli^ 

For hers was just the same. 

Behind her walk'd a hideous form. 
With eyeballs flashing death ; 

Whene'er he breathed, a sulphur'd smoke 
Came burning in his breath. 

He seem'd the first of all the crowd. 

Terrific towering o'er ; 
"Yes, yes," said Rupert, " this is he, 

" And I need ask no more." 

Then slow he went, and to this fiend 

The tablets trembling gave, 
Who look'd and read them with a yell 

That would disturb the grave. 

And when he saw the blood-scrawl'd 
His eyes with fury shine ; [name, 

"I thought," cries he, "his time was 
" But he must soon be mine 1" [out. 

Then darting at the youth a look 
Which rent his soul with fear. 

He went unto the female fiend. 
And whisper'd in her ear. 

The female fiend no sooner heard 
Than, with reluctant look. 



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JTJ^EiflLB POEMS, 



135 



Tbe very ring that Rupert lost, 
She from her finger took. 

And, giving it nnto the youth, 
With eyes that breathed of hell, 

She said, in that tremendous voice, 
Which he remember'd ^vell : 

' ' In Austin's name take back the ring, 
•'The ring thou gav'st to me ; 

* And thou'rt to me no longer wed, 
" Nor longer I to thee." 

lie took the ring, the rabble pass'd, 

He homt ^etum'd again ; 
His wife was then the happiest fair, 

The happiest he of men. 



TO 



ON SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL 
AND A RICH GIRDLE. 

Put off the vestal veil, nor, oh 1 

Let weeping angels view it ; 
Your cheeks belie its vu-gin snow. 

And blush repenting thi-ough it. 

Put off the fatal zone you wear ; 

The shining pearls around it 
Are tears that fell from Virtue there. 

The horn- when Love unbound it. 

WRITTEN IN THE BLANK LEAF 

OF A lady's commonplace BOOK. 

Here is one leaf reserved for me, 
From all thy sweet memorials free ; 
And here my simple song might tell 
The feelings thou must guess so well. 
But could I thus, within thy mind, 
One little vacant comer find. 
Where no impression yet is seen, 
Wkeve no memorial yet hath been. 
Oh ! it should be my sweetest care 
To write my name forever there I 

TO MRS. BL . 

WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM. 

Thet say that Love had once a book 
(The urchin likes to copy you,) 

"Where, aU who came, the pencil took 
And wrote, Uke us, a line or two. 

'Twas Innocence, the maid divine, 
"Who kept this volume bright and fair. 

And saw that no unhaUow'd line 
Or thought profane should enter there ; 



And daily did the pages fill 
"With fond device and loving lore. 

And every leaf she tum'd was still 
More bright than that she tum'd before. 

Beneath the touch of Hope, how soft, 
How light the magic peucil ran ! 

Till Fear would come, alas, as oft. 
And trembling close what Hope began. 

A tear or two had dropp'd from Grief, 
And Jealousy would, now and then, 

Rufile in haste some snow-white leaf, 
"Which Love had still to smooth again. 

But, ah ! there came a blooming boy, 
"Who often tmni'd the pages o'er. 

And wrote therein such words of joy, 
That all who read them sigh'd for 
more. 

And Pleasure was this spirit's name. 
And though so soft his voice and look. 

Yet Innocence, whene'er he came, 
"Would tremble for her spotless book. 

For, oft a Bacchant cup he bore. 
With earth's sweet nectar sparkling 
bright, 

And much she fear'd lest, mantling o'er. 
Some drops should on the pages light. 

And so it chanced, one luckless night, 
The urchin let tiat goblet fall 

O'er the fair book, so pure, so white, 
And suUied lines and marge and aU ! 

In vain now, touch'd with shame, he 
tried 

To wash those fatal stains away ; 
Deep, deep had sunk the sullying tide, 

The leaves grew darker every day. 

And Fancy's sketches lost their hue. 
And Hope's sweet lines were all 
effaced. 

And Love himself now scarcely knew 
"What Love himself so lately traced. 

At length the urchin Pleasure fled, 
(For how, alas ! could Pleasure stay?) 

And Love, while manj' a tear he shed, 
Reluctant flimg the book away. 

The index now alone remains, 
Of all the pages spoil'd by Pleasure, 

And though it bears some earthy stains, 
Yet Memory counts the leaf a treasure^ 

And oft, they say, she scans it o'er. 
And oft, by this memorial aided. 




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136 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Brings back the pages now no more, 
And thinks of Mnes that long have 
fadedo 

I Imow not if this tale be true, 
But thus the simple facts are stated ; 

And I refer their truth to you. 
Since Love and you are near related. 



TO CARA, 

AFTER AN INTERVAL OF ABSENCE. 

Conceal'd within the shady wood 
A mother left her sleeping child. 

And flew, to cull her rustic food, 
The fruitage of the forest wild. 

But storms upon her pathway rise. 
The mother roams, astray and weep- 
ing; 

Far from tbe weak appealing cries 
Of him she left so sweetly sleeping. 

She hopes, she fears ; a light is seen, 
And gentler blows the night wind's 
breath ; 

Yet no — 'tis gone — the storms are keen, 
The infant may be chill'd to death ! 

Perhaps, ev'nnow, in darkness shrouded, 
His little eyes lie cold and still ; — 

And yet, perhaps, they are not clouded, 
Life and love may light them still. 

Thus, Cara, at our last farewell, 

"When, fearful ev'n thy hand to touch, 

I mutely ask'd those eyes to tell 
If parting paiu'd tbee half so much : 

I thought, — and, oh, forgive the thought. 
For none was e'er by love inspired 

Whom fancy had not also taught 
To hope the bliss his soul desired, — 

Yes, I did think, in Cara's mind. 

Though yet to that sweet mind un- 

I left one infant wish behind, [known, 
One feeUng which I call'd my own. 

Oh blest ! though but in fancy blest, 
How did I ask of Pity's care. 

To shield and strengthen, in thy breast. 
The nursling I had cradled there. 

And, many an hour, beguiled by pleas- 
ure, . [b'riug. 

And many an hour of sorrow num- 
I ne'er forgot the new-born treasure, 

I left within thy bosom slumb'ring. 



Perhaps, indifference has not chill'd it, 
napl}^, it yet a throb may give — 

Yet, no — perhaps, a doubt has kill'd it ; 
Say, dearest— (toes the feeling hve ? 



TO CARA, 

ON THE DAWNING OF ANEWTEAR's DAT. 

When midnight came to close the year. 
We sigh'd to thiuk it thus should take 

The hours it gave us— hours as dear 
As sympathy and love could malvc 

Their blessed moments, — every sun 

Saw us, my love, more closely one. 

But, Cara, when the dawn was nigh 
Which came a new year's hght to shed. 

That smile we caught from eye to eye 
Told us, those moments were not lied: 

Oh, no, — we felt, some future sun 

Should see us still more closely one. 

Thus may we ever, side by side, 
Prom happy years to happier glide ; 
And still thus may the passing sigh 

We give to hours, that vanish o'er us. 
Be follow'd by the smiling eye, 

That Hope shall shed on scenes be- 
fore us ! 



TO 



,, 180L 



To be the theme of every hour 

The heart devotes to Fancy's power, 

When her prompt magic fills the mind 

With friends and joys we've left behind, 

And joys retm-n and friends are near, 

And all are welcomed with a tear : — 

In the mind's purest seat to dwell, 

To be remember'd oft and well 

By one whose heart, though vain and wild. 

By passion led, by youth begiuled, 

Can proudly still aspire to be 

All that may yet win smiles from thee :— 

If thus to live in every part 

Of a lone, weary wanderer's heart ; 

If thus to be its sole employ 

Can give thee one faint gleam of joy. 

Believe it, Mary, — oh! believe 

A tongue that never can deceive. 

Though, erring, it too oft betray [say,— 

Ev'n more than Love should dare tc 

In Pleasure's dream or Sottow's hour. 

In crowded hall or lonely bower, 

The business of my hfe shall be. 

Forever to remember thee. 

And though that heart be dead to mine. 




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JTJYENTLE POEMS. 




137 



Since Love is life and -u-akes not thine, 
t'll take thy image, as the form 
Of one -whom Love had fail'd to warm, 
Which, though it yield no answering 

thi-ill, 
Is not less dear, is worshipp'd still^ 
I'll take it, wheresoe'er I stray, 
'J'he bright, cold l)urden of ni3' way. 
To keep this semblance fresh in bloom, 
My heart shall be its lasting tomb, 
And Memory, with embalming care, 
Shai keep it fresh and fadeless there. 



THE GEXIUS OF HAEMOmT, 

AN IRREGULAR ODE. 

Ad harmoniara canere munclum. 

CiCEHO de Nat. Deor., lib. iii. 

There lies a shell beneath the waves. 
In many a hollow winding wreath' d, 
Such as of old 
Echoed the breath that warbling sea- 
maids breathed ; 

This magic shell, 
From the white bosom of a syren fell. 
As once she wander'dby the tide that 
laves 
Sicilia's sands of gold. 

*Tn the "Histoire Xatiu-elle des Antilles," 
there is an account of some curious sliells, 
foiiiul nt Cura9oa, on the bacli of which were 
lines, filled with musical characters so distinct 
and perfect, that the writer assui-es us a very 
chaiTning: trio was sung from one of them. 
" On le nomme musical, parcequ'il porte sur le 
dos des ligues noiratres pleines de notes, qui 
ont une espece de cle pour les mettro en chant, 
do sorteque I'on diroit qu'il ne manque que la 
lettre k cette tiiblnture nalurelle. Ce curieux 
jjpntilhomme (M. du Montel) rapjjorte qu'il en 
a vu qui a \'oient cinq litrnes, une cle,et des notes, 
qui fermoient un accord parfait. Quelqu'un 
y avoit ajout6 la lettre, quo la nature avoit 
"oubliee et la faisoit chanter en forme de trio, 
dont I'air etoit fort agreable."— Chap. xis. art. 
11. The author adds, a poet might imagine 
that these shells were used by the syrens at 
their concerts. 

t According to Cicero, and his commentator, 
^lacrobius, the lunar tone is the gravest and 
faintest on the planetary heptachord. " Quam 
oh causam summus ille cceli stellifer oir.sus, 
cujus conversio est concitatior, acuto et cxci- 
tato movetui' sono ; gravissimo autem hie lu- 
naris atque infimus." — So)nn. Scip. Because, 
says Macrobius, " spiritu ut in extremitatelan- 
guescente jam volvitur, et prof<^«r angnstiaa 
quibus penuitimus orbis arctnturirapetuieniore 
convertitur." — In Somn. Seip., lib. ii. cap. 4. 
In their musical arrangement of the heavenly 
bodies, the ancient writers are not very intelli- 
gible. See Ftolem., lib. iii. 



It bears 
Upon its shiumg side the mystic notes 
Of those entrancing airs,* [swell, 
The genii of the deep were wont to 
Then heaven's eternal orbs their mid- 
night music rolFd! 
Oh ! seek it, wherusoe'er it floats; 
And, if the power [dear. 
Of thrilling numbers to thy soul be 
Go, bring the bright shell to my 
bower, [dreama 

And I will fold thee in such downy 
As lap the Spirit of the Seventh 
Sphere, [on his ear ! t 

"When Luna's distant tone falls faintly 
And thou phalt own, 
That, through the chcle of creation's 
zone, [spirit beams ; 

■Where matter slumbers or where 
From the pellucid tides, t that whirl 
The planets through their maze ci 

song, 
To the smull rill, that weeps along 
Murmuring o'er beds of pearl : 

From the rich sigh [sky,§ 
Of the sun's arrow through an evening 
To the faint breath the tuneful osier 
yields 

On Afric's burning fields;]! 

Leono Hebreo, in pursuing the idea of Aris- 
totle, that the heavens are animal, attributes 
their harmony to perfect a:id reciprocal love. 
'•i\'on pero mancafraloro il perfeito et rccip- 
roco amore : l.a causa principale, che ne mostra 
il loro amore, e la lor amicitia nrmonica et l.\ 
concordanza, che perpetuamentc si trova in 
loro."— Dialog, ii. di Amore, p. 58. This "re. 
ciprico amore '' of Leone is the (/jiAoTrj? of the 
ancient Empedocles, who seems, iu his Love 
and Hate of the Elements, to have given a 
glimpse of the principles of nttrnction and re- 
pulsion. See the fragment to which I allude iu 
Laertius, AAAore /ati' <^cAoTT)Ti, avvfpxofJ.ii'', K. 
T. A., lib. viii. cap. a, n. 12. 

J Leucippus, the atomist, imagined a kind of 
vortices m the heavens, wliich he borrowed 
from Anasagoras, and possibly suggested to 
Descartes. 

§Heraclides, upon the allegories of Homer, 
conjectures thattheideaof the harmony of the 
spheres originated with this poet, who, in repre- 
senting the solar beams as arrows, supposes 
them to emit a peculiar sound in the air. 

II In tlie account of Africa which D'Ablan- 
court has translated, thne is mention of a tret 
in that country whose branches when shaken 
by the Imnd produce very sweet sounds. " Li< 
merae anteur (Abenzfegar) dit, qu'il y a un cer- 
tain arbre, qui produit des gnulea commedo.s:br, 
et qu en les prenant a la main et les braiil'-'i*'-j 
elles font une especo d'h.-'irmonle fort agreab*-,' 
&o. Si.o.—L' AJrique de Marmol. 



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MOORE'S "W^ORKS. 



TDou'lt wondering own this universe 
divine 

Is mine! 
Hiat I respire in all and all in me, 
'> jfi migbty mingled soul of boundless 
harmony. 

"Welcome, welcome, mystic shell ! 
Many a star has ceased to bum, * 
Many a tear has Saturn's mn 
O'er the cold bosom of tbe ocean 
Since thy aerial spell [wept,t 
Hath in the waters slept. 
Now blest I'll fly 
"With the bright treasure to my choral 
sky, 
Where she, who waked its early 

swell, 
The Syren of the heavenly choir, 
Walks o'er the great string of my Oi-phic 
Lyre ;t 
Or guides around the burning pole 
The winged chariot of some blissful 
While thou — [soul .§ 

Oh son of earth, what dreams shall rise 
for thee ! 
Beneath Hispania's sun, 
Thou'lt see a streamlet run, 

•Alludin;^ to the extinction, or at least the 
disappearance, of some of those fixed stars, 
whicli we are taught to consider as suns, at- 
tended each by its system. Descartes thouglit 
that our earth Tni{;ht formerly have been a sun. 
ivliich became obscured by a thick incrusta- 
tioa over iis surface. This probably suggested 
the idea of a central fire. 

t Porrhyry says, that Pythagroras held the 

sea to be a tear, Tr/i/ ^aAaxTai' /ati/eicaAet cii/ai 

Baxpyov, (De Vita,;) and Some one else, if 
I mistake not, has added the planet Saturn as 
the source of it. Erapedocles, with simiiar af- 
fectation, called the Bea "the sweat of the 
earth : " iSpwra ttj? 7)75. See RiUershusius 
upon Porphyry, Num. 41. 

} The system of the harmonized orbs was 
styled by the ancients the Great Lyre of Or- 
pheus, for which Lucian thus accounts:— 17 fie 

Auprj eTTTajiiiTOS €ov<ra Trji/ Tiov Ki.vovixevoiv acr- 

iptjiv apixovt-av crvre/SaXAero, K. T. A. in Astrohjrj. 

§ Ai€tAe \pv\a<i liT (xpiQ fxov^ T0(5 aarpot?, ei'eijUg 

J iKacrTrjv irpo? eKa<TTOv, Kai c/i^i/3aj-as '(IS 

EI2 OXHM,\.— "Distributing the souls sev- 
crnlly among the stars, and mounting each soul 
upon a star as on its chariot." — Plato, Timceus. 

II This musical river is mentioned in the ro- 
mance of Achilles Tatius. En-et woTaftou . . t/v 
ie oKouo-at ^cAtjs tov iifiaTos AaAouvTos. The 
Latin version, in supplying the hiatus which 
is in the original, has placed the river in His- 
pania. '• In Sispani4 quoqua fluvius est, quern 
primo nspectu," &o. &c. 

IT These two lines are translated from the 
words of Achilles Tatius. Eaf yap oAiyos ai-e- 
*os ets Ta.i fiti/a5 ewTrear), to h.€v v&iap ws xooSrj 



"Which I've imbued with breathing 

melody ;1| [cun-eut die, 

And there, when night-winds down the 

Thou'lt hear how like a harp its waters 

sigh: 
A liquid chord is every wave that flows, 
An airy plectrum every breeze that 
blows, IT 

There, by that wondrous stream, 
Go, lay thy languid brow, 
And I will send thee such a godlike 
dream, [him,** 

As never bless'd the slumbers even of 
WTio, many a night, with his primordial 
lyre,tt [mount,|t 

Sate on the chill Panga^an 
And, looking to the orient dim, 
"Watch'd the tir.*t flowing of that sa- 
cred fount, [fire. 
From which his soul had drunk its 
Oh ! tliink what visions, in that lonely 
hour, 
Stole o'er his musing breast ; 
What pious ecstasy $§ 
"Wafted his prayer to that eternal Power, 
"Whose seal upon this new-born world 
impress'dllll 

Kpouerat. to 6e irveu/xa tov vSaroi irXrjKTpor 
yiv^Tai.. TO pevfjLa Se ws Ki9apa AaAei. — Lib. ii. 

** Orpheus. 

It They called his lyre apxaioTpoiro:' inra- 
XopSov Op<j)cu>';. See a curious work by a pro- 
fessor of Greek at Venice, entitled " Hebdoma- 
des, sivcseptemde septenario L^bri.'' — Lib. iv. 
cap. 3. p. 177. 

Jt Eratosthenes, in mentioning the extreme 
veneration of Orpheus for Apollo, says that 
he was accustomed to go to the Pangaean 
mountain at daybreak, and there wait the ris- 
ing of the sun, tliat he might be the first to hail 

its beams. — E7reyetpo;u.ci'OS Tc Tr)S vvkto^, kuto. 
r-qv ftodn'riv stti to apo? TO icaAou/j.ei'Oi' Tlayyaioy, 
jrpo<re/i6i'e Ta<; avaroAa;, iva 1617 TOi' 'HAtoi' Trpw- 
Toi'. — KaTa<TT(pL(Ttx, 24. 

§§ There arc some verses of Orpheus pre- 
served to us which contain siiblimo ideas of the 
unity and magnificence of the Deity. For in- 
stance, those whicli Justin Martyr has pro- 
duced :— 

OuT09 ixev \aAKeioj' ej ovpavov eorijpiKTat 

XpvcreiM tvi, ^povia, k. t. A. 

Ad. Grcec. Cohortat. 

It Is thought by some that these nre to be 
reckoned among the fabrications, which were 
frequent in the early times of Christianity. 
Still, it appears doubtful to whom they arc to 
bo attributed, being too pious for the Pagans, 
and too poetical for the Fathers. 

IIII In one of the Ilvmnsof Orpheus, he at- 
tributes a figured seal to Apollo, with whicn 
he imagines that deity to have stamped a vari« 
ety of forms upon the universe. 




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JUVEN'ILB POEMS. 



139 



The various forms of bright divinity I 
Or, dost thou know what dreams I 
wove, t^r,* 

'Mid the deep horror of that silent bow- 
Where the rapt Samian slept his holy 
"When, free [slumber'^ 

From earthly chain, 
From wreaths of pleasure and from 
bonds of pain, 
His spirit flew through iiclds above, 
Drank at the source of nature's foutal 
number, t [move 

And saw, in mystic choir, around him 
The stars of son^, Heaven's burning min- 
strelsy ! 
Such dreams, so heavenly bright, 
I swear [hair, 

By the gi-eat diadem that twines my 
Ani. by the seven gems that sparkle 
Mingling their beams [there;t 
In a soft iris of harmonious light. 
Oh, mortal ! such shall be thy radi- 
ant dreams. 



I FOUND her not — the chamber seem'd 
Like some divinely haunted place, 

Where fairy forms had lately beam'd, 
And left behind their odorous trace 1 

It felt, as if her lips had shed 
A sigh around her, ere she fled, 
Which hung, as on a melting lute, 

* Alluding to the cave near Samos, where 
Pythagoras devoted the greater part of his 
days aud nights to meditation and the mys- 
teries of his philosophy. lamblich. de Yit. 
This, as Holstenius remarks, was ia imitation 
of tlie Magi. 

t The tetractys, or sacred number of the 
Pythagoreans, on which they solemnly swore, 
and which they called nayav a^vaov <^uo-ca)9, 

"the fountain of perennial nature." Lucian 
hns ridiculed this religious arithmetic very 
ck'vorly in his Sale of Philosophers. 

J This diadem is inteaded to represent the 
analogy between the notes of music and the 
prismatic colors. We find in Plutarch avagtie 
imitation of this kindred harmony in colors and 
sounds. — 0>|(is T6 (Cat oKOTj, /xera <t>ii>vri<; re (cai 
<i>u)TOi r-i)v apii.ovi.av en-tifiaii»ou<7i. — De llusica. 

Cassioilorus, whose idea I may be supposed 
to have borrowed, says, in a letter upon music 
to Boctius, " TTt diadema oculis, varia luce 
gemmarura, sic cvthara diversitate soni, blan- 
ditur auditui." This is indeed the only tolera- 
ble thought in the letter.— Lib. ii. Variar. 

JSee the Story in Apuleius. With i-esiiect to 
this beautiful allej^ory of Love and P.syche, 
there is an ingenious Idea suggested by the 
senator Buonarotti, in his " Osservazioni sopra 



When all the silver chords are mute. 
There lingers still a trembling breath 
After the note's luxurious death, 
A shade of song, a spirit air, 
Of melodies which had beeu there. 

I saw the veil, which, all the day. 

Had floated o'er her cheek of rose ; 
I saw the couch, where late she lay 

In languor of divine repose ;; 
And I could trace the hallow'd print 

Her limbs had left, as pure and warm 
As if 'twere done in rapture's mint, 

And Love himself had stamp'd the 
form. 

Oh, my sweet mistress, where wert thoul 
In pity fly not thus from me ; 

Thou art my life, my essence now. 
And my soul dies oi' wanting thee. 



TO MRS. HENRY TIGHE, 

ON READING HER " PSrcnE."§ 

Tell me the witching tale again, 
For never has my heart or ear 

Hung on so sweet, so pure a strain. 
So pure to feel, so sweet to hear. 

Say, Love, in all thy prime of fame. 
When the high heaven itself was thine j 

When piety confess'd the flame, 
And even thy eiTors were divine; 

alcuni frammenti dl vasi antichi." He thinks 
the fable is taken from some very occult mys- 
teries, which had long been celebrated in honor 
of Love; and accounts, upon this supposition, 
for the silence of the more ancient authors upon 
the subject, as it was not till towards the 
decline of pagan superstition, thatwritcrscould 
venture to reveal or discuss such ceremonies. 
Accordingly, observes this author, -we find Lu- 
cian aud Plutarch treating, without reserve, of 
the Dea Syria, as well as of Isis and Osiris ; and 
Apuleius, to -whom -we are indebted for the beau- 
tiful story of Cupid and Psycho, has also de- 
tailed some of the mysteries of Isis. See the 
Gionale di Litteratid'ltalia, torn, xxvii. articol. 
1. See also the observations upon the ancient 
gems in the Museum riorentiiium, vol. i. p. 
156. 

I cannot avoid remarking here an error into 
■which the French Encyclop^distos have boon 
led by M. Spon, in their article Psyche. T'ley 
say " Petrone fait un rtVit de la pofnpo nuptiiile 
de ces deux amans, (Amour et Psvche.) JDi'ja, 
dit-il," &o. &c. The Pyschc of Petroniua 
however, is a sorvant-mafd. and the marriage 
which he describes is that of the young Panny- 
chis. See Spoil's Rccherches cui-ieuses, <fco 
Dissertat. 5. 



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140 



MOOKB'S TTOEKS. 



Did ever Muse's hand so fair 
A .clory round tby temples spread"^ 

Did ever lip's ambrosial air 
Such fragrance o'er thy altars shedf 

One maid there was, -who round her lyre 
The mystic myrtle wildly wreathed ; - 

But all her sighs were siphs of tire, 
The myrtle wither'd as she breathed. 

Oh ! you, that love's celestial dream, 
In all its purity, would know, 

Let not the senses' ardent beam 
Too strongly tiurough the vision glow. 

Love safest lies, conceal'd in night, [lie ; 

The night where heaven has bid him 
Oh ! shed not there unhallow'd light. 

Or, Psyche knows, the boy will lly. 

Sweet Psyche, many a charmed hour, 
Throi\gh many a wild and magic waste, 

Ta the fa[r fount and bUssful bower* 
Have 1, iu dreams, thy light foot 
traced ! 

Where'er thy joys are number'd now, 
Beneath whatever shades of rest, 

The Genius of the stany browj 
Hath bound thee to thy Cupid's breast ; 

Wliether above the horizon dim. 
Along whose verge our spmts stray, — 

Half sunk beneath the shadowy rim, 
Half brighteu'd by the upper ray,— t 

Thou dwellest in a world all light. 
Or, lingering here, dost love to be, 

To other souls the guardian bright 
That Love was, through this gloom, 
to thee, — 

Still be the song to Psyche dear. 
The song, whose gentle voice was given 

To be, on earth, to mortal ear. 
An echo of her own, in heaven. 

* Allusions to Mrs. Tigho's Poem. 

t Constancy. 

t By this imago the Plntoiiiats expressed the 
middle state of tlie soul between sensible and 
intellectual csisteuce. 

§ This poera, as well as a few others that oc- 
cur afterwards, formed part of a work which I 
had early projected, and eren announced to the 

Eublic, but -which, luckily perhaps for myself, 
ad bseu interrupted by my visit to America in 
the year 1803. 

Among those impostures in which the priests 
of the pagan temples are known to have in- 
dulged, one of tlie most favorite was that of an- 
nouncing to some fair votary of the shrine, that 
the God himself had become enamored of her 
beauty, and would descend in all his glory, to 



PROM THE HIGH PRIEST Oi 
APOLLO 

TV A VIRGIN OF DELPHI.^ 
Cum digno digna 

SULPICIA- 

""WH' » is the maid, with golden hair. 
"Witn eyes of lii"e, and foot of air, 
"Whose harp around my altar swells. 
" The sweetest of a thousand shells f 
'Twas thus the deity, who treads 
The arch of heaven, and proudly sheds 
Day from his eyelids — thus he spoke. 
As through my cell his glories broke. 

Aphelia is the Delphic fair,l| 
With eyes of lire and golden hair, 
Aphelia's are the airy feet. 
And hers the harp divinely sweet; 
For foot so light has never trod 
The laurell'd caverns 1i of the god, 
Nor harp so soft hath ever g>veu 
A sigh to earth or hymn to heaven. 

" Then tell the virgin to unfold, 
•'•' In looser pomp, her locks of gold, 
"And bid those eyes more foudlyshiuf 
" To welcome down a Spouse Divine ; 
"Since He, who lights the path of years— 
" Even from the fount of morning's tear* 
"To where his setting splendors burn 
"Upon the western sea-maid's urn— 
" Doth not, in all his course, behold 
" Such eyes of fire, such hair of gold. 
"Tell her, he comes, iu blissful pride, 
" His lip yet sparkling with the tide 
"That mantles in Olympian bowls,^ 
" The nectar of eternal souls ! 
" For her, for her he quits the skies, 
" And to her kiss from nectar flies. 
"Oh, he would quit his star-throned 

height, 
" And leave the world to pine for light, 
" Might he but pass the hours of shade, 

pay her a visit within the recesses of the fane. 
An adventure of this description formed an 
episode iri the classic romance which I had 
sketched out ; and the short fragment, given 
above, belongs to an epistle by which the story 
was to have been introduced. 

II In the 9th Pythic of Pindar, where Apollo 
in the same manner, requires of Chiron some 
information respecting the fair Cyrene, the 
Centaur, in obeying, very gravely apologizes 
for telling the God wliat his omniscience must 
know so perfectly already. 

Et Ss ye XPI "*' '"'^P ^o^Of ai'Tii^epifai, 

Epcui. 
ITAAA' ecs &(i<f>vo>&7{ yva\a ^>)<rofiai TaS«. 

EUKIPID. Jon. T. 76. 




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JUVEXILB POEMS. 



141 



"Beside his peerless Delphic maid, 
"She, more thau eaithly woman blest, 
" He, more thau god on woman's 
breast !" 

There is a cave beneath the steep,* 
Where living rills of crystal ween 
O'er herbage of the loveliest hue" 
That ever spring begemm'd with dew • 
Thi3re oft the greensward's glossy tint 
Is brighten'd by the recent print 
Of many a faun and naiad's feet, — 
Scarce touching earth, thek step so 

Heet,— 
That there, by moonlight's ray, bad trod, 
In hght dance, o'er the verdant sod. 
'■'■ There, there," the god, impassiou'd, 

said, 
" Soon as the twilight tinge is fled, 
" And the dim orb of lunar soulst 
" Along its shadowy pathway rolk' — 
" There shall we meet, — and not ev'n He, 
''The God who reigns immortally, 
" "Where Babel's turrets paint their pride 
" Upon th' Euphrates' shining tide,): — 
" Not ev'n when to his midnight loves 
" In Tuystic majesty he moves, 
'' Lighted by many an odorous fire, 
" And hymn'd by all Chaldaea's choir, — 
" E'er yet, o'er mortal brow, let shine 
" Such elliuence of Love Divine, 
' As shall to-night, blest maid, o'er 
thine." 

Happy the maid, whom heaven allows 
To break for heaven her virgin vows ! 
Happy the maid ! -her robe of shame 
Is whiten'd by a heavenlj^ flame, 
Whose glory, with a ling'ring trace, 
Shines through and deilies her race !$ 

FRAGMENT. 

Pitt me, love ! I'U pity thee. 
If thou indeed hast felt like me. 

* The Coi-ycian Cave, which Pausnnias men- 
ticms. The inhabit;iiits of Parnassus hckl it 
s;icred to the Corycian uymphs, who were chil- 
dren of the river Plistus. 

t See a preceding note, p. 80, t. Tt should 
3eem that lunar siiifits were of a pur;'r ordor 
than spirits in general, as Pythagoras vvas said 
by his followers to have descended from the re- 
gions of {he moon. The lieresiarch Manes, in 
the same manner, imagined that the sun and 
moon are the residence of Christ, and that the 



J The temple of Jupiter Belns, at B.abvlon: 
In one of whose towers there was a large chapel 



All, all my bosom's peace is o'er ! 
At night, which was my hour of calm, 
When, from the classic page of lore 
From the pure fount of ancient lay 
My soul has drawn the placid balm, 
Which charm'd its every gi-ief away, 
Ah ! there I find that balm no more. 
Thwse spells, which make us oft forget 
The fleeting troubles of the daj 
la deeper sorrcAVB only whefc 
The stings they cannot tear away. 
When to my pillow rack'd I fly, 
With wearied sense and wakeful eye : 
While my brain maddens, where, oh, 
Is that serene consoling prayer, [where 
Which once has harbinger'd my rest. 
When the stUl soothing voice of Heaven 
Hath seem'd to whisper in my breast, 
"Sleep on, thy errors are forgiven !" 
No, though I still in semblance pray. 
My thoughts are waud'ring far away, 
And ev'n the name of Deity 
Is mm-mur'd out in sighs for thee. 



A NIGHT THOUGHT. 

How oft a cloud, with envious veil, 
01)scures yon bashfid light. 

Which seems so modestly to steal 
Along the waste of night ! 

'Tis thus the world's obtrasive wrongs 

Obscure with malice keen 
Some timid heart, which only longs 

To live and die 



THE KISS. 
Grow to my lip, thou sacred Mss, 
On which my soul's beloved swore 
That there should come a time of bliss. 
When she would mock my hopes no more, 
And fancy shall thy glow renew. 
In sighs at morn, and dreams at nighl^ 

set apart for these celestial assiirnations. " Ko 
m.in IS allowed to sleep here." says Herodotus, 
"hut the apartment is appropriated to a female, 
whom, if we believe tlie Chaldfean priests, tho 
deitv selects from the women of the country, as 
his favorite." Lib. i. cap. 181. 

^ Fontenelle, m hisplayfnl rifacimfnto of tho 
learned materials of Van-Dale, lias rehited in his 
own inimitable manner an adventure of this 
kind which was detected and exposed at Alex- 
andria. See L'Histoiredes Oracles, dissert. 2. 
chap. vii. Crebillon. too. in one of his most 
amnsincr little stories, has m.ide tlie Genie 
Manire-Tanpes of the Jslo .Tonquille, assort this 
privilege of spiritual beintrs in a manner rather 
formidable to the husbands of the island. 




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142 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And none shall steal thy holy dew 
Till thou'rt absolved by rapture's rite. 
Sweet hours that are to make me blest, 
Fly, swift as breezes, to the goal, 
And let my love, my more than soul 
Gome blushing to this ardent breast. 
Then, while in every glance I drink 
The rich o'erflowings of her mind, 
Oh ! let her all enamor'd sink 
In swecit al)audonment resign'd, 
Blushing for all our struggles past, 
And mm-muring, "I am tlune at last!" 



SONG. 



Think on that look whose melting ray 
For one sweet moment mix'd with 
mine, 

And for that moment seem'd to say, 
" I dare not, or I would be thine I" 

Think on thy ev'ry smile and glance, 

On all thou hast to charm and move; 
And then forgive my bosom's trance, 

Nor tell me it is sin to love. 
Oh, not to love thee were the sin ; 

For sure, if Fate's decrees be done, 
Thou, thou art destined still to win, 

As I am destined to be won 1 



THE CATALOGUE. 

" Come, tell me," says Rosa, as kissing 
and kiss'd. 
One day she reclined on my breast ; 
" Come, tell me the number, repeat me 
the list [caress'd." — 

" Of the nymphs you have loved and 
Oh Rosa! 'twas only my fancy that 
roved, 
My heart at the moment was free ; 
But I'll tell thee, my girl, how many 
I've loved, 
And the number shall finish with thee. 

My tutor was Kitty ; in infancy wild 

She taught me the way to be blest ; 
S-ie taught me to love her, I loved like 
a child, 

But Kitty could fancy the rest. 
This lesson of dear and enrapturing lore 

I have never forgot, I allow : 
I have had it by rote very often before. 

But never by heart until now. 

Pretty Martha was next, and my soul 
was all flame, 
But my head was so full of romance 



That I fancied her into some chivalry 

dame. 

And I was her knight of the lance. 

But Martha was not of this fanciful 

school, [knight; 

And she laugh'd at her poor httle 

"While I thought her a goddess, she 

thought me a fool, [right. 

And I'll swear site was most in the 

My soul was now calm, till, by Cloris's 

Again I was tempted to rove ; [looks. 
But Cloris, I found, was so learned in 
books 

That she gave me more logic than love. 
So I left this young Sappho, and hasten'd 
to fly 

To those sweeter logiciansinb]iss,[eye, 
"Who argue the point with a soul-telling 

And convince us at once with a kiss. 

Oh ! Susan was then all the world unto 

But Susan was piously given ; [uio, 

And the worst of it was, we coidd never 

agi'ee [en. 

On the road that was shortest to Heav 

" Oh, Susan !" I've said, in the moments 

of mirth, 

""WTaat's devotion to thee or to me ? 

" I devoutly believe there's a heaven on 

earth, Ithee/" 

"And believe that that heaven's in 



IMITATION OF CATULLUS. 

TO HIMSELF. 

Miser CatuUe, desinas ineptire, &o. 

Cease the sighing fool to play; 
Cease to trifle life away ; 
iSlor vainly think those joys thine own. 
Which all, alas, have falsely flown. 
What hours, Catullus, once were thine 
How fairly seem'd thy day to shine, 
When lightly thou didst fly to meet 
The girl whose smile was tlien so sweet — 
The girl thou lovedst with fonder pain 
Than e'er thy heart can feel again. 

Ye met — ^your souls seem'd all in one. 
Like tapers that commingling shone; 
Thy heart was warm enough for both, 
And hers, iu truth, was nothing loath. 

Such were the hours that once were 
thine : 
But, ah ! those hours no longer shine. 
For now the nymph delights no more 
in what she loved so mucn before ; 




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JUVEN-ILB POEMS. 



143 



A.nd all Catullus now can do, 
Is to be proud and frigid too ; 
N"ow follow where the wanton flies, 
Nor sue the bliss that she denies 
Falpe maid ! he bids farewell to thee. 
To love, and all love's misery ; 
The heyday of his heart is o'er, 
Nor will he court one favor more. 

Ply, perjured girl !— but whither fly? 
"WTio now will praise thy cheek and eye ? 
Who now will drink the syren tone, 
"Which tells him thou art all his own ? 
Oh, none : — and he who loved before 
Can never, never love thee more. 



" Neither do I condemn thee ; go, and sin no 
more ! " 

St. John, chap. viii. 

Oh woman, if through sinfal wile 
Thy soul hath stray' d from honor's 

'Tis mercy only can beguile, [track, 
By gentle ways, the wand'rer back. 

The stain that on thy virtue lies, [stay; 

"Wash'd by those tears, not long will 
As clouds that sully morning skies 

May all be wept in showers away. 

Go, go, be innocent, — and live ; 

The tongues of men may wound thee 
But Heav'n in pity can forgive, [sore ; 

And bid thee "go, and sin no more !" 



NONSENSE. 

Good reader ! if you e'er have seen. 

When Phoebus hastens to his pillow, 
The mermaids, with their tresses green. 

Dancing upon the western billow : 
If you have seen, at twilight dim, 
When the lone spirit's vesper hymn 

Floats wild along the winding shore — 
If you have seen, through mist of eve. 
The fairy train their ringlets weave, 
Glancing along the spangled green : — 

If you have seen all this, and more, 
God bless me, what a deal you've seen ! 



EPIGRAM, 

FROM THE FRENCH. 

" I never give a kiss (says Prue) 
" To naughty man, for I abhor it." 

She wUl not give a kiss, 'tis true ; 
She'll take one though, and thank you 
for it 



ON A SQUINTING POETESS. 

To no one Muse does she her glance con- 
fine, 
But has an eye at once, to all the Nine I 



TO 



Moria pur quando vnol, non e bisog-na mutai 
ni faccia ni Toce per esser uu Angelo.* 

Die when you will, you need not wear 
At Heaven's Court a form more fair 

Than Beauty here on earth has given; 
Keep but the lovely looks we see— 
The voice we hear — and you will be 

An angel ready-made for Heaven ! 



TO ROSA. 

A farconserva, e curaulo d'amanti. 

Past. Fid. 
And are you then a thing of art, 
Seducing all, and loving none ; 
And have I strove to gain a heart 
Which every coxcomb thinks his own 1 

Tell me at once if this be true. 
And I wiU calm my jealous breast; 

Will learn to join the dangling crew, 
And share your simpers with the rest. 

But if your heart be not so free, — 
Oh ! if another share that heart, 

Tell not the hateful tale to me. 
But mingle mercy with your art. 

I'd rather thiuk you " false as hell," 
Than find yon to be all divine,^ 

Than know that heart could love so well, 
Yet know that heart would not be 
mine! 



TO PHILLIS. 
Phillis, you little rosy rake, 

That heart of yours I long to rifle ; 
Come, give it me, and do not make 

So much ado about a trifle ! 

TO A LADY, 

ON HER SINGING. 

Thy song has taught my heart to feel 
Those soothing thoughts of heav'nlj 
love. 

Which o'er the sainted spirits steal 
When list'ning to the spheres above ! 

* The words addressed by Lord Herbert o! 
Chcrbnry, to the beautiful niin at Muranc— 5e« 
his Life. 



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144 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Wben. tired of life and misery, 

I wish to sigli my latest breath, 
Oh, Emma! I will fly to thee, 

And thou shalt sing me into death. 
And if along thy lip and cheek 

That smile of heav'nly softness play, 
"Which, — ah ! forgive a mmd that's 
weak, — 

So oft has stol'n my mind away ; 

Thou'lt seem an angel of the sky, 
That comes to charm me into bliss : 

I'U gaze and die— Who would not die, 
If death were half so sweet as this ? 



SOKG. ON" THE BIRTHDAY OF 

MRS. . 

WRITTEN IN IRELAND. 1799. 

Of all my happiest hours of joy, 

And even I have had my measure, 
"When hearts were full, and ev'ry eye 

Hath kindled with the light of pleasure, 
An bonr like this I ne'er was given 

So fuU of fiiendship's pm'est bUsses; 
Young Love himself looks down from 
heaven, 
To smile on such a day as this is. 
Then come, my friends, this hour 
improve, 
Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever; 
And may the birth of her we love 
Be thus with joy remember'd ever ! 

Oh ! banish ev'ry thought to-night, 

"W"hich could disturb our soul's com- 
munion ; 
Abandon'd thus to dear delight, 

We'll ev'n for once forget the Union ! 
On that let statesmen try their pow'rs. 

And tremble o'er the rights they'd die 
The union of the soul be ours, [for; 

And ev'ry union else we sigh for. 

Then come, my friends, &c. 
In ev'ry eye around I mark 

The feelings of the heart o'erflowing; 
From ev'ry soul I catch the spark 

Of sympathy, in friendship glowing. 
Oh ! could such moments ever fly ; 

Oh! that we ne'er were doom'd to 
lose 'em ; 
And all as bright as Charlotte's eye, 

And all as pure as Charlotte's bosom. 
Then come, my friends, &c. 

For me, whate'er my span of years, 
Whatever sun may hght my roving ; 



Whether I waste my life in tears. 
Or live, as now, for mirth and loving; 

This day shall come with aspect kmd. 
Wherever fate may cast your rover; 

He'll think of those he left behind, 
And drink a health to bliss that's over ! 
Then come, my friends, &r. 

SONG.* 
Mart, I believed thee true. 

And I was blessed in thus believing i 
But now I mourn that e'er I knew 
A girl so fair and so deceiving. 
Fare thee well ! 

Few have ever loved like me, — 

Yes, I have loved thee too sincerely ! 

And few have e'er deceived like thee, — 
Alas ! deceived me too severely. 

Fare thee well ! — yet think awtiile 
. On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt 

thee ! 
Who now would rather trust that smile, 
And die with thee than live without 

thee. 

Fare thee well ! I'll think of thee, 
Thou leav'st me many a bitter token ; 

For see, distracting woman, see, [en ! — 
My i)eace is gone, my heart is brok- 
Fare tbee well ! 



MORALITY. 

A FAMILIAR EPISTLE. ADDRESSED TO J. 
AT— NS— N, ESQ., M. R. I. A. 

Though long at school and college 
dosing [ing, 

O'er books of verse and books of pros- 
Aud copying from their moral pages 
Fine recipes for making sages ; 
Though long with those divines at school 
"WTio think to make us good by rule ; 
Who, in methodic forms advancing. 
Teaching morality like dancing, 
Tell us, for Heaven or money's sake, 
What steps we are +»hrough life to take : 
Though thus, my friend, so long em- 

ploy'd, 
With so much midnight oil destroy'd, 
I must confess, my searches past, 
I've only learned to doubt at last. 
I find the doctors and the sages 
Have differ'd in all climes and ages, 
And two in fifty scarce agree 
On what is pure morality. 

*Those words wpve written to the pathetic 
Scotch air " Galla Water." 



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JTJVEKTLE POEMS. 



Ul 



'Tis like the rainbow's shifting zone, 
And every vision makes its own. 

The doctors of the Porch advise, 
As modes of being great and wise, 
That we should cease to own or know 
Th3 luxm-ies that from feehng flow :— 
" lieason alone must claim direction, 
"And Apathy's the soul's perfection. 
" Like a dull lake the heart must lie ; 
" ISTor passion's gale nor pleasure's sigh, 
" Though Heav'n the breeze, the breath, 

supplied, 
" Must cmi the wave or swell the tide I" 

Such was the rigid Zeno's plan 
To form his philosophic man ; 
Such were the modes he taught mankind 
To weed the garden of the mind ; [true. 
They tore from thence some weeds, 'tis 
But all the flow'rs were ravaged too I 

Now listen to the wily strains. 
Which, on Gyrene's sandy plains, 
When Pleasure, nymph with loosen'd 
Usurp'd the philosophic throne, — [zone, 
Hear what the courtly sage's* tongue 
To his sun-ounding pupils sung: — 
" Pleasure's the only noble end [tend, 
"To which all human pow'rs should 
" And Virtue gives her heav'nly lore, 
"But to make Pleasure please us more. 
"Wisdom and she were both design'd 
" To make the senses more refined, 
" That man might revel, free from cloy- 
ing, [ing !" 
" Then most a sage when most enjoy- 

Is this morality ? — Oh, no ! 
Ev'n I a wiser path could show. 
The flow'r within this vase confined, 
The pm-e, the unfading flow'r of mind, 
Must not throw all its sweets away 
Upon a mortal jnould of clay : 
No, no, — its richest breath should rise 
In virtue's incense to the skies. 

But thus it is, all sects we see 
Have watchwords of morality : 
Some cry out Venus, others Jove ; 
Here 'tis Religion, there 'tis Love. 
But while they thus so widely wander. 
While mystics dream, and doctors pon- 
And some, in dialectics firm, [der ; 

Seek virtue in a middle term; 
While thus they strive, in Heaven's de- 
To chain moraUty with science ; [fiance, 
The plain good man, whose actions teach 
*Ari8tippu8. 



More virtue than a sect can preach, 
Pursues his course, unsagely bless'd. 
His tutor whisp'riug in his breast ; 
Nor could he act a purer part, 
Though he had TuUy all by heart. 
And when he drops the tear on wo, 
He little knows or cares to know 
That Bpictetus blamed that tear, 
By Heaven approved, to virtue dear ! 

Oh! when I've seen the morang 
beam 
Floating within the dimpled stream; 
While Nature, wak'ning from the night. 
Has just put on her robes of light. 
Have I, with cold optician's gaze, 
Explored the doctrine of those rays ? 
No, pedants, I have left to you 
Nicely to sep'rate hue from hue. 
Go, give that moment up to art, 
When Heaven and nature claim the 

heart ; 
And, dull to all their best attraction, 
Go — measiire angles of refraction. 
While I, in feeling's sweet romance, 
Look on each daybeam as a glance 
Fi"om the great eye of Him above, 
Wak'ning his world with looks of love ! 



THE TELL-TALE LYRE. 

I've heard, there was in ancient days 
A Lyre of most melodious spell ; 

'Twas heav'n to hear its fairy lays, 
If half be true that legends tell. 

'T was play'd on by the gentlest sighs. 
And to their breath it breathed agaiB 

In such entrancing melodies _ 
As ears had never drunk till then ' 

Not harmony's serenest touch 
So stilly could the notes prolong; 

They were not heavenly song so much 
As they were dreams of heavenly song 

If sad the heart, whose munn'ring ah: 
Along the chords in languor stole, 

The numbers it awaken'd there 
Were eloquence from pit3''s soul. 

Or if the sigh, serene and light. 
Was but the breath of fancied woes, 

The string, that felt its airy flight. 
Soon whisper'd it to kind repose 

And when young lovers talk'd alone, 
If, 'mid their bliss that Lyre was neat 



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146 



MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



It made their accents all its own, 
And sent forth notes that Heaven 
might heaa'. 

There was a nymph, who longhad loved, 
But dared not tell the world how well: 

The shades, where she at evening roved, 
Alone could know, alone could tell. 

'Twas there, at twilight time, she stole, 
When the first star announced the 
night, — 

With him who claim'd her inmost soul, 
To wander by that soothing light. 

It chanced that, in the fairy bower 
Where bless'd they woo'd each other's 
smile, 
This Lyre, of strange and magic power, 
HuHg whisp'ring o'er theii" heads the 
while. 

And as, with eyes commingling fire, 
They listen'd to each other's vow, 

The youth full oft would make the Lyre 
A pillow for the maiden's brow : 

And, while the melting words she 
breathed. 
Were by its echoes wafted round, [ed, 
Her locks had with the cords so wreath- 
One knew not which gave forth the 
sound. 

Alas, then- hearts but little thought. 
While thus they talk'd the hours away. 

That every sound the Lyre was taught 
Would linger long, and long betray. 

So mingled with its tuneful soul 
Were all their tender murmurs grown. 

That other sighs unanswer'd stole. 
Nor words it breathed but theirs alone. 

Unhappy nymph ! thy name was sung 
To every breeze that wauder'd by ; 

The secrets of thy gentle tongue [sky. 
Were breathed in song to earth aiid 

The fatal Lyre, by Envy's hand 

Hung high amid the whisp'ring groves. 

To every gale by which 'twas l^ann'd, 
Proclaim'd the myst'ry of your loves. 

Ifor long thus rudely was thy name 
To earth's derisive echoes given; 

Some pitying spirit downward came. 
And took the Lyre and thee to heaven. 

there, freed from earth's unholy wrongs. 
Both happy in Love's home shall be ; 



Thou, uttering naught but seraph songs, 
And that sweet Lyre still echoing 
thee ! 



PEACE AND GLOET. 

WRITTEN ON THE APPROACH OF WAR. 

Where is now the smile, that lighten'd 

Every hero's couch of rest ? 
Where "is now the hope, that biighten'i 

Honor's eye and Pity's breast? 
Have we lost the wreath we braided 

For our weary warrior men ? 
Is the faithless olive faded ? 

Must the bay be pluck'd again ? 

Passing hour of sunny weather, 

Lovely, in your hglit awhile. 
Peace and Glory, wed together, 

Wauder'd through our blessed isle. 
And the eyes of Peace would gUsten, 

Dewy as a morning sun, 
When "the timid maid would listen 

To the deeds her chief had done. 

Is their hour of dalliance over ? 

Must the maiden's trembling feet 
Waft her from her warMke lover 

To the desert's still retreat ? 
Pare you well ! with sighs we banish 

Nymph so fair and guests so bright ; 
Yet the smile, with which you vanish. 

Leaves behind a soothing light ; — 

Soothing light, that long shall sparkle 

O'er your warrior's sanguined way. 
Through the field where hon-ors darkle, 

Shedding hope's consoling ray. 
Long the smile liis heart will cherish, 

To its absent idol trae ; 
While around him myriad^perish. 

Glory still will sigh for you ! 



SONG. 
Take back the sigh, thy lips of art 

In passion's moment breathed to me j 
Yet, no —it must not, will not part, 
'Tis now the Mfe-breath of my heart. 

And has become too pure for thee. 

Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh 

With all the wai-mth of trath impress'd; 
Yet, no — the fatal kiss may lie. 
Upon thy lip its sweets would die, 
Or bloom to make a rival blest. 

Take back the vows that, night and day. 
My hsai-t received, I thought, from 
thine: 



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JTJYBXILE POEMS. 



Yet, no — allow them still to stay, 
They might some other heart betray, 
As sweetly as they've ruin'd mine. 



LOVE AND REASON". 

" Quand I'liomme commence a raisonner, 
il cessc do seiitir." 

J. J. Rousseau.* 

'TwAS in the summer time so sweet, 
When hearts and flowers are both in 
season, 

That — who, of all the world, shouldmeet, 
One early dawn, but Love and Reason ! 

Love told his dream of yesternight, 
While Reason talk/d about the weather; 

The morn, i-u sooth, was fair and bright. 
And on they took their way together. 

The boy in many a gambol flew, 
While Reason, like a Juno, stalk'd, 

And from her portly figure threw 
A leugtheu'd shadow, as she walk'd. 

No wonder Love, as on they pass'd, 
Should find that sunny morning chill. 

For still the shadow Reason cast 
Pell o'er the boy, and cool'd him still. 

[n vain he tried his wings to warm, 
Or find a pathway not so dim. 

For still the maid's gigantic fonn 
"Would stalk between the sun and him. 

" This must not be," said little Love — 
" The sun was made for more than 
you." 

So, turning through a myrtle grove, 
He bid the portly nymph adieu. 

Now gayly roves the laughing boy 
O'er many a mead, by many a stream; 

In every breeze inhaling joy. 
And drinking bliss in every beam. 

From all the gardens, all the bowers, 
ne cuU'd the many sweets they shad- 
ed, [ers. 

And ate the fruits and smell'd the flow- 
Till taste was gone and odor faded. 

But now the sun, in pomp of noon, 
Look'd blazing o'er the sultry plains; 

Alas ! the boy grew languid soon, 
And fever thiill'd through all Ms 
veins. 

* Quoted somewhere in St. Pierre's Etudes 
de la Nature. 



The dew forsook his baby brow, 
No more with healthy bloom he 
smiled — 

Oh ! where was tranr'iil Reason now, 
To cast her shadosv' o'er the child? 

Beneath a green and aged palm, 

His foot at length for shelter tuinh-g, 

He saw the nymph recliuiug calm, 
"With brow as cool as his was burning 

"Oh! take me to thy bosom cold," 
In murmurs at her feet he said ; 

And Reason oped her garment's fold. 
And flung it round Ins fevei-'d head. 

He felt her bosom's icy touch. 
And soon it luU'd his pulse to rest ; 

For, ah ! the chill was quite too much. 
And Love expired on Reason's breast I 



Nat, do not weep, my Fanny dear ; 

"While in these arms you lie. 
This world hath not a wish, a fear, 
That ought to cost that eye a tear, 

That heart, one single sigh. 

The world ! — ah, Fanny, Love must shu r 
The paths where many rove ; 

One bosom to recline upon, 

One heart to be his only-one. 
Are quite enough for Love. 

"What can we wish, that is not here 

Between your arms and mine ? 
Is there, on earth, a space so dear 
As that within the happy .sphere 
Two loving arms entwine f 

For me, there's not a lock of jet 

A down your temples ciurl'd, 
Within whose glossy, tangling net, 
My soul doth not, at once, forget 
All, all this worthless world. 

'Tis in those eyes, so full of love. 

My only worlds I see ; 
Let but their orbs in sunshine move, 
And earth below and skies above, 

May frown or smile for me. 



ASPASIA. 

TwAS in thd fair Aspasia's bower. 
That Love and Learning, many an honi, 
In dalliance met ; and Learning smiled 
With pleasure on the playful child. 
Who often stole, to find a nest 
Within the folds of Learning's vest. 



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143 



MOORE'S TTORKS. 



There, as the list'ning statesman hung 
In transport on Aspasia's tongue, 
The destinies of Athens took 
Their color from Aspasia's look. 
Oh happy time, when laws of state, 
When all that ruled the country's fate, 
Its glory, quiet, or alarms, 
"Was plimn'd between two snow-white 
arms ! 

Blest times ! they could not always 

last— 
And yet, ev'n now, they are not past. 
Though we have lost the giant mould. 
In which then* men were cast of old, 
"Woman, dear woman, still the same, 
While beauty breathes through soul or 

frame, 
"While man possesses heart or eyes, 
"Woman's bright empire never dies ! 

N'o, Fanny, love, they ne'er shall say, 
That beauty's charm hath pass'd away ; 
Bive but the universe a soul 
Attuned to woman's soft control, 
And Fanny hath the charm, the skill, 
To wield a uuiverse at will. 



THE GRECIAN" GIRL'S DREAM OF 
THE BLESSED ISLANDS.* 

TO HER LOVER. 

Iluflayopr)?, oero-oi re xop"'' crrrfpi^av (cpuTOj, 
AnoWu}V Trept IIAojTti'OU. 

Oracul. Metric, a Joan. 
Opuop. cuUecta. 

Was it the moon, or was it morning's 

ray, [arms away ? 

That cail'd thee, dearest, from these 

* It was imagined by some of the ancients 
tl'.at tiieieio mi ethereal oceau above us, and 
tLint tliesun and moon arc two lliiatiiig-, lumin- 
ous islanils. in wliich the spirits of tlie blest re- 
side. Accordingly we find tlint the word 
ilxeavoi was sometimes synonymous a\ ith arjp, 
and death was not unfrcquently called ClKeavoio 
iropo!, or " tlie passaare of the ocean." 

t Eunapius. in his life of Iaml)Uchus. tells us 
of two l)eautifiil little spirits or loves, which 
lamblichns raised by enchantment trom the 
warm spi-insrs at Giidara; "dicens astantibus 
(says the author of tlie Dii Fatidici, p. KiO) illos 
esse loci Genios;" which words, however, are 
not in Euuainus. 

I find from Cellarius, that Auiatha, in the 
neiijliborhoodof Gadara, was also celebrated 
for its warm springs, and I have preferred it as 
ft more poetic name than Gadara. Cellarius 
quotes Hieronyuius, "Est et alia villain vicmia 



Soarcft "haflst thnn left me, when a dreanj 

of nigm, 
Came o'er my spirit so distinct and brigin. 
That while t yet can vividly recall 
Its witching Avonders, thou shalt heal 

them all. 
Methought I saw, upon the lunar beam, 
Two winged boys, such as thy muse 

might dreani. 
Descending from above, at that still hour. 
And gliding, with smooth step, into my 

bower. 
Fair as the beauteous spirits that, all day. 
In Amatha's warm founts imprisou'd 

stay,t [rill. 

But rise at midnight, from th' enchanted 
To cool their plumes upon some moon- 

Rght hill. 

At once I knew their mission — 'twas 

to bear 
My spirit upward, through the paths of 

air, [beams 

To thatelysian realm, from whence stray 
So oft, iu'sleep, had visited my dreams. 
Swift at their touch dissolved the ties, 

that clung 
All earthly nmud me, and aloft I .sprung ; 
While, heav'nward guides, the little genii 

flew [ven's own dew, 

Thi-o' paths of light, refresh'd by hea- 
And fann'd by airs still fragrant with the 

breath [not death. 

Of cloudless climes and worlds that know 

Thou know'st, that, far beyond our 
nether sky. 
And shown but dimly to man's erring eye, 
A mighty ocean of blue ether rolls, t 
Gemiu'd with bright islands, where the 



GadarfBuomine Amntb.T,. ubi calidaB aqure erum- 
punt." — Geogrnph. Anliq. lib. iii. cap. 13. 

t This belief of an ocean in the heavens, or 
" waters above the firmament,'' was one of the 
many physical errors in which the early fathers 
bewildered themselves. Le P. Baltns, in his 
"Defense des Saints Peres accuses de Platon- 
isme," takin;;: it for granted that the ancients 
were more correct in tlieir notions, (which by 
no means appears from what I have already 
quoted,) adduces the obstinacy of the fatliers, 
in this whimsical opinion, as a proof of their re- 
pugnance to even truth from the hands of tlie 
philosophers. This is a strange way of defend- 
ing the fathers, and attributes much more than 
they deserve to the philosophers. For an al> 
stract of this work of Baltus, (the opposer of 
Fontenelle. Van Dale. &c., in the famous Oracle 
controversy.) see " IMbliotheque des Auteurg 
Ecclesiast. du 18° Si6cle," part. 1, torn. li. 



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JUVENILE POEMS. 



14? 



WTio've pass'd inlore and love their earth- 
ly hours, 
Repose forever in untading bowers. 
That veiy moon whose solitary ligh; 
So often guidef thee to my "bower at 

night, 
Is no chill planet, but an isle of love, 
Floating in splendor through those seas 

above, [giown, 

And peopled with bright forms, aerial 
Nor knowing aught of earth but love 

alone. ['^'fiy: — 

Thither, I thought, we winged oui airy 
Mild o'er its valleys stream'd a silvery 

day, 
Willie, all around, on lily beds of rest, 
Reclined the spirits of the immortal 

Blest.* [maids. 

Oh ! there I met those few congenial 
"Whom love hath warm'd, in philosophic 

shades ; [breast, 

There still Leontium,t on her sage'a 
Found lore and love^ was tutor'd and 

caress'd ; [arms 

And there the clasp of Pythia'sJ gentle 
Repaid the zeal which deified her charms. 
The Attic Master, 6 in Aspasia's eyes, 
Forgot the yoke of less endearing ties, 



* Tbere were various opinions amonoc the an- 
cients \> •th respect to their lunar establislimeiit; 
some maiie it an elysiura and otliers a pur^a^ 
tory ; while some supposed it to be a kind of 
entrepot bet .veen heaven and eartli, where souls 
whicli had loft their bodies, and those that 
were on their way to.join tliem, were deposit- 
ed in the Valley of Hecate, and remained till 
further orders. Tois irepi (rekrivqv aept Aeyeii/ 
auTa? KaTOiKeiv, Kat an' avTy)<; kotw \uipeLV et? 
Tr)v Trepiyeioi' yevfcriv. — Stob. lib. 1. EclojT. Physic. 

t The pupil and mistress of Epicurus, "who 
called her liis "dear little Leontium," (Aeoi'Ta- 
pioi-,) as appears by a fragment of one of 
his letter -1 in Laertius. This Leontium was a 
woman of talent; "she had the impudence 
(savs Cicero) to write aarainst Thoophrastus ;"' 
and Uicero. at the same time, gives her a name 
which is nekher polite nor translatable. " Mer- 
etricula etiani Leontium contra Theophras- 
tura scribere ansa est."— Dij Nafur. Dear. She 
left a daughter called Danae, who was just as 
rigid an Epicure.au as her mother ; something 
like Wieland's Danae in Apathon. 

It would sound much better, I think, if the 
name were Leontia, as it occurs the first time 
in L.'iprtius ; but M. Menage will not hear of 
this reading, 

; Pythiawas a wom.an whom Aristotle loved, 
and to whom after her death he paid divine 
noMors, solemnizing her memory by the same 
sicrifices whicli tlie Athenians offered to the 
Cioddess Ceres. Fortius impious gallantry the 
philosopher was, of course, censured ; but it 
would ue well if ojf tain of our modern Stagy. 



"Wliile fair Theano,]] innocently fair, 
"Wreathed playfully her Samiau's ilowing 

hair, IT Li^ii^^; 

WTiose soul now fix'd, its transmigrations 
Found in those arms a resting-place, at 

last ; [thought 

And smiling own'd, whate'er his dreamy 
In mystic numbers long had vainly 

sought, [hath bound, 

The One that's form'd of Two whom love 
Is the best number gods or men e'ei 

found. 

But think, my Theon, with what joy 
I thrill'd, [valley rilVd, 

"When near a fount, which through the 
My fancy's eye beheld a form recline. 
Of lunar race, but so resembling thine 
That, oh ! 'twas but fidehty in mo. 
To fly, to clasp, and worship it for thee. 
No aid of words the unbodied soul re- 

quu'es. 
To waft a wish or embassy desires ; 
But by a power, to spirits only given, 
A deep, mute impulse, only felt in heav 
en, [mer skiea 

Swifter than meteor shaft through sum- 
From soul to soul the glanced idea flies. 

rites showed a little of this superstition about 
the memory of their mistresses, 

§ Socrates, who used to console himself in 
the society of Aspasia for those " less endear- 
ing ties" which he found at home with Xantip. 
pe. For an account of tliis exliaoidinary crea- 
ture, Aspasia, and her school of erudite luxury 
at Athens, see L'Histoire de I'Acadeniie, &c. 
torn. xxxi. p. 69. S6gur rather fails on the in- 
spiring subject of Aspasia.—" Les Femmes," 
tom. i. p. 122. 

The nutlior of the " Voyage du Monde de 
Descartes" has also placed these philosopliers in 
themoon, and hasallottedseigncuriestothem.as 
well as to the astronomers, (part ii. p. li:} ;) but 
he ought not to have forgotten their wives and 
mistresses ; " curre non ipsa in morte reliu- 
quunt." 

II There are some sensible letters extant un- 
der the name of this fair Pythagorean. They 
are addressed to her female friends upon the 
education of children, the treatmeut of ser- 
vants, &c. One, in particular, to Nicostrata, 
whose husband had given her reasons fi>r ieal- 
ousy, contains such truly considerate and ra- 
tional advice, that it ought to be tran.slated for 
the edification of all married ladies. See Gale's 
Opuscul. Myth. Phys. p. 741. 

IT Pythagoras was remarkable for fine hair, 
and Doctor Thiers (in his Histoire des Per- 
ruques) seems to take forgranted it was allhia 
own; as he has not mentioned him among 
those aiicieuts who were obliged to have r& 
course to tlio " coma apposititia." L'Histoire 
des Perruques, chapitre i. 



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150 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



Oh, my beloved, how divinely sweet 
Is the pm-e joy, when kindred spuits 

meet ! 
Like him, the river-god,* whose waters 

flow, 
With love their only light, through caves 

below, 
"Waftiug iu triumph all the flowery braids, 
And festal rings, with which Olympic 

maids 
Have deck'd his eun-ent as an ofiering 
To lay at Arethusa's shining feet, [meet 
Think, when he meets at last his foun- 
tain-bride, [tide ! 
What perfect love must thrill the blended 
Each lost in each, till, mingling into one, 
Then* lot the same for shadow or for sun, 
A type of true love, to the deep they run. 
'Twas thus — 

But, Theon, 'tis an endless theme, 
And thou grow'st weary of my half-told 

dream. 
Oh would, my love, we were together 

now, [brow. 

And I would woo sweet patience to thy 
And make thee smile at all the magic 

talcs 
Of starlight bowers and planetary vales, 
Which my fond soul, inspired by thee 

and love, 
In slumber's loom hath fancifully wove. 
Bat no ; no more — soon as to-morrow's 

ray 
O'er soft missus shall have died away, 
I'll come, and, while love's planet in the 

west, [rest. 

Shines o'er our meeting, tell thee all the 



TO CLOE. 

IMITATED FROM MARTIAL. 

I COULD resign that eye of blue, 
Howe'er its splendor used to thrill me ; 

And ev'n that cheek of roseate hue, — 
To lose it, Cloe, scarce would kill me. 

That snowy neck I ne'er should miss. 
However much I've raved about it ; 

And sweetly as that lip can kiss, 
I think I could exist without it. 

In ehort, so well I've leam'd to fast, 
That, sooth my love, I know not 

whether 
* Tho river Alpheus, which flowed by Pisa 
or Olympia. and into which it was customary 
to throw offerinfi's of different kinds, during the 
celebration of the Olympic games. In the pret- 
ty romance of ClitophoE aad Leucippe, the 



I might not bring myself at last. 
To— do without you altogether. 



THE WEEATH AND THE CHAIN. 

I BRING thee, love, a golden chain, 
I bring thee, too, a flowery wreath ; 

The gold shall never wear a stain. 
The flow'reta long shall sweetlj 
breathe. 

Come, tell me which the tie shall be, 

To bind thy gentle heart to me. 

The chain is form'd of golden threads, 

Bright as Minerva's yellow hair, 
When the last beam of evening sheds 

Its calm and sober lustre there. 
The Wreath's of brightest myrtle wove, 

With sun-lit drops of bliss among it, 
And many a rose-leaf, cull'd by Love, 

To heal his b'p when bees have stung it. 
Come, tell me which the tie shall be,' 
To bind thy gentle heart to me. 

Yes, yes, I read that ready eye, [loath. 

Which answers when the tongue ia 
Thou lik'st the form of either tie, [both. 

And spread'st thy playful hands for 
Ah ! — if there were not something wrong. 

The world would see them blended oft : 

Tho Chain would make the Wreath so 

strong ! [soft ! 

The Wreath would make the Chain so 
Then might the gold, the flow'rets be, 
Sweet fetters for my love and me. 

But, Fanny, so unbless'd they twine. 

That (Heaven alone can tell the reason) 
When mingled thus they cease to shine. 

Or shine but for a transient season. 
Whether the Chain may press too much. 

Or that tho Wreath is slightly braided. 
Let but the gold the flow'rets touch. 

And all their bloom, their glow is 
Oh ! better to be alwaj s free, [faded I 
Than thus to bind my love to me. 

The timid girl now hung her head, 

And, as she turu'd an upward glance, 
I saw a doubt its twOight spread 

Across her brow's divine expanse. 
Just then, the garland's brightest rose 

Gave one of its love-breathing sighs — 
Oh ! who can ask how Fanny chose, 
river is supposed to carry these offerings 
as bridal gifts to the fountain Arethusa. Kai 
6771 rrjv ApeOovaav ovno toi' AA<;>etoi' I'U^i^o. 
(TToAei. oral' ovv q Twi' oKvfi.n-ui' Toprrj, ic. T V 

Lib. L 




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JUYElflLE POEMS. 



15] 



That ever look'd in Fanny's eyes ? 
" The Wreath, my life, the Wreath 

shall be 
" The tie to bind my soul to thee." 



TO 



And hast thou marked the pensive shade, 
That many a time obscures mj' brow. 

Midst all the joys, beloved maid, 

■Which thou canst give, and only thou ? 

Oh ! 'tis not that I then forget 
The bright looks that before me shine ; 

For never throbb'd a bosom yet 
Could feel their witchery, lake mine. 

When bashful on my bosom hid. 
And blushing to have felt so bless'd, 

Thou dost but lift thy languid hd, 
Again to close it on my breast ;^ 

Yes, — these are minutes all thine own, 
Thine own to give, and mine to feel ; 

Yet ev'n in them, my heart has known 
The sigh to rise, the tear to steal. 

For I have thought of former hours. 
When he who first thy soul possess'd, 

Like me awaked its witching powers, 
Like me was loved, like me was blest. 

Upon his name thy murm'ring tongue 
Perhaps hath all as sweetly dwelt; 

Upon his words thine ear hath hung. 
With transport all as purely felt. 

For him — yet why the past recall, 
To damp and whither present bliss ? 

Thou'rt now my own, heart, spirit, all. 
And Heaven could grant no more than 
this! 

Forgive me, dearest, oh ! for^ve ; 

I would be first, be sole to thee. 
Thou shouldst have but begun to live, 

The hour that gave thy heart to me. 

Thy book of life till then efi'aced, 
• Love should have kept that leaf alone 
On which he fii-st so brightly traced 
That thou wert, soul and all, my own. 

* Love and Psyche are here considered ns 
the active and passive principles of creation, 
and the universe is supposed to have received 
its first haiinonizing impulse from the nuptial 
sympathy between these two powers. A mar- 
riage is generally the first step in cosmogony. 
TimsBus held Form to be the father, and Mat. 



TO 'S PICTUEB. 

Go then, if she, whose shade thou art, 

No more will let thee soothe my pain; 
Yet, tell her, it has cost this heart 

Some pangs, to give thee back again. 
Tell her, the smile was not so dear. 

With which she made thy semblance 
As bitter is the burning tear, [mine. 

With which I now the gift resign. 

Yet go — and could she still restore. 
As some exchange for taking thee. 

The tranquil look which first I wore. 
When her eyes found me calm and 
free ; 

Could she give back the careless flow. 
The spirit that my heart then knew— 

Yet, no, 'tis vain — go, picture, go — 
SmUe at me once, and then — adieu .' 



FEAGMEI^T OF A MYTHOLOGICAL 
HYM¥ TO LOVE.* 

Blest infant of eternity ! 
Before the day-star learn 'd to move, 
In pomp of fire, along his gi-and career 
Glancing the beamy shafts of light 
From his rich quiver to the farthest, 
sphere. 
Thou weii alone, oh Love I 
Nestling beneath the wings of an 
cient Nigiit, [owing thee. 

Where hon'ors seem'd to smile in shad- 
No form of beauty sooth'd thine eye. 
As through the dim expanse it wan- 
der'd wide ; 
No kindred spirit caught thy sigh, 
As o'er the watery waste it ling'ring 
died. 

Unfelt the pulse, unknown the power 
That latent in his heart was sleeping, — 

Oh Sympathy ! that lonely hour 
Saw Love himself thy absence weeping. 

But look, what glory through the dark- 
ness beams, 
Celestial airs along the water glide: — 

ter the mother of the "World ; Elion and Ber- 
outh, I think, are Sanchoniatlio's first spiritual 
lovers, and Mancocapac and his wife intro- 
duced creation amongst the Peruvians. In 
short, Harlequin seems to have studied co* 
mogonies, when he said " tutto il nioudo 6 fat 
to come la nostra famigUa." 




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152 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



"What Spirit art thou, moving o'er the tide 
So beautiful ? oh, not of earth, 
But, iu that glowing hour, the birth 
Of the young Godhead's own creative 
'Tis she ! [dreams. 

Psyche, the firstborn spirit of the air. 
To thee, oh Love, she tm-ns, 
On thee her eyebeam burns : 
Blest hour, before all worlds or- 
They meet— [dain'd to be ! 
The blooming god— the spirit fahr 

Meet in communion sweet. 

Now, Sympathy, the hour is thine ; 

All nature feels" the thrill divine, 

The veil of Chaos is withdrawn, 

And their first kiss is great Creation's 

dawn! 



TO HIS SEREXE HIGHl^ESS THE 
DUKE OF MOXTPBNSIER, 

OK HIS PORTRAIT OF THE LADY ADE- 
LAIDE FORBES. 

Donington Pari; 1802. 
To catch the thought, hy painting's 
spell, 
Howe'er remote, howe'er refined, 
And o'er the kindling canvas tell 
The silent story of the mind ; 

O'er natm-e's form to glance the eye, 
And fix, by mimic light and shade. 

Her morning tinges, ere they fly. 

Her evening blushes, ere they fade;— 

Yes, these are Painting's proudest powers; 
The gift, by which her art divine 

* Though Ihave styled thispoemaDithyram- 
bicOde, 1 cannot i)re.snmeto say that it possess- 
es, in any dPRvee, the characteristics of that 
species of poetry. The nature of the ancient 
Ditlivrarabic is very imperfectly known. Ac- 
cording; to M. Burette, a licentious irrepularity 
of metie, an extravagant research of thought 
and expression, and a rude embarrassed con- 
struction, are among its most distinguishing 
features; and iu allUifse respects, I have but 
too clo>ely, I fear, followed ray models. Burette 
adds, " Ces caracteres des dithyrambes se font 
sentir e cenx qui lisent attentiVement les odes 
de Pindare." — 2Iemoires de VAcad. vol. x. p. 
,306. Tlie same opinion may be collected from 
Schmidfs dissertation upon the subject. I 
think, however, if the Ditliyrambics of Pindar 
were in our possession, we should find that, 
however wild and fanciful, they were by no 
means the tasteless jargon they are represented, 
and tiKit even their irregularity was what Boi- 
leau calls " un beaudesordre." Chiabrera,who 
has been styled the Pindar of Italy, and from 
whom all its poetry upon the Greek model was 
called Chiabreresco, (as Crescimbeui informs 



Above all others proudly towers,— 
And these, oh Prince ! are richly thine. 

And yet, when Friendship sees thee 
trace, 

In almost living truth express'd, 
This bright memorial of a face 

On which her eye deUghts to rest ; 

While o'er the lovely look serene. 
The smile of peace, the bloom of youth. 

The cheek, that blushes to be seen. 
The eye that tells the bosom's truth ; 

■WTiile o'er each line, so brightly true. 
Our eyes with ling'ring pleasm-e rove, 

Blessing the touch whose various hue 
Thus brings to mind the form we love ; 

"We feel the magic of thy art, 
And own it with a zest, a zeal, 

A pleasure, nearer to the heart 
Than critic taste can ever feel. 



THE FALL OF HEBE. 

A DITHYRAMBIC ODE.* 

'TwAS on a day 
TThen the immortals at their banquet 
The bowl [lay ; 

Sparkled with starry dew. 
The weeping of those myriad urns of 
hght, [Power, 

"Within whose orbs, the almighty 
At nature's dawning hour, 
Stored the rich fluid of ethereal soul.t 

Around, [their flight 

Soft odorous clouds, that upward wing 
From eastern isles, 

us, lib. i. cap. 2.) has given, amongst his Yen- 
demmie, a Dithyramljic, "all' uso de' Greci;" 
full of those c"m"pound epithets, wliich, we are 
told, were a chief characteristic of the style, 
{(TwOiTOv; Se Afc|eis €1toi.ovv. — Suid. AiOvpaft,- 

^oSiS.;) such as 

Briglindorato Pegaso 
Nubiealpestator. 
But I cannot suppose that Pindar, even amidst 
oil the license of dithyrambics, would ever have 
descended to ballad-language like the follow-l 
ing : 

Bella Filli. e bella Clori, 
Non piii dar pregio a tue bellezze e taci, 
Che se Bacco fa vezzi alia mie labbra 
Fo le tiche a' vostri baci. 

esser vorrei Coppier, 

E se troppo desire 
Deh fossi io Bottiglier, 

Bime del Cuiabreka, part ii. p. 352. 

t This is a Platonic fancy. The philosopher 

supposes, in liis Timsus, tlint, when the Deity 

had formed the soul of the world, he proeeeded 

to the composition of other souls, in which pro 



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JUTBNTLE POEMS. 



153 



Whi 



(Where they have bathed them in the 
orient ray, [liJl'd,) 

And with rich fra^ance all their bosoms 
In circles flew, and, melting as they flew, 
A liquid daybreak o'er the board distill'd. 

All, all was luxury ! 
All must be luxury, where Lyreus 
His locks divine [smiles. 

Were crown'd 
"With a bright meteor-braid, 
"Which, like an ever-springing wreath 
of vine, 
Shot into brilliant leafy shapes, 
And o'er his brow in lambent tendrils 
)lay'd : 

lile mid the foliage hung, 
Like lucid grapes, 
A thousand clustering buds of light, 
CuU'd from the gardens of the galaxy. 

Upon his bosom Cytherea's head [sung 
Lay lovely, as when first the Syrens 
Her beauty's dawn, [drawn. 
And all the curtains of the deep, un- 
Reveal'd her sleeping in its azure bed. 
The captive deity 
Hung lingering on her eyes and lip. 
With looks of ecstasy. 

jSTow, on his arm, 
In blushes she reposed, [charm, 
And, while he gazed on each bright 
To shade his burning eyes her hand in 
dalliance stole. 

And now she raised her rosy mouth 

The nectar'd wave [to sip 

Lyjeus gave, 

And from her eyelids, half-way closed, 

Sent forth a melting gleam, [bowl : 

Which fell, like sun-dew, in the 

cess, says Plato, he made use of the same cup, 
tliough the ingredients he mingled were not 
quite so pure as for the former ; and having re- 
tined the mixture with a little of his own es- 
sence, he distributed it .among the stars, which 
served as reservoirs of the fluid.— TavT' eiTre 

/cat ttcXlv en-i TOi' npoTcpov Kparrfpa eu lo Tr)i> tov 
TTaiTO? i/zuxtji' Kepanvv; cju.i<ry6, K. T. A. 

*We learn from Tlieophrastus, that the roses 
of Cyrene were particularly fragrant. — Euo<r- 
fxaTa TO. &€ TO. ^v KvpTji'T) poSa. 

tHeraclitus (Physicns) held the soul to bo a 
spark of the stellar essence — "Scintilla stel- 
laris essenti.Te.'— Macuobius, in Somn. Scip. 
lib. i. cap. 14. 

JThecountiy of the Hyperboreans. These 
people were supposed to be placed so far north 
that the north wind could not affect them; they 
lived longer than any other mortals; passed 
their whole time in music and dancing, &o. 



While her bright hair, in mazy flow 

Of gold descending 
Adown her cheek's luxurious glow, 

Hung o'er the goblet's side. 
And was reflected in its crystal tide. 
Like a bright crocus flower, [hour 
Whose sunny leaves, at evening 
With roses of Gyrene blending, ' 
Hang o'er the mirror of some silvery 
stream. 

The Olympian cup 
Shone in the hands [feet 

Of dimpled Hebe, as she wing'd her 
Up 
The empyi-eal mount, [fount ; t 
To drain the soul-drops at their stellar 
And still 
As the resplendent rill 
Gush'd forth into the cup with mant- 
Her watchful care [ling heat, 
Was still to cool its liquid fire 
With snow-white sprinklings of 

that feathery air 
The children of the Pole respire, 
In those enchanted lands, | 
Where life is all a spiing, and north 
winds never blow. 

But oh ! 

Bright Hebe, what a tear. 

And what a blush were thine. 

When, as the breath of every Grace 

Wafted thy feet along the studded sphere. 

With a bright cup for Jove himself to 

drink, [tread, 

Some star, that shone beneath thy 

Raising its amorous head 
To kiss tliose matchless feet, 
Check'd thy career too fleet. 
And all heaven's host of eyes 

&c. But the most extravagant fiction related 
of them is that to which the two lines preced- 
ing allude. It was imagined thnt, instead of 
our vulgar atmosphere, the Hyperboreans 
breathed nothing but feathers! According to 
Herodotus and Pliny, this idea wn,s suggested 
by the quantity of snow which was observed to 
fall in those regions; thus tlie I'oiiner: Ta lii- 
TTTepa etKa^OfTa? Trfv xiova tou; Sxi'Sas re Kai 
Tons nepLOLKOvi; So/ceo) Aeyeti'. — HehODOT. lib. iv. 

cap. 31. Ovid tells the fable otherwise: see 
Metamorph. lib. xv. 

Mr. O'Hiilloran, and some other Irish anti- 
(juarians, have been at great expense of learn- 
ing to prove that the strange country, where 
til ey took snow for feathers, was Ireland, and 
that the famous Abaris was an Irish Druid. 
Mr. Rowland, however, will have It that Aba- 
ris was a AVelshman, and that his name is onlj 
a corruption of Ap Kecs 1 



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154 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Entranced, but fearful all, 
Saw thee, sweet Hebe, prostrate fall 
Upon the bright floor of the azure 
skies,* [lay, 

"Where, mid its stars, thy beauty 
As blossom, shaken from the 
Of a spring thorn, [spray 
Lies mid the liquid sparkles of the mom. 
Or, as in temples of the Paphian shade, 
Thie worshippers of Beauty's queen be- 
hold 
(A.n image of their rosy idol, laid 
Upon a diamond shrine. 

The wanton wind, 
"WTiich had pm-sued the flying fair, 
And sported mid the tresses uncon- 
Of her bright hair, [fined 

N"ow, as she fell, — oh wanton breeze ! 
Ruffled the robe, whose graceful flow 
Hung o'er those limbs of unsunn'd snow, 
Purely as the Eleusinian veil 
Hangs o'er the Mysteries ! t 
The brow of Juno flush' d — 
Love bless'd the breeze I 
The Muses blush'd ; 
And every cheek was hid behind a lyre, 
"While every eye look'd laughing through 
the strings. 

But the bright cup ? the nectar'd draught 

"Which Jove himself was to have quafi'd ? 
Alas, alas, uptum'd it lay 
By the fall'n Hebe's side ; 

"While, in slow lingering drops, th' ethe- 
real tide, [ebb'd away. 

As conscious of its own rich essence, 

"Wlio wasthe Spmtthatremember'dMan, 
In that blest hour, 
And, with a wing of love, 

* It is Seryius, I bpUeve, who mentions this 
unlucky trip which Hebe made in her occupa- 
tion of cup-bearer; and Holfraan tells it after 
him: "Cum Hebe pocula Jovi administrans, 
pei-que hibricum minus caut6 incedens, cecidis- 
set," &c. 

t The arcane symbols of this ceremony were 
deposited in the cista, where they lay relig- 
iously concealed from the eyes of the profane. 
They were generally carried' in the procession 
by an ass ; and hence the proverb, which one 
may so often apply in the world, " asinus por- 
tal mystoria." See the Divine Legation, book 
ii. sect. 4. 

J In the Geoponica, lib. ii. cap. 17. there is a 
fable somewhat like this descent of the nectar 

to earth. Ev ovpai>a> T<ov ^ea>i' eviDXOVnevtov, 
Kai TO^ veKTapoi ttoAAou Trapaxeifiivov, ai'a<r- 
KipTT)<r''t xopff Toi' EpwTa Kai <rv<ra-fi.<Ta.i. tw 
TTTepio rov (cpaTrjpos Tr)V ^atriv, Kat jrept- 
Tpexj/ai mty avToy to Se vtKTap eis Trjv •y')" 



Bmsh'd oft' the goblet's scatter'd 
tears. 
As, trembling, near the edge of heaven 

they ran. 
And sent them floating to our orb be- 
Essence of immortality ! [low ? J 

The shower 
Fell glowing through the spheres ; 
"While all around new tints of bUss, 
N"ew odors and new light, 
Enrich'd its radiant flow. 

Now, with a liquid kiss, 
It stole along the thrilling wire 
Of Heaven's luminovis Lyre,§ 
Stealing the soul of music in its flight ; 
And now, amid the breezes bland, 
That whisper from the planets as they 
roll, 
The bright libation, softly fann'd 
By all their sighs, meandering stole. 
They who, from Atlas' height, 

Beheld this rosy flame 
Descending through the waste ot 
night. 
Thought 'twas some planet, whose em- 
pyreal frame 
Had kindled, as it rapidly revolved 
Around its fervid axle, and dissolved 
Into a flood so bright ! 

The youthful Day, 
"Within his twilight bower, 
Lay sweetly sleeping 
On the ilush'd bosom of a lotos-flower; |1 
"When round him, in profusion weep- 
ing. 
Dropp'd the celestial shower. 

Steeping 
The rosy clouds, that curl'd 
About his infant head, 

€KxvSev, K. T. \. Vid. Autor. de Ee Eust. edit. 
Cantab. 1704. 

§ The constellation Lyra. The astrologers 
attribute great virtues to this sigii in ascen- 
dent!, which are enumerated by Poutano, in 
his Urania: 

Ecce novem cum pectine chordas 

Emodulans, muloetquenovo vagasidera cantu. 
Quo captfe nascentum animse concordia ducunt 
Pectora, &c. 

II The Egyptians represented the dawn of day 
by a joung boy seated upon a lotos. Eire 

.\i-yi'7rT0vs e<upax(os apxi" araToA?)? TraiSio;' i'6- 
oyvov ypatf>oi'Ta^ CTrt Awtcu KaO^^ofxct'ov. — PlU' 

tarch. Trepi TOW jxr) xpa.v e/xfjiCTp. See also his 
Treatise de Isid. ct Osir. Observing that the 
lotos showed its head above water at sunrise, 
and sank again at his setting, they conceived 
the idea of consecrating this flower to Osiris, or 
the suu. 
This symbol of a youth sitting upon a lotos is 



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JUTEXILE POEMS. 



155 



Like myiTh upon the locks of Cupid 
But, when the -wakiug boy [shed. 
Waved his exhaling tresses through 
the sky, 

mom of joy ! — 

The tide divine, 

All glorious xvilh the vermil dye 

It drank beneath his orient eye, 

Distill'd, in dews, upon the world, 

A.nd every drop was -svine, was heavenly 

WINE ! 

Blest be the sod, and blest the flower 
On which descended first that 
shower, 
A.11 fresh from Jove's nectareous springs ; 
Oh far less sweet the flower, the sod, 
O'er which the Spirit of the Kainbow 



The magic mantle of her solar God !" 



RIN-GS AND SEALS. 

Achilles Tatids, lib. ii. 
• Go !" said the angry, weeping maid, 
•• The charm is broken — once betray'd, 
" Never can this wrong'd heart rely 
•' On word or look, on oath or sigh. 
" Take back the gifts, so fondly given, 
"With promised faith and vows to 

heaven ; 
" That little ring which, night and mom, 
"With wedded tmth my baud hath 

worn ; 
*' That seal which oft, in moments blest, 
" Thou hast upon my lip impress'd, 
" And sworn fts sacred spring should be 
'• A fountain seal'dt for only thee ; 
" Take, take them back, the gift and vow: 
" All sullied, los*; and hateful now 1" 

I took the ring — the seal I took, 
While, oh, her every tear and look 
Were such as angels look and shed, 
When man is by the world misled. 
Gently I whisper' d, " Fanny, dear ! 

very frequent on the Abraxascs, or Basilidian 
stcinos. See llontfaucon, torn, ii planeho 158, 
iiiul the "Supplement," &c. torn. ii. lib. rii. 
chap. 5. 

* The ancients esteemed those flowers and 
fi-ees the ST\-eetest upon irhieh the rainbow had 
iippcared to rest ; and the wood they chiefly 
burned in sacrifices, was that which the smile 
iif Iris had couir!crated. Plutarcli. Sympos. 
fib. iv. cap. 2, where (as Vossius remarks) 
Kaioucri, instead of koAoucti, is undoubt- 
edly the penuir.p reading. See Vossius for 
some curiona p^^ricula-ritics of the rainbow. 



" Not half thy lover's gifts are here : 
" Say, where are all the kisses given, 
"From mom to noon, from noon to 

even, — 
" Those signets of true love, worth mora 
" Than Solomon's own seal of yore, — 
" Where are those gifts, so sweet, so 

many? 
" Come, dearest,— give back all if any." 

While thus I whisper'd, trembling too, 
Lest all the nymph had sworn was true^j 
r saw a smile relenting rise 
'Mid the moist aijure uf her eyes. 
Like dayhght o'er a sea of blue, 
While yet in mid-air hangs the dew. 
She let her cheek repose on mine, 
She let my arms around her twine; 
One kiss was half allow'd, and then — 
The ling and seal were hers again. 

TO MISS SUSAN B-CKF— D^ 

ON HER SINGING. 

I MORE than once have heard, at nighi, 
A song, like those thy lip hath given, 

And it was sung by shapes of light, 
vVho look'd and breathed, like thee, of 
heaven. 

But this was all a dream of sleep, 
And I have said, when morning shone, 

"Why should the night- witch, Fano^, 
keep 
" These wonders for herself alone?" 

I knew not then that fate had lent 
Such tones to one of mortal birth ; 

I knew not then that Heaven had sen) 
A voice, a form like thine on earth 

And yet, in all that flowery maze, 
Through which my path of Hie has lei 

When I have heard the sweetest lays 
From lips of rosiest lustre shed ; 

When I have felt the warbled word 
From Beauty's lip, in sweetness vyin^ 

De Origin, et Progress. Idololat. lib. iii. 
cap. 13. 

f " There are gardens, euimosed to be those of 
King Solomon, in the neigtiDorhood of Bethle- 
hem. The friars show a fountain, which, tliey 
say, is the 'sealed fountain' to which the lioly 
spouse in the Canticles is compared; and they 
pretend a tradition, that Solomon shut up these 
sprincs and put his signet upon the door, to 
keep them for his own drinking."— Jfauni/rcH's 
Travels. See also the notes to Mr. Good's 
Translation of the Song of Solomon. 

} The present Duchess of Uamilton. 




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156 



MOORE'S W0RK8. 



With music's o-n-n melodious bird, 
When on the rose's bosom lying ; 

Though form and song at once combined 
Their loveliest bloom and softest thrill. 

My heart hath dgh'd, my ear hath pined 
For something lovelier, softer still:— 

Oh, I have found it all, at last. 
In thee, thou STreetest living lyre 

Through which the soul of song e'er 
pass'd, 
Or feeling breathed its sacred fire. 

AH that I e'er, in -wildest flight 
Of fancy's dreams, could hear or see 

Of music's sigh or beauty's light, 
Is realized, at once, in thee 1 



IMPROMPTU, 

ON LEAVING .SOME FRIENDS. 
C dulccs comitum valete coetus 1 Catullus. 
No, never shall my soul forget 

The fnends I found so cordial-hearted; 
Dear shall be the day we met, 
And dear shall be the night we parted. 

If fond regrets, however sweet, 
Must with the lapse of time decay, 

Tet still, when thus in mirth you meet, 
Fill high to him that's far away 1 

Long be the light of memory found 
Alive within your s-ocial glass ; 

Let that be still the magic round. 
O'er which Oblivion dares not pass. 



A WARNING TO 

Oh fair as heaven and chaste as light ! 
Did nature mould thee all so bright, 
That thou shouldst e'er be brought to 

weep 
O'er languid virtue's fatal sleep. 
O'er shame extiuguish'd, honor fled, 
Peace lost, heart wither'd, feeling dead ? 

No, no ! a star was bom with thee, 
Which sheds eternal purity. 
Tliou hast, within those sainted eyes, 
So fair a transcript of the skies. 
In lines of light such heavenly lore, 
That man should read them and adore. 
Yet have I known a gentle maid 
Whose mind and form were both array'd 
In nature's purest light, Vlke thine ; — 
Who wore that clear, celestial sign. 
Which seems tc mark the brow that's fair 



For destiny's peculiar care : 
Whose bosom too, like Dian's 



OTSTl, 



Was guarded by a sacred zone, 
Where the bright gem of virtue shone; 
Whose eyes had, in their light, a charm 
Against all wrong, and guile, audharm. 
Yet, hapless maid, in one sad hour, 
These spells have lost theu- guardiar 

power ; 
The gem has been beguiled away ; 
Her eyes have lost their chast'ning ray 
The modest pride, the guiltless shame 
The smiles that from reflection came, 
All, all have j.ed, and left her mind 
A faded monument behind ; 
The ruins of a once pure shrine. 
No longer fit for guest divine. 
Oh ! 'twas a sight I wept to see- 
Heaven keep the lost one's fate fron; 

thee ! 



TO 



'Tis time, I feel, to leave thee now, 
While yet my soul is something free ; 

While yet those dangerous eyes allow 
One minute's thought to straj- from 
thee. 

Oh 1 thoubecom'st each moment dearer, 
Every chance that brings me nigj 

Brings my ruin nearer, nearer — [thee, 
I am lost, unless I fly thee. 

Nay, if thou dost, not scorn and hate me> 
Doom me not thus so soon to fall ; 

Duties, fame, and hopes await me, — 
But that eye would blast them all ! 

For, thou hast heart as false and cold 
As ever yet allured or sway'd, 

And couldst, without a sigh, behold 
The ruin which thyself hath made. 

Yet, — could I think that, truly fond, 
That eye but once would smile on me, 

Ev'n as thou art, how far beyond [be ! 
Fame, duty, wealth, that smile would 

Oh ! but to win it, night and day, 
Inglorious at thy feet reclined, 

I'd sigh my dreams of fame away. 
The world for thee forgot, resign'd 

But no, 'tis o'er, and — thus we pare, 
Never to meet again — no, never. 

False woman, what a mind and heart 
Thy treach'iy has undone forever: 




SPIRIT OF JOY. 

' The child who sees the dew of night 
Upon the spangled hedge at morn. 
Attempts to catch the drops of light, 
Abo wounds his finger wiih the thorn. " 



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JUVB^-ILE POEMS. 



157 



WOMAIiT. 

Away, away, you're all the same, 
A smiliug, flutt'rlng, jilting throng ; 

And, wise too late, I burn with shame, 
To think I've been your slave so long. 

Slow to be won, and quick to rove. 
From folly kind, fi-om cunning loath. 

Too cold for Jjliss, too weak for love. 
Yet feigning all that's best in both; 

Still panting o'er a crowd to reign, — 
More joy it gives to woman's breast 

To make ten frigid coxcombs vain, 
Than one true, manly lover blest. 

Away, away — your smile's a curse — 
Oh! blot me from the race of men, 

Eand pitying Heaven, by death or worse, 
If e'er I love such things again. 



TO 



Noaei TO. if)L\TaTa. EURIPIUES. 

Come, take thy harp — 'tis vain to muse 
Upon the gathering ills we see ; 

Ch ! take thy harp and let me lose 
All thoughts of ill in hearing thee. 

Sing to me, love ! — though death were 
near, [get — 

Thy song could make my soul for- 
Nay, nay, in pity, diy that tear, 

All may be well, be happy yet. 

Let me but see that snowy arm 
Once more upon the dear harp lie. 

And I will cease to dream of harm, 
Will smile at fate, while thou art nigb 

Give me that strain of mournful touch, 
We used to love long, long ago. 

Before our hearts had known as much 
As now, alas ! they bleed to know. 

* In Plutarch's Essay on the Decline of the 
Oracles, Cleombrotus, oneof the interlocutors, 
describes an extraordinary in;m whom he had 
met with, after long research, upon the banks 
of the Red Sea. Once in every year, this su- 
pernatural personage appeared to mortals and 
conversed «ith them ; the rest of his time he 
passed among the Genii and the Nymphs, llepi 
T'qu (pvdpav ^a\a.(r<xov fvpoi', avOpoynoi^ ava Trac 
CTOS aira^ ei'TvyxavovTa, raWa Se uvv Tais I'U/i- 
<|)ats, poixacri Kai Sat/xotri, <o? ecJao-Ke. He spokc 
in a tone not far removed from singing, and 
■whenever he opened liis lips, a fragrance tilled 
the place ; <^eeyyo/j.ei'OU Se tov Toirov evcoSia 
KaTei,\*i ''■0" (TTO/JOTO? i]&i(TT0V aTrOTTi'eoi'TO?. 

Trom him Cleombrotus learned the doctrine of 
a plurality of worlds. 

t The celebrated Janus Dousa, a little be- 
fore his death, imagined that he heard a strain 



Sweet notes ! they tell of former peace. 
Of all that look'd so smiliug then, 

Now vanish'd, lost — oh pray thee, cease, 
I cannot bear those sounds again. 

Art tJiou, too, wretched ? yes, thou art 
I see thy tears flow fast with mine — 

Come, come to this devoted heart, 
'Tis breaking, but it still is thine ! 



A VISION OP PHILOSOPHY. 
'TwAS on the Eed Sea coast, at morn 

we met 
The venerable man ;* a healthy bloom 
Mingled its softness with the vigorous 

thought [he spok-i, 

That to wer'd upon his brow ; and, when 
'Twas language sweeten'd iuto song — 

such holy sounds [hear, 

As oft, they say, the wise and virtuous 
Prelusive to the harmony of heaven, 
When death is nigh;t and still, as he 

unclosed 
His sacred lips, an odor, all as bland 
As ocean-breezes gather from the flowers 
That blossom in elysium.t breathed 

around. 
With silent awe we listen'd, while he toit. 
Of the dark veil which many an age had 

hung [man, 

O'er Nature's form, till, long explored by 
The mystic shroud grew thin and lumin- 
ous, [shone thro' : — 
And glimpses of that heavenly form 
Of magic wonders, that were known and 

taught 
By him (or Cham or Zoroaster named) 
Who mused amid the mighty cataclysm, 
O'er his rude tablets of primeval lore ;§ 
And gathering round him, in the sacred 

ark, 

of music in the air. See the poem of TTeinsius. 
" In harmoniara quam paulo ante obitum au- 
dire sibi visus est Dousa." Page 501. 

X ivQa. ixaKapuiV 

va<TOV a.Kea^t66S 
aupai TrepiTTceoutriv av- 
Beixa SexP"O-0V <^Aeyei. PrXPAK. Olymp.ti. 

J Cham, the son of Koah, is supposed to ha vo 
taken with liim into the ark the principal doc- 
trines of magical, or rather of natural ccience, 
which he had inscribed upon some very dura- 
ble substances, in order that they might resist 
the ravages of the deluge, and transmit the so 
crets of antediluvian knowledge to his poster- 
ity. See the extracts made bv Bayle, in his 
article, Cham. Tlic identity of Cham and Zo 
roaster depends upon the authority of Berosus, 
(or rather the impostor Aunius,) and a fe^r 




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r-t-^ 




158 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



The mighty secrets of that former globe, 
Let not the living star of science* sink 
Beneath the \raters, which ingulf d a 

world !— 
Of visions, by Calliope reveal'd 
To him,t who traced upon his typio 

lyre 
The diapason of man's mingled frame, 

more such respectable testimonies. See 
KauJ^'s Apologie pour les Giands Ilorames, 
&c., chap, viii., ■where he takes more trouble 
than is necessary iu refuting this gratuitous 
supposition. 

* Chamum a posteris hnjus artis adiniratori- 
bus Zoroastrum, seu vivum astrum, propter ea 
fuisse dictum et pro Deo habitum. — Bochart. 
Qeograph. Sacr. lib. iv. cap. 1. 

1 Orpheus. — Paulinus, in his Hebdomades, 
cap. ~', lib. iii., has endeavored to show, after 
the PUitonists, that man is a diapason, or oc- 
tave, made up of a diatesseron, -which is his 
soul, aud a diapente, which is his body. Those 
frequent allusions to music, by which the an- 
cient philosophers illustrated their sublime 
theories, must liave tended very much to ele- 
vate the character of the art, aud to enrich it 
with associations of the grandest and most in- 
teresting nature. See a preceding note, for 
their ideas upon tho harmony of the spheres. 
Heraelitus compared the mixture of good and 
evil ill this world to the blended varieties of 
harmony in a musical instrument, (Plutarch, de 
Animse'Procreat.,) and Euryphamus.the Pyth- 
agorean, in a fragment preserved by Stobieus, 
describes human life, in its perfection, as a 
sweet and well-tuned lyre. Some of the an- 
cients were so fanciful as to suppose that the 
operiitions of the memory were regulated by a 
kind of musical cadence, and that ideas oc- 
curred to it " per arsin et thesin," while others 
converted tlie whole man into a mere harmon- 
ized machine, who^e motion depended upon a 
certain tension of the body, analogous to that 
of tbe strings in an instrument. Cicero indeed 
ridicules Ai-istoxenus for this fancy, and says, 
"Let him teach singing, and leave philosophy 
to Aristotle;" but Aristotle himself, though 
decidedly opposed to the harmonic speculations 
of the "Pythagoieans and Platouists, could 
sometimes condescend to enliven his doctrines 
by reference to the beauties of musical^ science; 
as, iu the treatise Ilepi koctixov attributed to 
him, Ka&a-mp he ev xopio, KOpv<f>aiov Karap(av- 
TO?, K. T. A. 

Tlie Abb5 Batteux, in his inquiiy into the 
doctrine of tlie Stoics, attributes to those phi 
losophers the samemode of illustration.;" L'ame 
etoit cause active iroieiv airio?; le corps 
cause passive ri&e tov Trao-xfiv: — I'une agissant 
dans I'autre ; ety prenant, par son action meme, 
nn caract^re. des formes, des modifications, 
qu'elle n'avoit pas par elle-meme ; a peu pr^s 
eommerair, qui, chass6 dans nn instrument de 
tnusique. fait connoitre, par les differens sons 
qu'il produit, les differentes modifications qu'il 
y re9oit." See a fine simile founded upon tliis 
notion in Cardinal Polignac's poem, lib. 5, v. 
734. 

1 Pythagoras is represented in lamblichus as 



And the grand Doric heptachord of hea- 
ven. 
"With all of pure, of wondrous and arcane, 
"Which the grave sons of Mochus, many 

a night. 
Told to the young and bright-hau-'d vis- 
itant [a flow 
Of Carmel's sacred mount, t— Then, m 
descending with great solemnity from Mount 
Carmel, for which reason tlie Carmelites have 
claimed him as one of their fraternity. This 
Mochus or Moschus, with the descendants of 
whom Pythagoras conversed in Phoenicia, and 
from whom he derived the doctrines of atomic 
philosophy, is supposed by some to be tho same 
with Moses. Huett ha"s adopted this idea, 
Demonstration Evangelique, Prop. iv. chap. 2, 
5 7; andLeClerc, among others, has refuted 
It. See Biblioth. Choisie, torn. i. p. 75. It is cer- 
tain, however, that the doctrine of atoms was 
Isuown aud promulgated long before Epicurus. 
" With the lountains of Deraocritus,' says 
Cicero, "the gardens of Epicurus were water- 
ed;" and the learned author of the Intellectual 
System has shown, that nil the early philoso- 
phers, till the time of Plato, were ntomists. 
We find Epicurus, however, boasting that his 
tenets were new and iinliorrowed, and perhaps 
few amongtbe ancients had any stronger claim 
to originality. In truth, if we examine their 
Bcnools of jihilosopby, notwithstanding the pe- 
culiarities which seem to distinguish them from 
each other, we may generally observe that the 
difierence is but verbal and trifling ; and that, 
among those various and learned heresies, there 
is scarcely one to be selected, whose opinion* 
are its ow n, original and exclusive. The doc- 
trine of the world's eternity may be traced 
through all the sects. The continual metem- 
psychosis of Pythagoras, the grand periodic 
year of the Stoics, (at the conclusion of which 
the universe is supposed to return to its origi- 
nal order, and commence anew revolution,), 
the successive dissolution and combination of 
atoms maintained by the Epicureans — all these 
tenets are but different imitations of the same 
geueralbelief in tlie eternity of the world. As 
explained by St. Austin, the periodic year of 
the Stoics disagrees only so far with the idea 
of the Pythagoreans, that instead of an endless 
transmission of the soul through a variety of 
bodies, it restores tho eame body and soul to 
repeat their former round of existence, so that 
the " identical Plato, who lectured in the 
Academy of Athens, shall again and again, at 
certain intervals, during the lapse of eternity, 
appear in the same Academy and resume the 

same functions;" sic eadem tempera 

temporaliumque rerum volumina repeti, iit v g. 
sicut in isto steculo Plato philosoplnis iu nibe 
Atheniensi, in ea schola qu;e Academia dirta 
est, discipulos dociiit, Ita per innunieral>iliii 
retro ssecula, multnm plexis quideni intervallis, 
sed certis, et idem Plato, et eadem civitas, 
eademque schola, iidemque discipuli repetiti et 
per innumerabilia deinde ssecula repetendi sint. 
—De Civitat Dei, lib. xii. cap. 13. Vanini, in 
his dialogues, has given us a similar explication 
of the periodic revolutions of the world. *' EA 



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JUVEXILE POEMS. 



IM 



Of calmer converse, he beguiled ua on 
Through many a maze of Garden and of 
Porch, 

(le causA, qui nunc sunt in nsu ritus, centies 
mi'.lies fiiorunt, totiesque renasceutur quoties 
occidenint" 5-2. 

The ii;ir.i(loxical notions of the Stoics upon 
tlio boautv, the riches, the dominion of their 
imapinarv sag-e, are amonj:^ tiie most distiii- 
guishing'characteristics of their school, and, 
according; to their advocate Lipsius, were pecu- 
liar to that sect. " Priora iila (decreta) quae 
passim inphilosophanlinm scholisfere ol)tinent, 
.ista qiue peculiaria huic sectte et habent con. 
itrndietionem: i.e. puradoxa." — Maimdiict. ad 
Stoic. Fhilos. lib. iii. dissevtat. 2. But it is evi- 
dent (as the Abhe Gamier has remarked, Me- 
moires de I'Acad. torn, xxxv.) tliat even these 
absurdities of the Stoics are borrowed, aud that 
Plato is the source of all their extravagant 
paradoxes. We find their dogma, " dives qui 
sapiens," (which Clement of Alexandria has 
transferred from the Philosopher to the Chris- 
tian, Psedagog. lib. iii. cap. (i,) expressed in the 
prayer of Socrates at the_ end of the Phaidrus, 
il <f)iAe rial' re Kai. aAAoi Offoi Tj)6e ^eot, iotrjTC 
^01 ko.)mj y^vitrQai. Ta.v&o9(v TaftuOei' Se otra e;^a), 
T015 evTO<; etrat )ixot <^tAta' TrKovaiov fie roMt^otjat 

Tof ao4>ov. And many other instances might 
bo adduced from the Avrepao-Tai, the IIoAitiko?, 
&c., to prove that these weeds of paradox 
were all gathered among the bowers of the 
Academy. Hence it is that Cicero, in the pre- 
face to ins Paradoxes, calls them Socratica; 
and Lip.sius, exulting in the patronage of 
Socrates, says: "lUe totus est noster." This 
is, indeed, a coalition, which evinces as much 
as can be wished the confused similitude of an- 
cient philosophical opinions : the father of skep- 
ticism is here enrolled among the founders of 
the Portico; he whose best knowledge was 
that of Ills own ignorance, is called in to author- 
ize the pretensions of the most obstinate dog- 
matists in all antiquity. 

Rntilius, m his Itinerarium, has ridiculed the 
sabb.ith of the Jews, as "lassati mollis imago 
Dei;" but Epicurus gave an eternal holiday to 
his gods, and, rather than disturb the slumbers 
of Olympus, denied at once the interference of 
a Providence. He does not, however, seem to 
have been singular in this opinion. Theophilus 
of Antioch, if he deserve any credit, irapntcs a 
similar belief to Pythagoras: — (^rjai (Ilueayopas) 
Te Twi/ TrarTu)^ ^eovs avdpuiiriav fXiqSiV <l>povTi^iiv, 

And Plutarch, though so hostile to tlio follow- 
ers of Epicurus, has unaccountably adopted 
the very same theological eiTor. Thus, after 
quoting the opinion of Anaxagoras ancl Pluto 
upon (livinity, he adds, Kolvu>^ ow atiapra- 

vovaiu afj.<}}QT€poi^ or: rov ^eou enoi-qtrai' €7rto"Tpe- 
(f>oii(VOi' TMy avepunTLVuiv. — DePlacit. Philosoph. 
lib. i. cap. 7. Plato himself has attributed a 
degree ot indifference to the gods, which is not 
far removed from the apathy of Epiciirus's 
Leaven ; as thus, in his Phileons, where Pro- 

tarchus asks, Ovkow ciko? -ye ovje xaipeiv ^60V9, 
cure TO ifavTioy; and Socrates answers, Ilai'u 
fici' oui' eiKOs, a<Txr}iJLOV yovf avTuiv eKarepov 

yiyvoficvov (crTcv; — while Aristotle supposes a 
still more a^ejird neutrality, aud concludes, by 



Through many a system, where the scat- 

ter'd light 
Of heavenly truth lay, like a broken beam 

no very flattering analogy, that the deity is as 
incapable of virtue as of vice. Kai yap ujo-ttcp 
ov&ev ^rjpiou eo-Ti (ca/cta, ou6' apcTjj, oxjtom ov&e 
^eou. — Ethic. Nicomach. hb. vii. cap. 1. In 
truth, Aristotle, upon the subject of Provi- 
dence, was little more correct than Jlpicurus. 
He supposed the moon to bo the limit of Divine 
interference, excluding, of course, this sublu- 
nary world from its influence. The first defini- 
tion of the world in his treatise Ilfpi Koo-/joi;, 
(if this treatise be really the work of Aristotle,) 
ag.rees, almost verbum verbo, with that iu the 
letter of Epicurus to Pythocles ; and both omit 
the mention of a deity. In his Ethics, too. he 
intimates a doubt whether the gods feel any 
interest in the concerns of mankind.— Ei yat 

Tis CTTin-eAeitt Tiov apBpinirivuiv iino ^euiv ytv^Tai. 

It is true, he adds uianep Sok^i, but even this is 
very skeptical. 

In these erroneous conceptions of Aristotle, 
we trace the cause of that general neglect 
w hicli his philosophy experienced among th3 
early Christians. Plato is seldoui much more 
orthodox, but the obscure enthusiasm of his 
style allowed them to accommodate all his 
fancies to their own purpose. Such glo\A ing 
steel was easily moulded, and Platonism became 
a sword in the hands of the fathers. 

The Providence of the Stoics, so vaunted in 
their school, was a power as contemptibly in- 
efficient as the rest. All was fate in the system 
of the Portico. The chains of destiny were 
thrown over Jupiter himself, and their deity 
was like toe Borgia of the Epigrammatist, "et 
CfBsar et nihil." Not even the language of 
Seneca can reconcile this degradation of divin- 
ity. " Hie ipse omnium conditor oc rector 
scripsit quidem fata, sed sequitiir; semper paret, 
semel jussit." — Lib. deFrorideiitid, cap. 5. 

With respect to the diffeieiKo between the 
Stoics, Peripatetics and Academicians, the fol- 
lowing words of Cicero prove that he saw but 
lictle to distinguish them from each other: — 
"Peripateticos et Academicos, uominibus dilfer- 
entes, re congruentes; a quibus Stoici ipsi rer 
bis magis quam sententiis disseuserunt." — 
Academic, lib. ii. 5 ; and perhaps what Keid has 
remarked upon one of their points of contro- 
versy might be applied as clTectunlly to the 
reconcilement of all the rest. "The dis- 
pute between the Stoics and Peripatetics was 
probably all for want of definition. The one 
said they were good under the control of reason, 
the other tliat they should be eradicated."— 
Essays, vol. iii. In short, it appears a no less 
difficult matter to establish the boundaries of 
opinion between any two o<' the I'hilosoiihical 
sects, than it wouUfbc to fix the landmarks of 
those estat.es in the moon, which Kiecichis so 
generously p.Uotted to his brother astronomers. 
According! jf we observe some of the greatest 
men of antiquity passing without scuplo trom 
school to school, according to the fancy or con- 
venience of the moment. Cicero, the fallier of 
Koiuan philosophy, is sometimes an Academ- 
ician, sometimes a Stoic ; and, more than 
once, he acknowledges a conformity with Ep» 



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160 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



From the pure sun, which, though re- 
fracted all 
Into a thousand hues, is sunshine still,* 
And bright through every change ! — ^he 

spoke of Him, 
The loue,t eternal One, who dwells 

above, 
And of the soul's untraceable descent 
From that high fount of spirit, through 

the grades 
Of intellectual being, tUl it mix 
TTit.U atoms vague, corruptible, and 

dark; 
Nor yet even then, though sunk in earth- 
ly dross, 

curus ; '' non sine causa igitur Epicurus ausus 
est dicere somptT in phiribiis bonis esse sapiea- 
tem, quia semper sit in voluptatibus."— Tiwcm- 
laii. Qucest. lib. v. Though often pure in his 
theology, Cicero sometimes smiles atfuturity as 
a fiction ; thus, in his Oration for Clueutius, 
speaking of punishments in the life to come, he 
says, ' ' QuEB si falsa sunt, id quod omucs intel- 
ligunt, quid ei tandem aliud mors eripuit, 
prseter seusum doloris ?"— though here wo 
should, perhaps, do him but justice by agreeing 
■with his commentator Sylvius, who remarks upon 
this passage, " Hiec autem dixit, ut causie su;e 
subsorviret. " The poet Horace roves like a 
butterfly through the schools, and now wings 
along the walls of the Porch, now basks among 
the flowers of the Garden : while Virgil, with a 
tone of mind strongly philosophical, has yet left 
us wholly uncertain ",'is to the sect he espoused. 
The balance of opinion declares him to have 
been an Epicurean, but the ancient author of 
his life asserts that he was an Academician; 
and we trace through his poetry the tenets of 
almost all the leading sects. The same kind of 
eclectic indifference is observable in most of 
the Roman writers. Thus Propertius, in the tine 
ele J, y to Cynthia, on his departure for Athens, 
lUie vel studiis animura emendare Platonis, 
Incipiam, aut hortis. docte Epicure, tuis. 

Lib. iii. Eleg. 21, 
Though Broeckhusius here reads, "dux Epi- 
cure," which seems to tix the poet under the 
banners of Epicurus. Even the Stoic Seneca, 
whose doctrines have been considered so ortho- 
dox that St. Jerome has ranked him among the 
ecclesiastical writers, while Boccaccio doubts 
(lu consideration of his supposed correspondence 
with St. Paul) whether Dante should have 
placed him in limbo with the rest of the Pagans 
-even the rigid Seneca has bestowed such 
iommendations on Epieuru.s, that if only those 
passages of his works were preserved to us, we 
3ould not hesitate, I think, in pronouncing him 
a confirmed Epicurean. With similar incon- 
sistency, we find Porphyry, in his work upon 
abstinence, referring to Epicurus as an example 
of the most Pythagorean temperance ; and Lan- 
celotti (the aiithor of " Farfalloni degli antiei 
Istorici") has been seduced by this grave repu- 
tation of Epicurus into the absurd error of 
jssociating him with Chrysippus, as a chief of 
the Stoic schooL There "is no doubt, indeed. 



Corrupted all, nor its ethereal touch 
Quite lost, but tasting of the fmrntain still. 
As some bright river, which has roli'd 

along [mines of gold, 

Through meads of flowery light and 
"WTaen pom-'d at length into the dusky 

deep. 
Disdains to take at once its briny taint, 
But keeps unchanged awhile the lustrous 

tinge, 
Or balmy freshness, of the scenes it left4 

And here the. old man ceased — a 

winged train [eyes. 

Of nymphs and genii bore him from our 

that however the Epicurean sect might have 
relaxed from its original purity, the morals of 
its founder were as correct as those of any 
among the ancient philosophers : and his doc- 
trines upon pleasure, as explained in the letter 
to Menoeceus, are rational, amial)le, and con- 
sistent with our nature. A late writer, Do 
Sablons, in his Grands Hommes vengfis, ex- 
presses strong indignation against the iiineyclo- 
p6distes for their just and animated praises of 
Epicurus, and discussing the question, " si co 
philosophe 6toit vertueux," denies it upon no 
other authority than the calumnies collected by 
Plutarch, who himself confesses that, on this 
particular subject, ho consulted only opinion 
and report, without pausing to investigate their 

truth. — AAAa TYiv Su^ai', ov Tr]v oi\r)6sia.v (Tko- 

TTov/ixei'. To the factious zeal of his illiberal 
rivals, the Stoics, Epicurus chiefly owed these 
gross misrepresentations of the life and opinions 
of himself and his associates, which, notwith- 
standing the learned exertions of Gassendi, 
have still left an odium on the name of his phi- 
losophy ; and we ought to examine the ancient 
accounts of this philosopher with about the 
same degree of cautious belief which, in read- 
ing ecclesiastical history, we yield to the invec- 
tives of the fathers against the heretics, — trust- 
ing as little to Plutarch upon a dogma of Epi- 
curus, as we would to the vehement St. Cyril 
upon a tenet of Nestorins. (IS'Jl.) 

The preceding remarks, I wish the reader to 
observe, were written at a time when I thought 
the studies to which they refer much more 
important as well as more amusing than, I 
freely confess, they appear to me at present. 

* Lactantius asserts that all the truths of 
Christianity may be found dispersed through 
the ancient philosophical sects, and that any 
one who would collect these scattered frag- 
ments of orthodoxy might form a code in no 
respect differing from that of the Christian. 
'• Si extitisset aliquis, qui veritatem sparsam 
per siugnlos per seotasque diffusara coUigeret 
in unum, ac redigeret in corpus, is profectc non 
dissentiret a nobis." — Inst. lib. vi. c. 7. 

t To noi'ov Kai. sprttiov. 

t This bold Platonic image I have taken from 
a passage in Father Bouehet's letter upon the 
Matem psychosis, inserted in Picart's C6r6m- 
Eelig. torn, iv, 



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JUVENILE POEMS. 



161 



The fair illusion fled ! and, as I waked, 
'T was clear that my rapt soul had roaui'd 

the while, [spu'it-world, 

To that bright realm of dreams, that 
Which mortals know by its long track 

of light 
O'er midnight's sky,and call the Galaxy.* 



TO MRS. 



To see thee every day that came, 
To find thee still each day the same ; 
In pleasure's smile, or soitow's tear 
To me still ever kind and dear;— 
To meet thee early, leave thee late. 
Has been so long my bliss, my fate, 
That life, without this cheering ray, 
Which came, like sunshine, every day. 
And all my pain, my sorrow chased, 
Is now a lone and loveless waste. 

"Where are the chords she used to 

touch ? 
The airs, the songs she loved so much ? 
Those songs are hush'd, those chords are 

still, 
And so, perhaps, will every thi-iU 
Of feeling soon be lull'd to' rest, 
Which late I waked in Anna's breast. 
Yet, no— the simple notes I play'd 
From memory's tablet soon may fade ; 
The songs, which Anna loved to hear. 
May vanish from her heart and ear ; 
But friendship's voice shall ever find 
An echo in that gentle mind, 
J^or memory lose nor time impair 
The sympathies that tremble there. 

TO LADY HEATHCOTB, 

ON AN OLD RING FOUND AT TUN- 
BRIDGE- WELLS. 

" Tunnebridge est a la meme distance tie Lon- 
dros, que Fontainebleau Test de Paris. Ce gu'il 
y a de beau et de palant dans I'lia et dans 
I'autre sexe s'y rassemblo au tems des eaux. 
La compagnie," <fcc. &c. See Memoires de 
Orammont, Second Pai t, chap. iii. 

Tunbridge "Wells. 
When Grammont graced these happy 
springs, 
And Tunbridge saw, upon her Pantiles, 

* Accordinj^ to Pythaporas, the people of 
Dreams ore souls collected tofretlier in the 

<.T"lax_y. — Ar);nos Be ovapiov, KaranvBayopav, ai 
^vxai. a? <Tvi'nye<T6ai (jirfcnv eis TOi' yaAaf lac. — 

Porphyr. de Antro Nyviph. 



The merriest wight of all the kings [isles; 
That ever ruled these gay, gallant 

Like us, by day, they rode, they walk'd, 
At eve, they did as we may do. 

And Grammont just like Spencer talk'd, 
And lovely Stewart smiled like you. 

The only different trait is this, 

That woman then, if man beset her, 

Was rather given to saying "yes," 
Because, — as yet, she knew no better. 

Each night they held a coterie, 
Where, every fear to slumber charma. 

Lovers were all they ought to be. 
And husbands not the least alarm'd. 

Then call'd they up their school day 
pranks, [n ;ath 

Nor thought it much their sense. be- 
To play at riddles, quips, and cranks, 

And lords show'd wit, and ladiesteeth: 

AS — "Why are husbands like the mint ?" 
Because, forsooth, a husl)and's duty 

Is but to set the name and print 
That give a currency to beauty. 

" Why is a rose in nettles hid 

" Like a young widow, fresh and fair?" 

Because 'tis sighing to be rid 

Of weeds, that "have no business 
there !" 

And thus they miss'd and thus they hit, 

And now they struck and now they 
parried ; 
And some lay in of full grown wit. 

While others of a pun miscarried. 
'Twas one of those facetious nights 

That Grammont gave this forfeit ling 
For breaking grave conundrum-rites. 

Or punning Ul, or — some such thing:— 

From whence it can be fairly traced, 
Through many a branch and many a 
bough. 

From twig to twig, until it graced 
The snowy hand that wears it now. 

All this I'll prove, and then, to you. 
Oh Tunbridge I and your springs 
ironical, 

I swear by Heathcote's eye of blue 
To dedicate the important chronicle. 

Long may your ancient inmates give 
Their mantles to your modern lodgers. 

And Charles's loves in Heathcote live, 
And Charles's bards revive in Rogers 



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162 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Let no pedantic fools be there ; 

Forever be those fops aholish'd, 
With heads as wooden as thy -wai-e, 

And, Heaven knows! not half Jso pol- 
ish'd. 

But still receive the young, the gay, 
The few who know the rare delight 

Of reading Grammont every day, 
And acting Grammont every night. 



THE DEVIL AMOK"a THE SCHOL- 
ARS, 

A FRAGMENT. 
Tl KdKOV b 7eAa)? ; 

Chkysost. Hotnil. in Episi. ad Sebrmos. 

But, whither have these gentle ones, 
These rosy nymphs and black-eyed nuns. 
With all of Cupid's wild romancing, 
Led my truant brains a dancing '? 
Instead of studying tomes scholastic, 
Ecclesiastic, or monastic. 
Off I fly, careering far 
In chase of Pollys, prettier far 
Than any of their namesakes are, — 
The Polymaths and Polyhistors, 
Polyglots and all their sisters, 
go iiave I known a hopeful youth 
Sit down in quest of lore and truth, 
With tomes sufficient to confound him, 

* !Mamurra, a dopmatic philosopher, who 
npver doubted about any thing:, except who was 
his fiither. — " Nulla dn re unquam prseterqiiam 
de patre diibitavit." — In Yit. He was very 
learned— "Li-dedaiis.ithF.t is. inhis headwhen 
It was opened.) le Punique lieiirto le Persan, 
I'H^breu choquo I'Araljique, pour ne point par- 
icr de la manvaise intelliiipneedu Latin avoc le 
Grec,"&c.— Sec L' Histoirede Montmaur, torn. 
Q. p. 91. 

t Borabastus was one of the names of that 
g:reat scholar and quack Paracelsus — '' Philip- 
pus Borabastus latet sub splendido tesmine 
Aureoli I'heoplirasti Paracelsi," says Stadelius 
de circnmforanea. Literatonira va'nitate.— He 
used to lig^ht the devil everyiiijyht with a broad- 
swonl. to the no small terror of his pupil Opor- 
inus, who has recorded the circumstance. (Vide 
Oporin. Vit. apud Chiistian.Gryph.Vit. Select, 
quorundam Eruditissimorum, &c.) Paracelsus 
had but a poor opinion of Galen: — "My very 
beard (says hi^ in his Paragrisnum) has more 
learning in it than cither Galen or Avicenna." 

J The angel who scolded St. .Terome for read- 
in;; Cicero.'as Gratian tells the story in his 
" Concordantia discordantiura Canonum," and 
says, that for this reason bishoiis were not al- 
lowed to read the Classics : " Episcopus Gen- 
tilium libros non legat." — Ihstinct. 37. But 



Like Tohu Bohu, heap'd around him,— 
Mamiura* stuck to Theophrastus, 
And Galea tumbliug o'er Bombastus.t 
When lo ! while all that's leam'd and 

wise 
Absorbs the boy, he lifts his eyes, 
And through the window of his study 
Beholds some damsel fair and ruddy, 
With eyes, as brightly tum'd upon nim as 
The angel'st were on Hieronymus. 
Quick liy the folios, widely scatter'd, 
Old Homer's laureli'd brow is batter'd, 
And Sappho, headlong sent, flies just in 
The reverend eye of St. Augustin. 
Raptm-ed he quits each dozing sage. 
Oh woman, for thy lovelier page : 
Sweet book ! — unlike the books of art, — 
Whose errors are thy fairest part ; 
In whom the dear errata column 
Is the best page in all the volume !$ 

But to begin my subject rhyme— 
'Twas just about this devilish time. 
When scarce there happen'd any frolics 
TLat were not done by Diabolics, 
A cold and loveless sou of Lucifer, 
Who woman scoru'd, nor saw the use o. 
A branch of Dagon's family, [her, 

(Which Dagon, whether He or She, 
Is a dispute that vastly better is 
Referr'd to Scaliger* et cceteris,) 
Finding that, in this cage of fools, 
The wisest sots adorn the schools, 

Gratian is notorious for lying— besides, angels, 
as the illustrious pupil of Pantenus assures UB, 
liavo got no tongues. Ovx' <"? riixiv ra lora, 
ouTios cKfU'ois 17 yAioTTa* ovS' av opyava Tts Swi; 
(|>o)ir)? ay-yeAois. — Clem. Alexatid. Stromat. 

J The idea of the Eabliins, respecting the 
(iriiriu of women, is not a little singular. They 
think that man was oriuiiiidly formed with a 
tail, like a monkey, buttiiat tlie Deity cut off 
this appendage, and made woman of it. Upon 
this extraordinary supposition the folio wiiig re- 
flection is founded — 
If such is the tie between women and men, 

The ninny who weds is a pitiful elf, 
For ho takes to his tail like an idiot again, 

And tfcus makes a deplorable ape of himself. 
Yet, if we may judge as the fashions prevail, 

Every husband remembers th' original plan. 
And, knowing his wife is no more thau his tail. 

Why he — leaves her behind him as much as 
he can. 

* Scaliger. de Emendat. Tempor.— Dagon 
was thought by others to be a certain sea- 
monster, who came every day ont of the Red 
Sea to teach the Syrians husbandry.— See 
Jacques Gatfarel, (Curiosit^s inouies, chap, i..' 
who says he thinks this story of the sea monstel 
I " carries little sliow of probability with it" 



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JUVEJ7ILE POEMS. 



163 



Took it at once his head Satanic in. 
To grow a great scholastic manildn, — 
A doctor, quite as leam'd and fine as 
Scotus John or Tom Aquinas,* 
Lully, Hales IiTefragaliilis, 
Or any doctor of the rabble is. 
In languages,! the Polyglots, 
Compared to him, were Babel sots ; 
He chattei-'d more than ever J ew did, 
Sanhedrim and Priest included ; — 
Priest and holy Sanhedrim 
Were one-and-seventy fools to him ; 
But chief the learaed demon felt a 
Zeal so strong for gamma, delta, 
That, all for Greek and learning's glory,t 
He nightly tippled " Greeco more," 
And never paid a bill or balance 
Except upon the Grecian Kalends : — 
From whence your scholars, when they 

want tick, 
Say, to be Attic 's to be on tick; 
In logics he was quite Ho Panu,$ 
Knew as much as ever man knew. 
He fought the combat syllogistic 
With so much skill and art eristic, [rite, 
That though you were the learn'd Stagi- 
At once upon the hip he had you right. 

* I wish it were linown with any decree of 
certainty whether the Commentary ou Bocthius 
attributed to Thomas Aquinas be really the 
work of this Angelic Doctor. There are some 
bold assertions hazarded in it: for instance, he 
says that Plato kept school in a towu called 
Academia, and that Alcibiades was a very 
beautiful woman whom some of Aristotle's pu- 
pils fell in love with :— " Alcibiades mulier fnit 
plucherrinia, quam vidoites quidam discipuli 
Aristotelis," &c.— See Freytag Adparat. Lit- 
lerar. art. 86, torn. i. 

f The following: compliment was paid to Lau- 
rentius Valla, upon his accurate knowledge of 
the Latin language:— 

Nunc postquam manes defunctos Valla petivit, 
Non audet Pluto verba Latina loqui. 

Since Val arrived in Pluto's shade. 
His nouns and pronouns all so pat in, 

Pluto himself would be afraid 
To say his soid's his own in Latin ! 

See for these lines the"Auctorum Censio" 
of Du Verdier (page '^9.) 

X It is much to be regretted that Martin Lu- 
ther, with all his talents for reforming, should 
yet be vulgar eiiougli to laugh at Camerarius 
"for writing to him in Greek. " Master Joachim 
(says he) has sent me some dates and some 
raisins, and has also written me two letters in 
Greek. As soon as I am recoyered, I sliall 
answer them in Turkish, that he too may have 
the pleasure of reading what he does not "under- 
stand." " Graeca sunt, legi non possunt," i^ the 
ignorant Bpeeoh attributed to Accursius ; but 



In music, though he had no ears 

Except for that among the spheres 

(Which most of all, as he aven-'d it, 

He dearly loved, 'cause no one heard ^1^' 

Yet aptly he, at sight, could read 

Each tuneful diagram iu Bede, 

And find, by Euclid's corollaria. 

The ratios of a jig or aria. 

But, as for all your warbling Dehas, 

Orpheuses and Saint Cecilias, 

He own'd he thought them much sur 

pass'd . 
By that redoubted Hyaloclast |1 
Who still contrived by dint of throttle, 
Where'er he went to crack a bottle. 

Likewise to show his mighty knowl- 
edge, he. 
On things unknown in physiology. 
Wrote many a chapter to" divert us, 
(Like that great little man Albertus,) 
Wherein he show'd the rea,sou why, 
When children first are heard to cry, 
If boy the baby chance to be, 
He cries A !— if giri, F!— 
Which are, quoth he, exceeding fair hints 
Eespectiug their first sinful parents ; 

very unjustly :— for, far from asserting that 
Greek could not be read, that worthy juris- 
consult upon the Law 6. de Bonor. Possess, ex- 
pressly says. " GrsecsB literae possimt intelligi 
et legi." (Vide Nov. Libror, Rarior. Collec- 
tion. Fascic. IV.)— ScipioCarteromachus seems 
to have been of opinion that there is no salva- 
tion out of the pale of Greek Literature : •' Via 
prima salutis Graia, pandeturab urbe : " and 
the zeal of Laurentius Khodomannus cannot be 
sufficiently admired, when he exhorts his coun- 
trymen, '"'per ploriara Christi, per salutera 
piitrifB, per reipublicse decus et emolumentum," 
to study the Greek language. Nor must we 
forget Phavorinus, the excellent Bishop of 
Nocera, who, careless of all the usual curamcn- 
dations of a Christian, required no further eu- 
logium on his tomb than " Here lieth a Greek 
Lexicographer." 

§'0 vavv. — The introduction of this language 
into English poetry has agood rrtV^t. nmlduirlit 
to be more universally adojit'il A wmd or 
two of Greek in a stanza would .s(>r\e .is liallast 
to the most "light o'love " vi'i.sivs. xVu.snuius, 
among the ancients, may serve as a modtl : — 

Ou yap fiOi ,je/iii? eo-Tic in hac regione jUcroi'Tl 
Aftoi/ ab nostris emSevea esse Ka/xrivai^. 

Ronsard, the French poet, has euriolied his 
sonnets and odes with manv an excellent nuir- 
sel Irom the Lexicon, flis "chere Eiitcle- 
chie," in addressing his mistress, can only be 
equalled by ('owley's " Antiperistasis." 

II Or Glass-Breaker. — MorhoSus has given an 
account of this extraordinary man, in a work, 
Dublished IbtfcJ, — ' ' De vitreoscypho fracto,"&c. 



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164 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



"Oh Eve !" exclaimeth little madam, 
While little master cries, " Oh Adara!"* 

But 'twas in Optics and Dioptrics, 
Our dsemou play'd his first aud top tricks. 
He held that sunshine passes quiclier 
ThTvjugh wine than any other liquor ; 
And though he saw no great objection 
To steady'light aud clear reflection, 
He thought the aberrating rays, 
Which play about a bumper's blaze, [on, 
Were by the doctors loolc'd, in common. 
As a more rare and rich phenomenon. 
He wisely said that the sensorium 
Is for the eyes a gi'eat emporium, 
To which these noted picture-stealers 
Send all they can and meet with dealers. 
In many an optical proceeding 
The brain, he said, show'd great good- 
breeding : 
For instance, when we ogle women 
(7V trick which Barbara tutor'd him in,) 
Although the dears are apt to get in a 
Strange position on the retina, 
Tet iustantly the modest brain 
Doth set them on their legs again !t 

Our doctor thus, with " stuflPd suf- 
ficiency" 

* Translated almost literally from a passage 
In Albertus do Secretis. &c. 

tAUuding- to that habitual act of the judg- 
ment, by Tvhich, notwithstanding the inversion 
«9f the image upon the retina, a correct impres- 
sion of the object is conveyed to the senso- 
rium. 

* Under this description, I believe " the Devil 
4mong the Scholars may be included. Tet 

ipibnitz found out the uses of incomprehen- 
ibility, when he was appointed secretary to a 
ociety of philosophers at Nuremberg, chiefly 
JT J*'^ isKenuity in writiBg a cabalistical letter. 



Of all omnigenous omnisciency. 
Began (as who would not begin 
That had, like him, so much within ?) 
To let it out in books of all sorts, 
FoMos, quartos, large and small sorts; 
Poems, so very deep and sensible 
That they were quite incomprehensible ;i 
Prose, which had been at learning's Fair, 
And bought up all the trampery there, 
The tatter'd rags of every vest. 
In which the Greeks and "Romans di'ess'd» 
And o'er her figure swoU'u and antic 
Scattei-'d them all with airs so frantic, 
That those, who saw what fits she haclj 
Declared imhappy Prose was mad ! 
Epics he wrote and scores of rebuses. 
All as neat as old Tumebus's ; 
Eggs aud altars, cyclopaedias. 
Grammars, prayer-books — oh ! 'twera 

tedious, 
Did I but tell the half, to follow me ; 
Not the scribbling bard of Ptolemy, 
i^To — nor the hoary Trismegistus, 
(Whose writings all, thank heaven! 

have miss'd us,) 
E'er fill'd with lumber such a wareroom 
As this great " porcus literarum !" 



not one word ofwhich either they or himself couW 
interpret. See the Eloge Historique de M. de 
Leibnitz, TEurope Savante.— People in ullages 
have loved to be puzzled. "We find Cicero 
thanking Atticus for having sent him a work of 
Serapion " ex quo (says ho) quidem ego (quid 
inter nos liceat dicere) millesimum partem vix 
intelligo." Lib. ii. epist. 4. And we know that 
Avicenna, the learned Arabian, read Aristotle's 
Metaphysics forty times over for the mere 

Elensure of being able to inform the world that 
e could not comprehend one syllable through 
out them. (Nicolas Maasa in Vit AviceuJ 



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POEMS EELATING TO AMERICA. 165 



POEMS EELATING TO AMERICA. 



TO PRAN"CIS, EAEL OF MOIRA, 

GENERAL IN HIS MAJESTY'S FORCES, 
MASTER-GENERAL OF THE ORDNANCE, 
CONSTABLE OF THE TOWER, ETC. 

My Lord, — It is impossible to think of 
addressing a Dedication to your Lord- 
ship without calling to mind the well- 
known reply of the Spartan to a rheto- 
rician, who proposed to pronounce an eu- 
logium on Hercules. " On Hercules !" 
said the honest Spartan, " who ever 
thought of blaming Hercules?" In a 
similar manner the concurrence of pub- 
jic opinion has left to the panegyrist of 
your Lordship a very superfluous task. 
1 shall, therefore, be silent on the sub- 
ject, and merely entreat your indulgence 
to the veiy humble tribute of gratitude 
which I have here the honor to present. 

I am, my Lord, 
With every feeling of attachment 
and respect. 
Your Lordship's very devoted Servant, 
THOMAS MOORE. 
27 Bury Street, St. James's, 
April 10, 1806. 



PREFACE.* 

The principal poems in the following 
collection were written during an ab- 
sence of fourteen months from Europe. 
Though curiosity was certainly not the 
motive of my voyage to America, yet it 
happened that the gratification of curi- 
osity was the only advantage which I 
derived from it. Finding myself in the 
country of a new people, whose infancy 
had promised so much, and whose prog- 

* This Preface, as well as the Dedication 
which precedes it, were prefixed orifiinnlly to 
the miscellaueous volume eutitlcd " Odes and 



ress to maturity has been an object of 
such interesting speculation, I deter- 
mined to employ the short period of 
time which my plan of return to Europe 
aflbrded me, in travelling through a few 
of the States, and acquiring some knowl- 
edge of the inhabitants. 

The impression which my mind re- 
ceived from the character and manners 
of these republicans, suggested the Epis- 
tles which are written from the city of 
Washington and Lake Erie.t How far 
I was right, in thus assuming the tone 
of a satirist against a people whom I 
viewed but as a stranger and a visiter, is 
a doubt which my feelings did not allow 
me time to investigate. All I pre-ume 
to answer for is the fidelity of the picture 
which I have given ; and though pru- 
dence might have dictated gentler lan- 
guage, truth, I think, would have justi- 
fied severer. 

I went to America with prepossessions 
by no means unfavorable, and indeed 
rather indulged in many of those illusive 
ideas, with respect to "ihe purity of the 
government and the primitive happiness 
of the people, which I had early imbibed 
in my native coimtry, where, unfortu- 
nately, discontent at home enhances 
every distant temptation, and the west- 
ern world has long been looked to as a 
retreat from real or imaginary oppres- 
sion ; as, in short, the elysian Atlantis, 
where persecuted patriots might find 
their visions realized, and be welcomed 
by kindred spirits to liberty and repose. 
In all these flattering expectations I 
found myself completely disappointed, 
and felt inclined to say to America, as 
Horace says to his mistress, " intentata 

Epistles," of which, hitherto, the poems relat 
ill;' to mv Americnn tour have formed ii part- 
t Epistles VI., VIi., and VUl. 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 



nites." Brissot, in the preface to his 
travels, observes, that " freedom in that 
country is carried to so high a degi-ee as 
to border upon a state of nature;" and 
there certainly is a close approximation 
to savage life, not only in the liberty 
■which they enjoy, but in the violence of 
party spirit and of private animosity 
which results from it. This illiberal zeal 
imbitters all social intercourse ; and, 
though I scarcely could hesitate in se- 
lecting the party whose views appeared 
to me the more pure and rational, yet I 
am sorry to observe that, in asserting 
their opinions, they both assume an 
equal share of intolerance ; the Demo- 
crats, consistently with their principles, 
exhibiting a vulgarity of rancor, which 
the Federalists too often are so forgetful 
of their cause as to imitate. 

The rude familiarity of the lower or- 
ders, and indeed the unpolished state of 
society in general, woiUd neither sur- 
prise nor disgust if they seemed to flow 
from that simplicity of character, that 
honest ignorance of the gloss of refine- 
ment, which may be looked for in a new 
and inexperienced people. But, when 
we find them arrived at maturity in most 
of the vices, and all the pride of civili- 
zation, while they are still so far re- 
moved from its higher and better char- 
acteristics, it is impossible not to feel 
that this youthful decay, this crude an- 
ticipation of the natural period of cor- 
ruption, must repress every sanguine 
hope of the future energy and greatness 
of America. 

I am conscious that, in venturing 
these few remarks, I have said just 
enough to ofiend, and by no means suf- 
ficient to convince ; for the limits of a 
preface prevent me from entering into a 
justification of my opinions, and I am 
committed on the subject as effectually 
as if I had written volumes in their de- 
fence. My reader, however, is apprized 
of the very cursory observation upon 
which these opinions are founded, and 
can easily decide for himself upon the 
degree of attention or confidence which 
they merit. 

With respect to the poems in general, 
which occupy the following pages, I 
know not in what manner to apologize 
to the public for intruding upon their 
notice such a mass of unconnected tri- 



fles, such a world of epicurean atoms as I 
have here brought in conflict together.* 
To say that I have been tempted by the 
liberal ofliers of my bookseller, is an excuse 
which can hope for but little indulgence 
from the critic ; yet I own that, without 
this seasonable inducement, these poems 
very possibly would never have been 
submitted to the world. The glare ot 
publication is too strong for such imper 
feet productions : they should be shown 
but to the eye of friendship, in that dim 
light of privacy which is as favorable to 
poetical as to female beauty, and serves 
as a veil for faults, while' it enhances 
every charm which it displays. Besides, 
this is not a period for the idle occu- 
pations of poetry, and times like the 
present requfre talents more active and 
more useful. Few have now the leisure 
to read such trifles, and I most sincerely 
regret that I have had the leism-e to 
write them. 



POEMS RELATING TO 
AMERICA. 



TO LORD VISCOUN^T STRANG- 
FORD. 

ABOARD THE PHAETON FRIGj\TE, OFF THE 
AZOKES, BY MOONLIGHT. 

Sweet Moon ! if, like Crotona's sage.t 

By any spell my hand could dare 
To make thy disk its ample page. 

And write my thoughts, my wishes 
there ; 
How many a friend, whose careless eye 
Now wanders o'er that starry sky. 
Should smile, upon thy orb to meet 
The recollection, kind and sweet, 
The reveries of fond regret. 
The promise, never to forget. 
And all my heart and soul would send 
To many a dear-loved, distant friend. 

How little, when we parted last, 
I thought those pleasant times were past, 
Forever past, when brilUant joy 
"Was all my vacant heart's employ : 

* See the foregoing Note, p. 165. 

t Pythiitrorns ; who was supposed to have a 
power of writing upon the Moon by the means 
ot a magic mirror.— See Bayle, art. I'ythag. 



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POEMS EBLATIKG TO AMERICA. 



167 



"When, fresh from mirth to mirth again, 

"We thought the rapid hours too few ; 
Our only use for knowledge then 

To gather bliss from all we knew. 
Delicious days of whim and soul ! 

"Wlien, mingling lore and laugh to- 
gether, 
"We lean'd the book on Pleasure's bowl, 

And tum'd the leaf with Folly's feath- 
Little I thought that all were lied, [er. 
That, ere that summci-'s bloom was shed. 
My eye should see the sail unfurl'd 
That Vafts me to the western world. 

And yet, 'twas time; — in youth's 
sweet days, 
To cool that season's glowing rays. 
The heart awhile, with wanton wing. 
May dip and dive in Pleasure's spring ; 
But, if it wait for winter's breeze, 
The spring will chill, the heart will 

freeze. 
And then, that Hope, that fairy Hope, — 

Oh ! she awaked such happy di'eams, 
And gave my soul such tempting scope 

For all its dearest, fondest schemes, 
That not Verona's child of song, 

"When flying from the Phrygian shore, 
"With lighter heart could bound along, 

Or pant to be a wand'rer more ! * 

Even now delusive hope will steal 
Amid the dark regrets I feel. 
Soothing, as yonder placid beam 

Pursues the murmurers of the deep, 
And lights them with consoling gleam. 

And smiles them into tranqiul sleep. 
Oh ! such a blessed night as this, 

I often think, if friends were near, 
How we should feel, and gaze with 
bhss 

Upon the moon-bright scenery here ! 
The sea is like a silvery lake, 

And o'er its calm the vessel 
Gently, as if it fear d to wake 

The slumber of the silent tides. 
The only envious cloud that lowers 

Hath hung its shade on Pico's height, t 
"Where dimly, mid the dusk, he towers. 

And scowling at this hcav'n of light, 
Exults to see the infant storm 
Cling darkly round his giant form ! 

* Alluding to these animated lines in the 44th 
Carmen of Catullus: — 

Jam mens iirsetrepidans avet vapari. 
Jam lieti studio pedes vigescunt! 
t A. very hifrh mountain on one of the Azores, 
from which the island derives its name. It is 



N"ow, could I range those verdant isles, 

Invisible at this soft horn-, 
And see the looks, the beaming smiles, 

That brighten many an orange bower ; 
And could I lift each pious veil. 

And see the blushing cheek it shades, — 
Oh! I should have full many a tale. 

To teU of young Azorian maids.| 
Yes, Straugford, at this hour, perhaps, 

Some lover (not too idly blest, 
Like those, who in their ladies' laps 

May cradle every wish to rest) 
"Warblos, to touch his dear one's soul. 

Those madrigals, of breath divine, 
"Which Camoens' harp from Rapture 
stole 

And gave, all glowing warm, to thine. § 
Oh ! could the lover learn from thee. 

And breathe them with thy graceful 
tone, 
Such sweet, beguiling minstrelsy [own. 

Would make the coldest nymph hh 

But, hark! — the boatswain's pipings 
tell 
'Tis time to bid my dream farewell : 
Eight bells: — the middle watch is set; 
Good night, my Strangford ! —ne'er for- 
get 
That, far beyond the western sea 
Is one, whose heart remembers thee. 



STANZAS. 

©ufio? Se WOT c^ios • 

VtvuKTKe TavOpuineLa iJLtf o-e/Seii/ ayav. 

^scHVLL. Fragment. 

A BEAM of tranquillity smiled in the 

west, [no more ; 

The storms of the morning pursued us 

And the wave, while it welcomed the 

moment of rest, [were o'er. 

Still heaved, as remembering ills that 

Serenely my heart took the hue of the 

hour, [as the dead ; 

Its passions were sleeping, were mute 

And the spirit becalm'd but remembei-'d 

their power, [that was fled. 

As the billow the force of the gale 

said by some to be as high as the peak of Tene- 
riffe. 

1 1 believe it is Gutlirie who says, that the in- 
habitants of llio Azores are mueli addicted to 
eallantry. Tliis is an nssertiou in which even 
Cruthrie may be credited. 

i These islands belong to the Portuguese. 




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168 



MOOEE'S -WORKS. 



I thought of those days, when to plea- 
sui"e alone 
My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh ; 
"When the saddest emotion my bosom 
had known, [than I. 

Was pity for those who were wiser 
I reflected, how soon in the cup of De- 
sire [away ; 
The pearl of the soul may be melted 
How quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of 
fire [quench'd in the clay ; 
"We inherit from heav'n, may be 

ind I pray'd of that Spirit who lighted 

the flame, [dim ; 

That Pleasure no more might its piuity 

So that, sullied but little, or brightly the 

same, [rowed from him. 

I might give back the boon I had bor- 

How blest was the thought ! it appear'd 

as if Heaven [sho^svu ; 

Had already an opening to Paradise 

As if, passion all chasteu'd and eiTor 

forgiven, [own. 

My heart then began to be purely its 

I look'd to the west, and the beautiful 
sky, [clouded no more : 

"WTiich morning had clouded, was 
"Oh ! thus," I exclaim'd, "may a hea- 
venly eye [darken'd before." 
" Shed light on the soul that was 



Alas ! the flattering pride is o'er ; 
Like thee, awhile, the soul may soar, 
But en-ing man must blush to think, 
Like thee, again the soul may sink. 

Oh Yirtue ! when thy clime I seek, 
Let not my spu-it's flight be weak : 
Let me not, like this leeble thing, 
"With brine still dripping from its wing. 
Just sparkle in the solar glow. 
And plunge again to depths below ; 
But when I leave the grosser throng 
"With whom my soul hath dwelt so long. 
Let me, in that aspiring day, 
Cast every lingering stain away, 
And, panting for thy purer air. 
Ply up at once and fix me there. 



TO THE FLTIXG FISH.* 
"When I have seen thy snow-white wing 
From the blue wave at evening spiiug. 
And show those scales of silvery white. 
So gayly to the eye of light. 
As if thy frame were form'd to rise, 
And live amid the glorious skies; 
Oh ! it has made me proudly feel, 
How like thy wing's impatient zeal 
Is the pure soul, that rests not, pent 
"Within this world's gross element, 
But takes the wing that God has given. 
And rises into light and heaven ! 

But, when I see that wing, so bright, 
Grow lauguid with a moment's flight. 
Attempt the paths of air in vain, 
And sink into the waves again ; 

*Tt is the opinion of St. Austin upon Genesis, 
and I believe of nearly all the Fathers, tliat 
birds, like fish, were originally produced from 
the waters : in defence of which idea they have 
collected every fanciful circumstance which can 
tend to prove a kindred siruilitude between 



TO MISS MOORE. 

FROM NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA, NOVEM- 
BER, 1803. 

In days, my Kate, when life was new 
"When, luU'd with innocence and you, 
I heard, in home's beloved shade. 
The din the world at distance made ; 
"When, every night my weary head 
Sunk on its own unthomed bed. 
And, mild as evening's matron hour 
Looks on the faintly shutting flower, 
A mother saw our eyelids close. 
And bless'd them into pure repose ; 
Then, haply if a week, a day, 
I linger'd from that home away. 
How long the little absence scem'd ! 
How bright the look of welcome beam'd, 
As mute you heard, with eager smile. 
My tales of aU that pass'd the while ! 

Tet now, my Kate, a gloomy sea 
Rolls wide between that home and me; 
The moon may thrice be bom and die. 
Ere ev'n that seal can reach mine eye, 
"Which used so oft, so quick to come, 
Still breathing all the breath of home,— 
As if, still fresh, the cordial air 
From lips beloved were lingering there. 
But now, alas, — far difl'erent fate ! 
It comes o'er ocean, slow and late, 
"When the dear hand that filled its fold 
"With words of sweetness may he cold. 

them ; avyyeveiav TOis irero/nei'Ot? Trpo; ra vrjKTa. 
With this thouirht in our minds, when we 
first see the Flying Fish, we could almost fancy 
that we are present at the moment of creation 
and witness the birth of the first bird from the 
waves. 




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POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



But hence that gloomy thought ! at 
last, 
Beloved Kate, the waves are past : 
[ tread on earth securely now, 
Aud the green cedar's living bough 
Breathes more refreshment to my eyes 
Than could a Claude's divinest dyes. 
At length I touch the happy sphere 
To liberty and virtue dear, 
Where man looks up, and, proud to claim 
Ilis rank within the social frame. 
Sees a grand system round him roll. 
Himself its centre, sun, aud soirl ! 
Far from the shocks of Europe— far 
From everj' wild, elliptic star 
That, shooting with a devious fire, 
Kindled by heaven's avenging ire, 
So oft hath into chaos hurl'd 
The systems of the ancient world. 

The waiTior here,, in arms no more, 
Thinks of the toil, ithe conflict o'er. 
And glorying in tlie freedom won 
For hearth and shrine, for sire and son, 
Smiles on the dusky webs that hide 
His sleeping sword's remember'd pride. 
"While Peace, with sunny cheeks of toil, 
"Walks o'er the free, unlorded soil. 
Effacing with her splendid share 
The drops that war had sprinkled there. 
Thrice happy land ! where he who flies 
From the dark ills of other skies, 
From scorn, or want's unnerving woes, 
May shelter him in proud repose : 
Hope sings along the yellow sand 
His welcome to a patriot land; 
The mighty wood, with pomp, receives 
The stranger in its world of leaves, 
Which soon their barren glory yield 
To the warm shed and cultured field *, 
And he, who came, of all bereft, 
To whom malignant fate had left 
For home nor friends nor country dear. 
Finds home aud friends and country here. 

Such is the picture, warmly such, 
That Fancy long, with florid touch, 
Had painted to my sanguine eye 
Of man's new world of liberty. 

* Such romantic works as "Tho Am'erican 
Parmer's Letters," and tho account of Ken- 
tucky by Imlay, would seduce lis into a belief, 
that innocence, peace, and freedom had desert- 
ed the rest of the world for Mnrtha's Vineyard 
and the banks of the Ohio. Tho French trav- 
ellers, too. almost all from revolutionary mo- 
tives, have contributed their share to the diffu- 
sion of this flattering misconception. A visit to 
the country is, however, quite sutiicient to cor- 
rect even the most enthusiastic prepossession. 



Oh ! ask me not, if Truth have yet 
Her seal on Fancy's promise set ; 
If ev'n a ghmpse my eyes behold 
Of that imagined ago of gold ; — 
Alas, not yet one gleaming trace !* 
Never did youth, who loved a face 
As sketch'd by some fond pencil's skill, 
And made by fancy lovelier still. 
Shrink back with more of sad sui-prise, 
When the live model met his eyes, 
Than I have felt, in sorrow felt, 
To find a dream on which I've dwelt 
From boyhood's hour, thus fade and flee 
At touch of stem reality ! 

But, courage, yet, my wavering heart! 
Blame not the temple's meanest part,t 
Tin thou hast traced the fabric o'er — 
As yet, we have beheld no more 
Than just the porch to Freedom's fane ; 
And, though a sable spot may stain 
The vestibule, 'tis wrong, 'tis sin 
To doubt the godhead regins within ! 
So here I pause— and now, my Kate, 
To you, and those dear friends, whose 

fate 
Touches more near this home-sick soul 
Than all the Powers from pole to pole. 
One word at parting— iu the tone 
Most sweet to you, and most my own. 
The simple strain I send you here,t 
Wild though it be, would charm your 

ear, 
Did you but know the trance of thought 
In which my mind its numbers caught : 
'Twas one of those half-waking dreams. 
That haunt me oft, when nntsic seems 
To bear my soul in sound along, 
And tm-n its feehngs all to song. 
I thought of home, the according lays 
Came full of dreams of other days ; 
Freshly in each succeedmg note 
I found some young rememljranco float. 
Till following, as a clew, that strain, 
I wander' d back to home again. 

Oh ! love tho song, and let it oft 
Live on your lip, in accents soft. 
Say that" it tells you, simply well, 

1 Korfolk, it must be owned, presents an un 
favorable specimen of Amciiea. The charac 
teristies of Virpriniain general are not such as 
can delifcht either the politicinn or tlio moralist, 
and at Norfolk they are cxliibited in tlieu- least 
attractive form. At the time when we an'ived 
the yellow terer had not yet disappeared, and 
every odor that assailed us m tho streets very 
strongly accounted for its visitation. 

{ A trifling attempt at musical composition 
accompanied this Epistle. 



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170 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



All I have bid its wild notes tell, — 
Of ilcmory's dream, of thoughts that yet 
Glow witli the light of joy that's set, 
And all the fond heart keeps in store 
Of friends and scenes beheld no more. 
And now, adieu ! — this artless air, 
With a few rhymes, in transcript fair, 
Are all the gifts I yet can boast 
To send you from Columbia's coast ; 
But when the sun, with warmer smile, 
Shall light me to my destin'd i;^le,* 
You shall have many a cowslip-l)cll, 
"Where Ariel slept, and many a shell, 
In which that gentle sphit drew 
From honey flowers the morning dew. 



A BALLAD. 

THE LAKE OF THE DISilAL SWAMP. 

WRITTEN AT NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA. 

•• They tell of a young man, who lost his 
mind upon tlie death" of a girl he loved, and who, 
suddenly disappearing^ from his friends, was 
never afterwards heard of. As he hiid fre- 
quently s;uJ, in his ravinjjs, that the girl 
was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, 
it is sui)poscd that he had wandered into that 
dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or 
been lost in some of its dreadful morasses." — 
Ano7i. 

"La Poesie a ses monstres oomme la na- 
ture."— D' A LEMBEiiT. 

" They made her a grave, too cold and 
damp 
" For a soul so warm and true ; 
" And she's gone to the Lake of the 
Dismal Swamp, t [lamp, 

" Where, all night long, by a fire-fly 
" She paddles her white canoe. 

" And her fire-fly lamp I soon shaU see, 

" And her paddle 1 soon shall hear ; 
" Long and loving our life shall be, 
" And I'll hide the maid in a cypress 
tree, 
" "WTien the footstep of death is near." 

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds — 

His path was n;gged and sore, 
Through tangled jimiper, beds of reeds. 
Through many a fen, where the serpent 
And man never trod before, [feeds, 

And, when on earth he sunk to sleep, 
If slumber his eyelids knew, 

* Bermuda. 

t The Great Dismal Swamp is ten or twelve 
miles distant from Norfolk, and the Lake in 
the middle of it (about seven miles long) is 
called Dniramond's Pond. 

{ Lady Donegall, I had reason to suppose, 



He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep 
Its venomous tear and nightly steep 
The flesh with bhstering dew ! 

And near him the she- wolf stirr'd the 

brake, [ear, 

And the copper-snake breathed in his 

Tin he starting cried, from his dream 

awake, 
" Oh ! when shall I see the dusky Lake, 
" And the white canoe of my dear?" 

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright 

Quick over its surface play'd — [light !'" 
"Welcome," he said, "my dear one's 
And the dim snore echoed, for many a 
night. 
The name of the death-cold maid. 

Till he hoUow'd a boat of the birchen 
bark, 
Which carried him ofl" from shore ; 
Far, far he foUow'd the meteor spark, 
The wind was high and the clouds were 
dark, 
And the boat retum'd no more. 

But oft, from the Indian hmiter's camp 

This lover and maid so tnre 
Are seen at the hour of midnight damp 
To cross the Lake hy a flrc-fly lamp, 

And paddle then white canoe ! 

TO THE MARCHIONESSDOWAGER 
OF DOlfEGALL. 

FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804. 

Lady I where'er you roam, whatever 
land [hand ; 

Woos the bright touches of that artist 

AThether you sketch the valley's golden 
meads, [leads ;| 

"WTiere mazy Linth his lingering ctureut 

Bnamor'd catch the mellow hues that 
sleep, 

At eve, on MeUlerie's immortal steep ; 

Or musing o'er the Lake, at day's de- 
cline, [ shrine, § 

Mark the last shadow on that holy 

Where, many a night, the shade of 
TeU complains 

Of Gallia's triumph and Helvetia's chains; 

Oh 1 lay the pencil for a moment by, 

was at this time still in Switzerland, where the 
well-known powers of her pencil must have 
been frequently awakened. 

§ The chapel of William Tell on the Lake of 
Lucerne. 



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POEMS EELATIN^G TO AMEEICA. 



171 



Turn from the canvas that creative eye, 
And let its splendor, like the morning 

ray 
Upon a shepherd's harp, illume my lay. 

Yet, Lady, no — for song so rude as 

mine," [vino ; 

Chase not the ■wonders of your art di- 
still, radiant eye, upon the canvas 

dwell ; [spell ; 

Still, magic finger, -weave your potent 
And, while I sing the animated smiles 
Of fairy nature in these sun-bom isles. 
Oh, might the song awake some bright 

design, [Hue, 

Inspire a touch, or prompt one happy 
Proud were my soul, to see its humble 

thought 
On painting's mirror so divinely caught ; 
■While wondering Genius, as "he le'an'd 

to trace 
The faint conception kindling into grace, 
Might love my numbers for the spark 

they threw, [you. 

And bless the lay that lent a charm to 

Say, have you ne'er, in nightly vision, 

stray'd 
To those pure isles of ever-blooming 

shade, [placed 

Which bards of old, with kindly fancy, 
For happy spirits in th' Atlantic waste?* 
There listening, -while, from earth, each 

breeze that came [fame. 

Brought echoes of their o-wn undying 
In eloquence of eye, and dreams of song. 
They chann'd their lapse of nightless 

hours along :— [suit, 

ISTor yet iu song, that mortal ear might 
For every spirit -was itself a lute. 
Where Virtue -waken'd, -with elysian 

breeze, [monies. 

Pure tones of thought and mental bar- 
Believe mo. Lady, -when the zephyrs 

bland 

*M. Gebelin says, In his Monde Primitif, 
" Lorsqiic Strabon crflt que les anciens theolo- 
pieiis i-t poiites pla9oient les champs filysees 
dans les isles de FOcSan Atlantique, il n'entend- 
it ricn a leur doctrine." M. Gobelin's suppo- 
sition, I hav3 no doubt, is the more correct; 
but tjiat of Strabo is, in the present instance, 
most to my purpose. 

t Nothing can be more romantic than the lit- 
tle harbor of St. Gcorjie's. The number of 
beautiful islets, the sini-'ular clearness of the 
Tvater, and the animated play of the RTacefnl 
little boats, slidiiicr forever between the islands 
and seeming to sail from one cedar-groye into 



Floated our bark to this enchanted land— 
These leafy isles upon the ocean thrown, 
Like studs of emerald o'er a silvei 

zone, — [gave 

N"ot all the charm, that ethnic iaucy 
To blessed arbors o'er the -western -wave, 
Could wake a dream, more soothing or 

sublime, 
Of bo-wers ethereal, and the Spirit's clime. 

Bright rose the morning, every -wave 

■was still. 
When the first perfume of a cedar hill 
Sweetly awaked us, and, -with suiihng 

charms. 
The fairy harbor -woo'd us to its anns.t 
Gently -we stole, before the whisp'ring 

■wind, [like awnings, twined 

Through plantain shades, that round. 
And kiss'd on either side the wanton 

sails, [vales ; 

Breathing our welcome to these venial 
While, far reflected o'er the wave serene, 
Each wooded island shed so soft a gi-een 
That the enamor'd keel, with whisp'ring 

play, [its way. 

Through liquid herbage seem'd to steal 

Never did weary bark more gladly 
glide. 
Or rest its anchor in a lovelier tide I 
Along the margin, many a shining dome, 
White? as the palaceof a Lapland g-iome, 
Brighten'd the wave ; — iu every mplle 

grove 
Secluded bashful, like a shrine of love. 
Some elfin mansion sparkled through the 



And,while the foliage interposing play'd. 
Lending the scene an ever-changing 

grace, [trace 

Fancy would love, iu glimpses vague, to 
The flowery capital, the shaft, the 

porch,}: [torch 

And dream of temples, till the kindliug 

another, formed altotrether ns lovely aminia^ 
turo of nature's beauties us can -n^i'll be imag- 
ined. 

{ This is an allusion which, to the few who 
are fanciful enough to indulge iu it, renders 
the scenery of Bermuda particuhirly interesting. 
Inthoshortbut beautiful twilight of their spring 
evenings, the white cottages, scattered overthe 
islands, and but partially seen throuch the trees 
that surround them, assume often the appear- 
ance of little Grecian temples; and a vivid 
fancy may embellish the poor fi.sherman's liu# 
with cohiinna such as the p'>ncil of a Clauda 
might iniitate. I had one favorite of ject of iJii« 



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172 



MOOKE'S W0EK3. 



Lighted me back to all the glorious days 
Of Attic genius ; and I seem'd to gaze 
On marble, from the rich Pentelic mount, 
Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad's 
foimt. 

Then thought I, too, of thee, most 

sweet of all 
The spirit race that come at poet's call, 
Delicate Ariel ! who, it brighter hours, 
Lived on the perfume 3f these honey'd 

bowers, 
In velvet buds, at evening, loved to lie, 
And win with music every rose's sigh. 
Though weak the magic of my humble 

strain 
To charm your spirit fi-om its orb again, 
Yet, oh, for her, beneath whose smile I 

sing, [wing 

For her (whose pencil, if your rainbow 
"Were dimm'd or ruffled by a wintry sky, 
Could smooth its feather and relume its 

dye,) [sphere, 

Descend a moment from your starry 
And, if the lime-tree grove that once was 

dear, [hill, 

The sunny wave, the bower, the breezy 
The sparkling gi-otto can dehght you 

still, [light, 

Oh (ull their choicest tints, their softest 
Weave all these spells into one dream of 

night, [lies. 

And, while the lovely artist slumbering 
Shed the warm picture o'er her mental 

eyes; 
Take for the task her own creative spells. 
And brightly show what song but faintly 

tells. 

kind in my walks, which the hospitality of Its 
owner robbed rae of, by asking me torisithim. 
He was a plain good man, and received mo well 
and warmly, but I could never turn his house 
into a Grecian temple again. 

* This gentleman is attached to the British 
consulate at Norfolk. His talents are worthy 
of a much higher sphere ; butthe excellent dis- 
positions of tlie family with whom he resides, 
and the cordial repose he enjoys amongst some 
of the kindest hearts in the world, should be al- 
most enough to atone to him for the worst ca- 
pi-ices of fortune. The consul himself, Colonel 
Hamilton, is one among the very few instances 
of a man, ardently loyal to his king, and yet 
beloved by the Americans. His house is the 
rery temple of hospitality, and I sincerely pity 
the heart of that stranger who, warm from the 
welcome of such a board, could sit down to 
write a libel on his host, in the true spirit of a 
modern philosopliist. See the Travels of the 
Duke de la Rouchefoueault Liancourt, vol. ii. 

t We were seven days on our passage from 



TO GEOEGE MORGAl^, ESQ., 

OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA.* 
FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1S04. 

Keti'Tj 5' rjre/iioecrcra koi orpoiro?, ota ^' oAnrA.i)f 
Aidvijii Kai fiaWov iinSpofnoi yjeirep ittttois, 
HovTif ei'ecTTTjpiKTai. 

Callimach. Hymn in Bel. v. 11. 
Oh, what a sea of storm we've pass'd ! — 

High mountam waves and foamy 
showers. 
And battling winds whose savage blast 

But ill agrees with one whose hours 

Have pass'd in old Anacreon's bowers. 
Yet think not poesy's bright charm 
Forsook me in this rude alarm:— t 
When close they reef'd the timid sail. 

When, every plank complaining loud, 
We labor'd in the midnight gale. 

And ev'n our haughty mainmast 
bow'd. 
Even then, in that unlovely hour, [er, 
The Muse still brought her soothingpow- 
And, midst the war of waves and wind, 
In song's Elysium lapp'd my mind. 
Nay, "when no numbers of my own 
Responded to her wakening tone, 
She open'd, with her golden key. 

The casket where my memory lays, 
Those gems of classic poesy, [days. 

Which time has saved from ancient 

Take one of these, to Lais sung, — 
I wrote it while my hammock swung. 
As one might write a dissertation 
Upon " Suspended Animation !'' 

Sweett is your kiss, my Lais deac 
But, with that kiss I feel a tear 

Norfolk to Bermuda, during three of which we 
were forced to lay-to in a giile of wind. The 
Driver sloop of war. in which I went, was built 
at Bermuda of cedar, and is accounted an ex- 
cellent sea-boat. She was then commanded by 
my very much regretted friend Captain Comp- 
ton, who In July last was killed aboard the Lilly 
in an action with a French privateer. Poor 
Corapton! he fell a victim to the strange im- 
policy of allowing such a miserable thing as the 
Lilly to remain in the service; so small,' crank, 
and unmanageable, that a well-manned mer- 
chantman was at any time a match for her. 

J This epigram is by Paul the Silentiary, and 
may be found in the Analecta of Brunck. vol. 
iii. p. 72. As the reading there is somewhat dif- 
ferent from what I have followed in this tjans- 
lation, I shall give it as I had it in my memory 
at the time, and as it is in Heinsius, who, I be 
lieve, first produced the epigram. See hie 
Poemata. 
'HSv ix€v ecTTL <l>i\riixa TO AaiSo?" rjSv Se avTUV 



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POEMS EBLATING TO AMEEICA. 



173 



Gush from your eyelids, such as start 
Wheu those who've dearly loved must 

part. 
Sadly you lean your head to mine, 
And mute those arms around me twine, 
Tour hair adown my bosom spread, 
All glittering with the tears you shed. 
In vain I've kiss'd those lids of snow, 
For still, like ceaseless founts they flow, 
Bathing our cheeks, whene'er they meet. 
Why is it thus ? do tell me, sweet ! 
Ah, Lais ! are my bodings right ? 
Am I to lose you ? is to-night 

Our last go, false to heaven an'' me 1 

Tour very tears are treachery. 



Stjch, while in air I floating hung, 

Such was the strain, Morgante mio ! 
The muse and I together sung, 

With Boreas to make out the trio. 
But, bless the little faiiy isle ! 

How sweetly after all our ills, 
iVe saw the sunny morning smile 

Serenely o'er its fragrant hiUs ; 
And felt the pure, delicious flow 
Of airs, that round this Eden blow 
Freshly as ev'n the gales that come 
O'er our own healthy hills at home. 

Could you but view the scenery fair. 

That now beneath my window lies, 
Tou'd think, that nature lavish'd there 

Her purest wave, her softest skies, 
To make a heaven for love to sigh in, 
For bards to live and saints to die in. 
Close to my wooded bank below, 

In glassy calm the waters sleep. 
And to the sunbeam proudly show 

The coral rocks they love to steep.* 

' 'Huerepa (cec^aAr/i/ Srjpou epeicrajuei'i). 
\lvpoiJ.tvrif S' i4>i\r)cra- ra &' cus fipocreprjs otto 

Aafpva fxtyvvfj-^vtav TTtJTTe Kara (TTO^iaTWV 
EtTre S' aviipon^vu), Tivos ovvena SaKpva AeijSeis ; 
AciSia ixr) /xe Aitti)?- «(7Te yap op/can-aTai. 

* The water is so clear around the island, 
that the rocks are seen beneath to a very great 
deptli ; and, ,t8 we entered the harbor, they ap- 
peared to us so near the surfnce that it seemed 
impossible weshould not strike on them. There 
is no necessity, of course, forheavinp; the lead; 
and the negro pilot, looking down at the rooks 
from the bow of the ship, takes her throuprh this 
difficult navigation with n skill and confidence 
which seem to astonish some of the oldest sail- 
ors. 

1 In Kircher's " Ecstatic Journey to Heav- 
en," Cosmiei, the genius of tlio world, gives 



The fainting breeze of morning fails ; 

The drowsy boat moves slowly past, 
And I can afmost touch Us sails' 

As loose they flap around the mast. 
The noontide sun a splendor pours 
That lights up all these leafy shores ; 
While his own heav'n, its clouds ana 
beams, 

So pictured in the waters lie. 
That each small bark, in passing, seems 

To float along a burning sky. 

Oh for the pinnace lent to thee,t 

Blest dreamer, who, in vision bright, 
Didst sail o'er heaven's solar sea 

And touch at all its isles of light. 
Sweet Venus, what a clime he found 
Within thy orb's ambrosial round !— j 
There spring the breezes, rich and warm. 

That sigh around thy vesper car; 
And angels dwell, so pure of form 

That each appears a living star.§ 
These are the sprites, celestial queen! 

Thou sendest nightly to the bed 
Of her I love, with touch unseen 

Thy planet's bright'nmg tints to shed; 
To lend that eye a light still clearer. 

To give that cheek one rose-blush 
more. 
And bid that blushing lip be dearer. 

Which had been all too dear before. 

But, whither means the muse to roam ? 
'Tis time to call the wand'rer home. 
Who could have thought the nymph 

would perch her 
Up in the clouds with Father Kircher f 
So, health and love to all your mansion ! 
Long may the bowl that pleasures 

bloom in, 

Theodidactus a boat of asbestos, with which ho 
embarks into the regions of the sun. " Vides 
(says Cosraiel) banc asbe.stiiiam naviculara 
commoditati tufe prfoparatam." — Itinerar.I. 
Dial. i. cap. 5. This work of Kircher abounds 
with strange fancies. 

J When the Genius of the world and his fel- 
low-traveller arrive at the planet Venus, th( y 
tind an island of loveliness, fuilof odors and in- 
telligences, where angel.s preside, who shed the 
cosmetic influence of this planet over tlio 
earth; such being, according to astrologers, tlio 
" vis influxiva" of Venus. When they are in 
this part of the heavens, a casuisticahjuestioc 
occurs to Theodidactus, and he asks, " Wheth- 
er baptism may be performed with the waters 
of Venus?"— " An ntiuis globi Venei'is baptis- 
mus institui possit ? to which the Genius an- 
swers, "Certainly." 

^This idea is Father Kircher's. " Tot anima- 
tes soles dixisses."— itt/icrar. I. Dial. i. cap. 5 




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174 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The flow of heart, the soul's expansion, 
Mirth and song, your board illumine. 

At all your feasts, remember too, 
"When cups are sparkling to the brim, 

That here is one who drinks to you. 
And, oh I as warmly drink to him. 



LIKES, 



WRITTEN IN A STORM AT SEA. 

That sky of clouds is not the sky 
To light a lover to the piUow 

Of her ho loves — 
The swell of yonder foaming billow 
Resembles not the happy sigh 

That rapture moves. 

Tet do I feel more tranquil far 
Amid the gloomy wilds of ocean, 

In this dark hour. 
Than when, in passion's young emotion, 
I've stolen, beneath the evening star, 

To Julia's bower. 

Oh ! there's a holy calm profound 
In awe like this that ne'er was given 

To pleasure's thrill ; 
'Tis as a solemn voice from heaven, 
And the soul, listening to the sound. 

Lies mute and stilL 

'Tis true, it talks of danger nigh. 

Of slumb'ring with the dead to-morrow 

In the cold deep, 
"Where pleasure's throb or tears of sorrow 
No more shall wake the heart or eye, 

But all must sleep. 

WeU ! — there are some, thou stormy bed, 
To whom thy sleep would be a treasure ; 

Oh ! most to him, 
Wliose lip hath drain'd life's cup of 

pleasure, 
If or left one honey drop to shed 

Round sorrow's bnm. 

Yes — he can smile serene at death : 
Kind heaven, do thou but chase the 
weeping 

Of friends who love him ; 
TeU them that he lies calmly sleeping 
Where sorrow's sting or envy's breath 

ifo more shall move him. 



ODES TO NEA; 

written at BERMUDA. 



NBA Tvpavvfi. — Edripid. Medea, v. 967- 



Nay, tempt me not to love again. 

There was a time when love was 
sweet ; 
Dear IS^ea ! had I known thee then. 

Our souls had not been slow to meet. 
But, oh, this weary heart hath run, 

So many a time, the rounds of pain, 
Ifot ev'n for thee, thou lovely one, 

Woidd I endm-e such pangs again. 

If there be climes, where never yet 
The print of beauty's foot was set, 
Where man may pass his loveless mghts, 
Uufever'd by her false delights. 
Thither my wounded soul would fly, 
Where rosy cheek or radiant eye 
Should bring no more their bliss, or pain, 
Nor fetter me to earth again. 
Dear absent girl ! whose eyes of light, 

Though little prized when all my own, 
Now float before me, soft and bright 

As when they first enamoring shone,— 
What hours and days have I seen glides 
While fix'd, enchanted by thy side, 
Unmindful of the fleeting day, 
I've let life's dream dissolve away. 
bloom of youth profusely shed ! 
moments ! simply, vainly sped, 
Yet sweetly too — for Love perfumed 
The flame which thus my life consumed; 
And biilliant was the chain of flowers. 
In which he led my victim-hours. 

Say, Nea, say, couldst thou, like her. 
When warm to' feel and quick to err. 
Of loving fond, of roving fonder. 
This thoughtless soul might wish to 

wander,^ 
Couldst thou, like her, the wish reclaim, 

Endearing still, reproaching never, 
TiU ev'n this heart should bum with 
shame. 

And be thy own more fix'd than ever? 
No, no — on earth there's only one 

Could bind such faithless folly fast ; 
And sure on earth but one alone 

Could make such virtue false at last I 
Nea, the heart which she forsook, _ 

For thee were but a worthless shjine— 
Go, lovely girl, that angel look 

Must thrill a soul more pure than mine 



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POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



175 



OH r +.hoii shalt be all else to me, 
l>at. b<iart can feel or tongue can feign; 

I'll prAir-e, i,dmire, and worship thee, 
But uiwt viot, dare not, love again. 



-^— T.V6 iter omne cave. 

PiWPEUT. lib. iv. eleg. 8. 

I PRAT you, let US roara no more 
Along that wild and lously shore, 

"Where late we thouphrless stray'd ; 
'Twas not for us, whom heaven intends 
To be no more than simplo friends. 

Such lonely walks were uade. 

That little Bay, where turning tu 
From ocean's rude and angry Cix\ 

As lovers steal to bliss, 
The billows kiss the shore, and l^en 
Plow back mto the deep again. 

As though they did not kiss. 

Remember, o'er its circling flood 

In what a dangerous dream we stood — 

The silent sea before us, 
Around us, all the gloom of grove, 
That ever lent its shade to love, 

No eye but heaven's o'er us ! 

I saw you blush, you felt me tremble, 
In vain woidd foiTaal art dissemble 

All we then look'd and thought ; 
"Twas more than tongue could dare 

reveal, 
'Twas ev'ry thing that young hearts feel. 

By Love and Nature taught. 

I stoop'd to ciiU, with faltering hand, 
A shell that on the golden sand 

Before us faintly gleam'd ; 
I trembling raised it, and when you 
Had kiss'd the shell, I kiss'd it too — 

How sweet, how wrong it seem'd ! 

Oh, trust me, 'twas a place, an hour, 
The worst that e'er the tempter's power 

Could tangle me or you in ; 
Sweet Nea, let us roam no more 
Along that wild and lonely shore, 

Such walks may be our ruin. 



YoiT read it in these spell-bound eyes. 
And there alone should love be read ; 

You hear me say it all in sighs. 

And thus alone should love be said. 

Then dread no more ; I wiU not speak ; 
Although my heart to anguish thrill, 



I'll spare the burning of your cheek, 
And look it all in silence still. 

Heard you the wish I dared to name. 
To murmur on that luckless night, 

"When passion broke the bonds of shame, 
And love grew madness in your sight 1 

Divinely through the graceful dance. 
You seem'd to float in silent song 

Bending to earth that sunny glance, 
As if to light your steps along. 

Oh ! how could others dare to touch 
That hallow'd form with hand so free, 

"When but to look was bliss too much. 
Too rare for aU but Love and me ! 

"With smiling eyes, that little thought 

How fatal were the beams they threw, 
My trembling hands you lightly caught, 

And round me, like a spirit, flew. 
Heedless of all, but you alone,— 

And you, at least, should not condenm, 
If, when such eyes before me shone. 

My soul forgot aU eyes but them,— 

1 dared to whisper passion s vow, — 
For love had ev'n of thought bereft 
me, — 
Nay, half-way bent to kiss that brow. 
But, with a bound, you blushing left 
me. 

Forget, forget that night's offence, 
Forgive it, if alas ! you can ; [sense— 

'Twas love, 'twas passion — soul and 
'Twas all that's best and worst in 
man. 

That moment, did th' essembled eyes 
Of heaven and earth my madness 
view, [skies, 

I should have seen, through earth and 
But you alone — but only you. 

Did not a frown from you reprove. 
Myriads of eyes to me were none; 

Enough for me to win your love, 
And die upon the spot when won. 



A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY. 
I JUST had tum'd the classic page, 

And traced that happy period over, 
"When blest aUke were youth and age. 
And love inspired the wisest sage. 
And wisdom gi-aced the tenderest 
lover. 




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176 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Before I laid me down to sleep 

Awhile I from the lattice 
Upon that still and moonlight deep, 

With isles like floating gardens raised 
For Ariel there his sports to keep ; 
"While, gliding 'twixt their leafy shores, 
The lone night-fisher phed his oars. 
I felt, — so strongly fancy's power 

Came o'er me m that witching hour, — 
As if the whole bright scenery there 

Were lighted by a Grecian sky, 
And I then breathed the blissful air 

That late had thnll'd to Sappho's sigh. 

Thus, waking, dream'd I, — and when 

Sleep [on ; 

Came o'er my sense, the dream went 
Kor, through her curtain dim and deep, 

Hath ever lovelier vision shone. 
I thought that, all enrapt, I stray'd 
Through that serene, luxurious shade,* 
Where Epicurus taught the Loves 

To polish virtue's native brightness, — 

As pearls, we're told, that fondling 

doves [whiteness, t 

Have play'd with, wear a smoother 
'Twas one of those delicious nights 

So common m the climes of Greece, 
When day withdraws but half its lights. 

And all is moonshine, balm, and 
peace, 
i^nd thou wert there, my own beloved, 
And by thy side I fondly roved 
Through many a temple's reverend 

gloom. 
And many a bower's seductive bloom, 
Where Beauty leam'd what Wisdom 

taught, 
And sages sigh'd and lovers thought ; 
Where schoolmen conn'd no maxims 
stern, 

But all was form'd to soothe or move. 
To make the dullest love to learn, 

To make the coldest leani to love. 

* Gassciidi thinks that the gardens, which 
Pausanias mentions in his first book, were 
those of Ei)icurus; and Stuart says, in his An- 
tiquities of Athens, " Near this convent (tlie 
convent of Hagios Asomatos) is the place 
called at present Kepoi, or tlie Gardens ; and 
Ampelos Kepos, orthe Vineyard (iarden : these 
were probably the gardens which Pausanias 
visited." Vol. i. chap 2. 

t This method of polishing pearls, by leaving 
them awhile to bo played with by doves, is 
mentioned by the fanciful Cardanus, de Rerum 
Varietat. lib. vii. cap. 34. 

I In Hercynio Germanic saltu inusitata gen- 
era alitum accepimus, quarum plumffi, ignium 
modo, colluceant noctibus. — Plin. lib. x. cap. 47. 



And now the fairy pathway seem'd 

To lead us through enchanted ground 
Where all that bard has ever dieam'd 

Of love or luxury bloom'd around. 
Oh I 'twas a bright, bewild'ring scene— 
Along the alley's deep'ning green 
Soft lamps, that hung like burning 

flowers. 
And scented and illumed the bowers, 
Seem'd, as to him, who darkling roves 
Amid the lone Hercynian groves, 
Appear those countless bu'ds of light. 
That sparkle in the leaves at mght, 
And from their wings diffuse a ray 
Along the travellei-'s weary way.f 
'Twas bght of that mysterious kind. 

Through which the soul perchance 
may roam. 
When it has left this world behind. 

And gone to seek its heavenly home. 
And, N ea, thou wert by my side, 
Through all this heav'nward path my 
guide. 

But, lo, as wand'ring thus we ranged 
That upward path, the vision changed ; 
And now. methought, we stole along 

Through halls of more voluptuous 
glory 
Than ever lived in Teian song, 

Or wanton'd in Milesian story. $ 
And nymphs were there, whose very 
eyes [sighs ; 

Seem'd soften'd o'er with breath ol 
Whose ev'ry nnglet, as it wreath 'd, 
A mute appeal to passion breathed. 
Some flew, with amber cups, around, 

Pouring the flowery wines of Crete ;|| 
And, as they pass'd with youthful bound, 

The onyx shone beneath their feet.U 
WhOe others, waving arms of snow 

Entwined by snakes of bumish'd 
gold,** 
And showing charms, as loath to show, 

§ The Milesiaes, or Milesian fables, had their 
origin in Miletus, a luxurious town of lonia. 
Aristides was the most celebrated author of 
these licentious fictions. See Plutarch, (in 
Crasso,) who calls them axoAao-Ta /StpAm. 

II •'Some of the Cretan wines, which Athe- 
nffius calls oivoq oi-floo-nia?, from their fra- 
grancy resembling thatof the finest flowers."— 
Barry on Wines, chap. vii. 

11 It appears that in very splendid mansions, 
the floor or pavement was frequently of onyx. 
Thus Martial : "Calcatusquetuo sub peiXf lucet 
onyx." Epig. 50, lib. xii. 

** Bracelets of this shape were a favorite or- 
nament among the women of antiquity. Oi erri- 
KapTTioi octets Kai ai xpvuai. 7re8oi ©acSos Kca 



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POEMS EELATIN-G TO AMEEICA. 



177 



Through many a thin Tarentian fold,* 
GUded among the festal throng 
Bearing rich urns of flowers along. 
Where roses lay, in languor breathing, 
And the young bee-grape, t round them 

wreathing. 
Hung on their blushes wanu and meek, 
Like cm-Is upon a rosy cheek. 

Oh, Nea ! why did mommg break 
The spell that thus divinely bound me ? 

"Why did I wake ? how could I wake 
With thee my own and heaven around 
me! 



"Well — peace to thy heart, though an- 
other's it be, [bloom not for me ! 
And health to that' cheek, though it 
To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon 
groveSjt [rnves. 

Where nightly the ghost of the Carnbee 
And, far from the light of those ey es, I 
may yet [dor forget. 

Their allurements forgive and their splen- 

Farewell to Bennuda,§ and long may 

the bloom [fume ; 

Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys per- 
May spring to eternity ballon- the shade, 
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller || 

has stray'd. [happen to roam 

And thou — when, at dawn, thou shalt 
Through the lime-covei-'d alley that 

leads to thy home, [were done, 
Where oft, when the dance and the revel 
And the stars were beginning to fade in 

the sun, [the way 

I have led thee along, and have told by 
What my heart all the night had been 

burning to say — [those times, 
Oh ! think of the past — give a sigh to 
And a blessing for me to that alley of 

Umes. 

Apio-Tayopa? Kai AaiSos <^ap/iiaKa. — Philostrat. 

Epist. xl. Lucian, too, tells us of tlie /Spaxioio-t 
SfiaKovTe';. See bis Amores, where he describes 
the dressinji-rootn of a Grecian lady, and we 
liiid the "silver vase," the rouge, "the tooth- 
powder, and all the "mystic order" of a modern 
toilet 

* TapacTti'titoi', Si,a<f>avei evSv/jLa, bivofiaa-fif- 
voi' airo Tj)s TapavTi.vuiv xpri<Tea>i Kai Tpue/iTjs. — 
FdUux. 

t Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, lib. xiv., and 
" now called the Muscatel, (a muscarum telis,") 
says PancirolUis. book i. sect. 1, chap. 17. 

* I had, at this time, some idea ot paying a 
visit to the West Indies. 

§ The inhabitants pronounce the name as if 
it were written Bermooda. See the common- 



If I were yonder wave, my deai'. 
And thou the isle it clasps around, 

I would not let a foot come near 
My land of bhss, my fau-y ground. 

If I -were yonder conch of gold, 
And thou the pearl within it placed, 

I would not let an eye behold 
The sacred gems my arms embraced. 

If I were yonder orange-tree, 

And thou the blossom blooming there; 
I would not yield a breath of thee 

To scent the most imploi-ing air. 

Oh ! bend not o'er the water's brink. 
Give not the wave that odorous sigh^ 

Nor let its burning mirror drink 
The soft reflection of thine eye. 

That glossy hair, that glowing cheek. 
So pictured in the waters seem. 

That I could gladly plunge to seek 
Thy image in the glassy stream. 



Blest fate ! at once my chilly grave 
And nuptial bed that stream might be ; 

I'll wed thee in its mimic wave. 
And die upon the shade of thee. 

Behold the leafy mangrove, bending 
O'er the waters blue and bright, 

Like Nea's silky lashes, lending 
Shadow to her eyes of light. 

Oh, my beloved ! where'er T turn, 
Some trace of thee enchants mine 

In every star thy glances bum ; [eyes ; 
Thy blush on every flow'ret lies. 

ISTor find I in creation aught 
Of bright, or beautiful, or rare, 

Sweet to the sense, or pure to thought. 
But thou art found reflected there. 

tators on the words " still- vex'd Eermoothes," 
in the Tempest. — I wonder it did not occur to 
some of those all-readinj; gentlemen that, possi- 
bly, the discoverer of this " island of hogs and 
devils" might have lieen no less a personable 
than the great John Bermudez. who. about the 
same period (the beginning of the sixteenth 
century) was sent Patriarch of th'? Latin 
church to Ethiopi.a, and has left us most won- 
derful stories of the Amazons and the Griffins 
wliich he encountered. —Travels of the J/-sitits, 
vol. i. I am afraid, however, it would take the 
Patriarch rather too much out of his way. 

II Johnson does not think that Waller was 
ever at Bermuda; but tlie "Account of the 
Euronean Settlements iu America' affirms it 
confidently, (vol. ii.) I mention this worlj, 



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MOORE'S WORKS. 



THE SXOW SPIRIT. 

No, ne'er did the wave in its element 

An island of lovelier charms — [steep 
It blooms in the giant embrace of the 

Like Hebe ia Hercules' arms, [deep, 
The blush of your bowers is light to the 
eye, 

And their melody balm to the ear ; 
But the fiery planet of day is too nigh, 

And the Snow Spirit never comes here. 

The down from his whig is as white as the 
pearl [part, 

That shines through thy lips when they 
And it falls on the green earth as melt- 
ing, my gu-1, 
As a murmur of thine on the heart. 
Oh ! fly to the clime, where he pillows 
the death, 
As he cradles the birth of the year ; 
Bright are your bowers and balmy then- 
breath. 
But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. 

How sweet to behold him, when borne 
on the gale, 

And brightening the bosom of mom. 
He flings, like the priest of Diana, a veil 

O'er the brow of each virginal thorn. 
Yet think not the veil he so chillingly 

Is the veil of a vestal severe ; [casts 
So, no, thou wilt see, what a moment 
it lasts, 

Should the Snow Spirit ever come here. 

But fly to his region— lay open thy zone, 

And he'll weep all his biHliaucy dim. 

To thmk that a bosom, as white "^as his 

own, [him. 

Should not melt in the daybeam like 
Oh ! lovely the print of those delicate feet 

O'er his luminous path will appear — 
Fly, fly, my beloved! this island is 
sweet. 

But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. 



'EvTo.vOa Se Kadiapixicrrai rtfiiv. (caio.Ti fifv ovotio. 
rj) rr^craj, ovk ot6a' \pvar^ C av Trpo? "ye Cfxov 
OfOfia^OLTO- — I'll ILOSTKAT. /COJI. 17, lib. ii. 

I STOLE along the flowery bank, 
While many a bending seagrape* drank 
The sprinkle of the feathery oar 
That wing'd me round this fairy shore. 

however, less for its authority than for the 
pleasure I feel in quoting an unacknowledged 
production of the great Edmund Burke. 

* The seaside or mangrove grape, a native of 
the "West Indies. 



'Twas noon ; and every orange bud 
Hung languid o'er the crystal flood, 
Faiut as the lids of maiden's eyes 
When love-thoughts in her bosom rise. 
Oh, for a naiad's sparry bower, 
To shade me in that glowing hour ! 

A little dove, of milky hue. 
Before me from a plantain flew, 
And, light along the watei-'s brim 
I steer's my gentle bark by him ; 
For fancy told me. Love had sent 
Tliis gentle bird with kind intent 
To lead my steps, where I should meet < 
I knew not what, but something sweet 

And— bless the little pilot dove ! 
He had indeed been sent by Love, 
To guide me to a scene so dear 
As fate allows but seldom here ; 
One of those rare and brilliant hours, 
That, like the aloe'st lingering flowers, 
May blossom to the eye of man 
But once in all his weary span. 

Just where the margin's op'ning shade 
A vista from the waters made, 
My bird reposed his silver plume 
Upon a rich banana's bloom. 
Oh vision bright ! oh spirit fair ! 
What spell, what magic raised her there? 
'Twas Nea ! slumb'ring calm and mfld, 
And bloomy as the dimpled child, 
Whose spirit in elysium keeps 
Its playful sabbath, while he sleeps. 

The broad banana's green embrace 
Hung shadowy round each tranquil 
One little beam alone could win [grace ; 
The leaves to let it wander in. 
And, stealing over all her charms, 
From lip to cheek, from neck to a^x:^' 
New lustre to each beauty lent,- 
Itself all trembling as it went ! 

Dark lay her eyelid's jetty fringe 
Upon that cheek whose roseate tmge 
Mix'd with its shade, like evening's light 
Just touchmg on the verge of night. 
Her eyes, though thus in slumber hid, 
Seem'd glowing through the ivory lid, 
And, as I thought, a lustre threw 
Upon her lip's reflecting dew, — 
Such as a night-lamp, left to shine 

1 The Agave. This. I am awfire, is an er- 
roneous notion; but it is quite true enough for 
poetry. Plato, I think, allows a poet to be 
" three removes from truth;" rptraTos aTro rijs 



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POEMS EELATING TO AMERICA. 



179 



Alone on some secluded shrine, 
May shed upon the votive wreath, 
Which pious hands have hung beneath. 

"Was ever vision half so sweet? [beat. 
Think, think how quick my heart-pulse 
As o'er the rustling bank I stole ;^ 
Oh ! ve, that know the lover's soul, 
It is I'or you alone to guess, 
That moment's trembling happiness. 



A STUDY FROM THE AITTIQUB. 

Behold, my love, the curious gem 
TTithin this simple ring of gold; 

'Tis hallow'd by the touch of them 
"Who lived in classic hours of old. 

Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps. 
Upon her hand this gem display'd, 

Nor thought that time's succeeding lapse 
Should see it grace a lovelier maid. 

Look, dearest, what a sweet design ! 

The more we gaze, it charms the more; 
Come — closer bring that cheek to mine, 

And trace with me its beauties o'er. 

Thou seest, it is a simple youth 
By some enamor'd nymph embraced — 

Look, as she leans, and say in eooth, 
Is not that hand most fondly placed ? 

TTpon his curled head behind 
It seems in careless play to lie,* 

Yet presses gently, half inclined 
To bring the truant's lip more nigh. 

Oh happy maid ! too happy boy ! 

The one so fond and little loath. 
The other yielding slow to joy — 

Oh rare, indeed, but blissful both. 

Imagine, love, that I am he. 
And just as waiTn as he is chilling ; 

Imagine, too, that thou art she, 
But quite as coy as she is willing : 

* Somewhat like the symplegrraa of Cupid 
and Psyche at Flnronce, in which the position 
•f Psyche's hand is finely nnd delicately expres- 
sive of afFection. See the museum Tloren- 
tinum. torn. ii. tub. 43, 44. There are few sub- 
jects on which poetry could bo more interest- 
injtly employed than in illustrating some of 
these ancient statues and peras. 

1 Pinkerton has said that " a good history 
and description of the Bermudas "iiiiiirlit afford 
a pleasing addition to the geographical libra- 
ry;" but there certainly are not materials for 
such a work. The island, since the time of its 
discovery, has experienced so very few vicissi- 



So may we try the graceful way 
In which their gentle arms are twined, 

And thus, like her, my hand I lay 
Upon thy wreathed locks behind : 

And thus I feel thee breathing sweet. 
As slow to mine thy head I move ; 

And thus our lips together meet, [love. 
And thus, — and thus, — I kiss thee 



• MpavoTot tiKaaev, on aTToKkviicvov fv<f>paiv€i 

Akistot. Rhetor, lib. iii. cap. 4. 
There's not a look, a word of thine, 

My soul hath e'er forgot ; 
Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine, 
Nor given thy locks one graceful twine 

"Which I remember not. 

There never yet a murmur fell 

From that beguiling tongue, 

"WTiich did not, with a liug'ring speU, 

Upon my charmed senses dwell, 

Like songs from Eden sung. 

Ah ! that I could, at once, forget 

All, all that haunts me so — 
And yet, thou witching girl, — and yet, 
To die were sweeter than to let 
The loved remembrance go. 

No ; if this slighted heart must see 

Its faithful pulse decay, 
Oh let it die, rememb'ring the^ 
And, like the burnt aroma, be 

Consumed in sweets away. 



TO JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. 

FROM BERMUDA.* 

" The daylight is gone — but, before w» 
depart, [my heart, 

" One cup shall go round to the friend of 

" The kmdest, the dearest — oh ! judge 
by the tear [and how dear." 

" I now shed while I name him, how kind 

tudes, the people have been so indolent, and 
their trade so limited, that there is but little 
which the historian could amplify into import- 
ance : and, with respect to the natural pro- 
ductions of the country, the few which the in- 
habitants can be induced to cultivate are so 
common in the "West Indies, that they have 
been, flesoribed by every naturalist who has 
written any account of those islands. 

It is often asserted by the trans-Atlantic 
politicians that this little colony deserves more 
attention from the mother-countrv than it re- 
ceives, and it certainly possesses aav.nntnges of 
situation, to which we should not be loiig iu 



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180 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



'Twas thus in the shade of the Cala- 
bash-Tree, [ber like me, 
"With a few, who could feel and remem- 
The charm that, to sweeten my goblet, I 
threw [on you. 
Was a sigh to the past and a blessing 

Oh ! say, is it thus, in the mirth-bring- 
ing hour, [in full flower, 
When friends are assembled, when wit. 
Shoots forth from the lip, under Bac- 

chus's dew, [and new — 

In blossoms of thought ever springing 
Do you sometimes remember, and hallow 

the brim 
Of your cup with a sigh, as you crown 

it to him [so fair, 

Who is lonely and sad in these valleys 
And would pine in elysium, if friends 

were not there ! 
Last night, when we came from the 

Calabash-Tree, [was free, 

When my limbs were at rest and my spirit 
The glow of the gi'ape and the dreams 

of the day [play, 

Set the magical springs of mj iancy in 
And oh, — such a vision as haunted me 

then [again. 

I -would slumber for ages to witness 
The many I like and the few I adore. 
The friends who were dear and beloved 

before, 
But never till now so beloved and dear, 
At the caU of my fancy, surrounded me 

hei-e ; 

sensible if it were once in the hands of an ene- 
my. I was told by a celebrated friend of 
Washington, at Kew York, that tlioy had 
formed a plan for its capture towards the con- 
clusion of the American War; "with the in- 
tention (as he expressed himself) of makinjr it 
a nest of hornets for tlie annoyance of British 
trade in that pai t of the world." And there is 
no'loubt it lies so conveniently in the track of 
the West Indies, that an enemy might with 
ease convert it into a very harassing impedi- 
ment. 

Tlie plan of Bishop Berkeley for a coUep-e at 
Bermnd;i, where American savages might be 
converted and educated, though concurred in 
by the government of the day, was a wild and 
useless speculation. Mr. Hamilton, who ^as 
governor of the island some years since, 
proposed, if I mistake not, the establish- 
ment of a marine academy for the instruc- 
tion of those children of West Indians, who 
might bo intended for any nautical em- 
ployment. Tins was a more rational idea, 
and for something of this nature the island is 
admirably calculated. But the plan should be 
muoh more extensive, and embrace a general 
system of education ; which would relieve the 



And soon, — oh, at once, did the light of 
their smiles 

To a paradise brighten this region of 
isles; 

More lucid the wave, as they look'd 
on it, flow'd. 

And brighter the rose, as they gather'd 
it, glow'd. 

l^ot the valleys Hereean, (though water'd 
by rills 

Of the pearliest flow, from those pastor- 
al hiUs,t [meval and wild. 

Where the Song of the Shepherd, pri- 

Was taught to the nymphs by their mys- 
tical child,) [o'er wave 

Could boast such a lustre o'er land and 

As the magic of love to this paradise 
gave. 

Oh magic of love ! unembellish'd by 

you, [scape a hue ? 

Hath the garden a blush or the land- 

Or shines there a vista in nature or art, 

Like that which Love opes thi'o' the eye 

to the heart? 

Alas, that a vision so happy should 

fade! [liancy play'd. 

That, when morning around me in bril- 

The rose and the stream I had thought 

of at night [bright ; 

Should still be before me, unfadingly 

While the frier ds, who had seem'd to 

hang over the stream, [dream. 

And to gather the roses, had fled with my 

colonists from the alternative to which they are 
reduced at present, of either sending their'sons 
toEngland'for instruction, or intrusting them 
to colleges in the states of America, where 
ideas, by no means favorable to Great Britain, 
are very sedulously inculcated. 

The women of Bermuda, though not gener- 
ally handsome, have an affectionate languor in 
their look and manner, which is always inter- 
esting. What the French imply by their epi- 
thet aimante seems very much the cliaracter of 
the youn^ Bermudian girls— tliat predisposi- 
tion to loving, which, without being awakened 
by any particular object, diffuses itself througli 
the general manner in a tone of tenderness that 
never fails to fascinate. The men of the island, 
I confess, are not very civilized: and the old 
philosopher, who imagined that, after this life, 
men would be changed inio mules, and women 
into turtle-doves, would find the metamorphosis 
in some degree anticipated at Bermuda. 

t Mountains of Sicily, upon which Daphnis, 
the first inventor of bucolic poetrv, was nursed 
by the nymphs. See the lively aescriptiou of 
these mountains in Diodorus Siculus, lib. iv. 
'Hpaio yap opi) KaTo Trj;/ SiKtAiav iariv, a. ^acn 
(caAAet, K. T, .\. 



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POEMS RELATIN-Q TO AMERICA. 



181 



But look, where, all ready, in sailing 

array, 
The bark 'that's to carry these pages 

away,* 
Impatiently flutters her wing to the 

wind, [behind. 

And will soon leave these islets of Ariel 
What billows, what gales is she fated to 

prove, [I love ! 

Ere she sleep in the lee of the land that 
Yet j)leasaut the swell of the billows 

would be, [music to me. 

And the roar of those gales would be 
Not the tranquUlest air that the winds 

ever blew, [eve dew, 

Not the sunniest tears of the summer- 
Were as sweet as the storm, or as bright 

as the foam [derer home. 

Of the surge, that would hm-ry your wau- 



THE STEERSMAN'S SONG, 

•WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE 
28Tn APRIL.t 

When freshly blows the northern gale. 

And under courses snug we fly ; 
Or when light breezes swell the sail, 

And royals proudly sweep the sky; 
'Longside the wheel,\:nwearied still 

I stand, and, as my watchful eye 
Doth mark the needle's faithful thrill, 

I think of her I love, and cry, 

Port, my boy ! port. 

When calms delay, or breezes blow 
Right from the point we wish to steer ; 

When by the wind close-haul'd we go. 
And strive in vaiu the port to near ; 

I think 'tis thus the fates defer 
My bliss with one that's far away, 

And while remembrance springs to her, 

I watch the sails and sighing say. 

Thus, my boy ! thus. 

But see, the wind draws kindly aft, 
AU hands are up the yards to square, 

And now the floating stu'n-sails waft 
Our stately ship through waves and air. 

* A sliip, ready to sail for England. 

I I left Bermuda in the Boston about the 
middle of April, in company with the Caral3rian 
and Leander, aboard tlie latter of which was 
the Admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, who di- 
vides liis year between Halifax and Bermuda, 
and is the very soul of society and good-fellow- 
ship to both. We separated in a few days, and 
the Boston, after a short cruise, proceeded to 
New York. 



Oh ! then I think that yet for me 
Some breeze of fortune thus may 
spring. 
Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee — 
And in that hope I smiling sing, 

Steady, boyl so. 



;T0 the FIRE-FLT.t 

At morning, when the earth and sky 
Are glowing with the bght of spring, 

We see thee not, thou humble fly ! 
Nor think upon thy gleaming wing. 

But when the skies have lost their hue, 
And sunny lights no longer play, 

Oh then we see and bless thee too 
For sparkling o'er the dreary way. 

Thus let me hope, when lost to me 
The lights that now my life illume. 

Some milder joys may come, like thee. 
To cheer, if not to warm, the gloom ! 



TO THE LORD VISCOUNT FORBES. 

FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON. 

If former times had never left a trace 
Of human frailty in their onward race. 
Nor o'er their pathway written, as they 

ran, 
One dark memorial of the crimes of man; 
If every age, in new unconscious prime. 
Rose like a phenis, from the fires of 

time, 
To wing its way unguided and alone. 
The future smiling and the past un- 
known : [new, 
Then ardent man would to himself be 
Earth at his foot and heaven within his 
view : [scheme 
Well might the novice hope, the sanguine 
Of full perfection prompt his daring 
dream, [lore. 
Ere cold experience, with her veteran 
Could tell him, fools had dreamt as much 
before. [clime, 
But, tracing as we do, through age and 

{The lively and varying illumination, with 
which these fire flies light up the woods at 
night, gives quite an idea of enchantment. 
" Puis ces mouches so d^veloppant dc I'obscur- 
it6 de ces arhres et s'approchaiit de nous, noua 
les voyions sur les orangers voisins, qu'ils met- 
toient tout en feu, nous rendant la vue de 
leurs beaux fruits dor6sque lannitavoit ravie," 
ifec. &c,— See L'Uistoire des Antilles, art. % 
chap. 4, liv. L 




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183 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The plans of virtue midst the deeds of 
crime, [rage 

The thinking follies and the reasoning 
Of man, at once the idiot and the sage ; 
"When still we see, through every vary- 
ing frame 
Of arts and polity, his course the same. 
And know that ancient fools but died, to 
make [take ; 

A space on earth for modem fools to 
'Tis strange, how quickly we the past 
forget ; ' [yet. 

That "Wisdom's self should not be tutor'd 
Nor tire of watching for the monstrous 
birth [earth ! 

Of pure perfection midst the sons of 

Oh ! nothing but that soul which God 

has given, [heaven ; 

Could lead us thus to look on earth for 

O'er dross without to shed the light 

within, 
And dream of virtue while we see but sin. 

Even here, beside the proud Potow- 
mac's stream, [theme 

Might sages stUl pursue the flatt'ring 
Of days to come, when man shaU con- 
quer fate. 
Rise o'er the level of his mortal state. 
Belie the monuments of frailty past, 
And plant perfection in this world at last! 
" Here," might they say, " shall power's 
divided reign [vain. 

" Evince that patriots have not bled in 
'•' Here godlike liberty's herculean youth, 
• Cradled in peace, and nurtured up by 

truth 
" To full maturity of nei-ve and mind, 
" Shall crush the giants that bestride 
mankind.* [draught 

" Here shall religion's pure and balmy 
" In form no more firom cups of state be 
quaflPd, [ami sect 

" But flow for all, through nation, rank, 
" Free as that heaven its tranquil waves 

reflect. 
"Around the columns of the public shrine 
" Shall growing arts their gradual wreath 
intwiue, 

* Thus Morse ; " Here the sciences and the 
arts of civilized life are to receive their highest 
improvements: here civil and relifrious liberty 
are to flourish, unchecked by the cruel hand of 
civil or ecclesiastical tyranny: here genius, 
aided by all the improvements of former ages, 
is to be exerted in humanizing mankind, in ex- 
panding and enriching their minds with relig- 



" Nor breathe corruption from the flow'r- 

ing braid, 
" Nor mine that fabric which they bloom 

to shade. [view, 

" No longer here shall justice bound her 
" Or wrong the many, while she rights 

the few ; [cial frame, 

" But take her range through all the so- 
" Pure and pervading as that vital flame 
" "Which warms at once our best and 

meanest part, [heart !" 

" And thrills a hair while it expands a 

Oh golden dream ! what soul thatloves 

to scan [man, 

The bright disk rather than the dark of 
That owns the good, while smailing with 

the ill, [still,— 

And loves the world with aU its frailty 
"What ardent bosom does not spring to 

meet [enly heat. 

The generous hope, with all that heav- 
"Which makes the soul unwilling to resign 
The thoughts of growing, even on earth, 

divine ! [think 

Yes, dearest friend, I see thee glow to 
The chain of ages yet may boast a link 
Of purer texture than the world has 

known. 
And fit to bind us to a Godhead's tirone. 

But, is it thus ? doth even the glori 
ous dream [gleam. 

Borrow from truth that dim, uncertain 
"Which tempts us still to give such fan- 
cies scope, [hope ? 
As shock not reason, while they nourish 
No, no, believe me, 'tis not so — ev'n 

now, 
"While yet upon Columbia's rising brow 
The showy smile of young presumption 
plays, [cays. 

Her bloom is poison'd and her heart de- 
Even now, in dawn of life, her sickly 
breath [their death ; 

Bums with the taint of empires near 
And, like the nymphs of her own with'r- 

ing clime, 
She's old in youth, she's blasted in her 
prime.t 

ious and philosophical knowledge," &c. &c — 
P. 569. 

t " What will be the old age of this govern- 
ment, if it is thus early decrepit !" Such was the 
remark of Fauchet, theFrench minister at Pliila- 
delphiii, in thnt famous dispatch to his govern- 
ment, which was intercepted by one of our 
cruiiers in the year 1794. This curious me 



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POEMS RELATmG TO AMERICA. 



183 



Already has the child of Gallia's 

school, 
The foul Philosophy that sins by rule, 
With all her train of reasoning, damning 

arts, [hearts. 

Begot by brilliant heads on worthless 
Like things that quicken after Nilus' 

flood, [mud,^ 

The venom'd birth of sunshine and of 
Already has she pour'd her poison here 
O'er every charm that makes existence 

dear ; [trace, 

Already bhghted, with her black'niag 
The op'ning bloom of every social grace, 
And all those courtesies, that love to shoot 
Round virtue's stem, the flow'rets of her 

fruit. 

And were these errors but the wanton 
tide [pride ; 

Of young luxuriance or unchasten'd 
The fervid follies and the faults of such 
As wrongly feel, because they feel too 
much ; [less. 

Then might experience make the fever 
Kay, graft a virtue on each warm ex- 
cess. 
But no ; 'tis heartless, speculative ill, 
All youth's transgression with all age's 

chill ; 
The apathy of wrong, the bosom's ice, 
A slow and cold stagnation into vice. 

Long has the love of gold, that mean- 
est rage. 
And latest folly of man's sinking age, 
"WToich, rarely venturing in the van of 
life, [strife, 

"WTiile nobler passions wage their heated 
Comes skulking last, with selfishness 

and fear. 
And dies, coUecting lumber in the rear, — 

morial may be found in Porcupine's Works, vol. 
:. p. 279. It remains a striking' monument of 
republican intrigue on one side, and republi- 
can profligacy on the other; and I would rec- 
ommend the perusal of it to every honest poli- 
tician, who may labor under a moment's delu- 
sion with respect to the purity of American 
patriotism. 

*" Nous voyons que, dansles pays ou Ton n'est 
affect6 que de Tesprit de commerce, on traflque 
de toutesles actions humainesetde toutes les 
vertus mora]es."— Montesquieu, de V Esprit des 
Lois, liv. XX. chap. 2. 

1 1 trust I shall not be suspected of a wish to 
justify those arbitrary steps of tlie English gov- 
ernment which the colonies found it so neces- 
sary to resist ; my only object liere is to expose 
the selfish motive of some of the leading Ameri- 
can demagogues. 



Long has it palsied every grasping hand 
And greedy spirit through this bartering 

land; 
Tum'd life to traffic, set the demon gold 
So loose abroad that virtue's self is sold, 
And conscience, truth, and honesty are 

made [trade.* 

To rise and fall, like other wares of 

Already in this free, this virtuous 

state, [by fate 

■Which, Frenchmen tell us, was ordain'd 
To show the world, what high perfec- 
tion spiings [kings,— 
From rabble senators, and merchant 
Even here already patriots learn to steal 
Their private perquisites from publio 

weal, [fire, 

And, guardians of the country's sacred 
Like Afric's priests, let out the flame for 

hire. [rose 

Those vaunted demagogues, who nobly 
From England's debtors to be England's 

foes,t [forget. 

Who could their monarch in their purse 
And break allegiance, but to cance) 

debt,t [tempting hue 

Have proved, at length, the mineral' . 
Which makes a patriot, can unmake him 

too.§ [cant: 

Oh ! Freedom, Freedom, how I hate thy 
Not Eastern bombast, not the savage 

rant [ber'd all 

Of purpled madmen, were they num- 
From Roman Kero down to Russian 

Paul, [base. 

Could grate upon my ear so mean, so 
As the rank jargon of that factious race, 
Who, poor of heart and prodigal of 

words, [be lords, 

Form'd to be slaves, yet struggling to 

J The most persevering enemy to the inter- 
ests of this country, amongst the politicians of 
the western world, has been a Virginian mer- 
chant, who, finding it easier to settle his con- 
science than his debts, was one of the first to 
raise the standard against Great Jiritain, and 
has ever since endeavored to revenge ujwn tlie 
whole country the obligations which he lies un- 
der to a few of its merchants. 

§ See Porcupine's account of the Pennsylva- 
nia Insun-ection in 1794. In sliort, see Porcu- 
pine's works throughout, for ample corrobora- 
tion of every sentiment wliich I have ventured 
to express. In saying this, I refer less to the 
comments of that writer than to the occurren- 
ces which he has related niul the documents 
which he has preserved. Opinion may be sus- 
pected of bias, but facta speak for themselves 




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184 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Strut forth, as patriots, from their negro- 
marts, [their hearts. 
And shout for lights, with rapine in 

"WTio can, with patience, for a mo- 
ment see 
The medley mass of pride and misery, 
Of whips and charters, manacles and 
rights, [whites,* 

Of slaving blacks and democratic 
And all the piebald poUty that reigns 
In free confusion o'er Columbia's plains ? 
To think that man, thou just and gentle 
God ! [rod 

Should stand before thee with a tyrant's 
O'er creatures like himself, with souls 

from thee, 
Yet dare to boast of perfect liberty ; 
Away, away — I'd rather hold my neck 
By doubtful tenure from a sultan's beck, 
In climes where liberty has scarce been 

named, 
Kor any right, butthat of ruling, claim'd, 
Than thus to live, where bastard Free- 
dom waves 
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves; 
"Where — motley laws admitting no de- 
gree [free — 
BetwLxt the vilely slaved and madly 
Alike the bondage and the license suit, 
The brute made ruler and the man made 
brute. 

But, while I thus, my friend, in flow- 

erless song. 
So feebly paint, what yet I feel so strong. 
The ills, the vices of the land, where 

first [were nursed, 

Those rebel fiends, that rack the world, 
"Where treason's arm by royalty was 

nerved, [throne they served — 
And Frenchmen leam'd to crush the 
Thou, calmly luU'd in dreams of classic 

thought. 
By bards illumined and by sages taught, 
Paut'st to l)e all, upon this mortal scene. 
That bard hath fancied or that sage hath 

been. 

* In Virjrinia tho effects of this system boerin 
50 be felt rather seriously While the master 
raves of liberty, the slave canuiit but catch the 
coiitapon, anil accordingly tliere seldom elap- 
ses a mouth without some alarm of insurrection 
amonj;sttlie negroes. The accession of Loui- 
siana, it is feared, will increase this embarrass- 
ment ; as the numerous emigrations, which are 
expected to take phicc, from the southern states 
to this newly-acquired territory, will consider- 
ably diminish the white population, and thus 



"Why should I wake thee ? why severely 

chase 
The lovely forms of virtue and of grace. 
That dwell before thee, like the pictures 

spread [bed, 

By Spartan matrons round the genial 
Moulding thy fancy, and with gradual 

art [thy heart 

Bright'ning the young conceptions oi 

Forgive me, Forbes — and should the 

song destroy [joy, 

One generous hope, one throb of social 
One high pulsation of the zeal for man, 
"Which few can feel, and bless that few 

who can, — [eyes 

Oh ! turn to him, beneath whose kindred 
Thy talents open and thy virtues rise,. 
Forget where nature has been dark or 

dim, 
And pi-oudly study all her lights in him. 
Yes, yes, in him the erring world forget, 
And feel that man ma)/ reach perfection 

yet. 



TO THOMAS HUME, ESQ., M. D. 

FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON. 

At.r}yr}<TOfj.ai Sirjyrj^aTa tcrtos aTrio-Ta. KOLi'Ujva 
iiP nfnovOa ovk (xuiy. 

Xexophont. Ephes. Ephesiac lib. v. 

'Tis evening now ; beneath the western 

star [cigar, 

Soft sighs the lover through his sweet 
And fills the ears of some consentuig she 
"With puffs and vows, with smoke and 

constancy. [cils come. 

The patriot, fresh from Freedom's coun- 
Now pleased retires to lash his slaves at 

home ; [channs. 

Or woo, perhaps, some black Aspasia's 
And dream of freedominhis bondsmaid's 

arms.t 

In fancy now, beneath the twilight 

gloom, I'Eome !"| 

Come, let me lead thee o'er this "second 

strengthen the proportion O- negroes, to a de- 
gree whicli must ultimately be ruinous. 

t The ' black Aspasia" of the present * * * 
****** of the United States, inter Aver- 
nales baud igpotissima nymphas, has given rise 
to much pleasantry among the anti-democrat 
wits in America. 

J " On the original location of the ground now 
allotted for the seat of the Federal City, (says 
Mr. Weld.) the identical spot <m which tho 
capital now stands was called Home. This 




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POEMS RELATIN"G TO AMERICA. 




185 



Where tribunes rule, where dusky Davi 
bow, [ber now :— * 

And what was Goose-Creek once is Ti- 
This embryo capital, where Fancy sees 
Squares in morasses, obelisks in trees ; 
Which second-sighted seers, ev'n now, 
adorn [bom. 

With shrines unbuilt and heroes yet un- 

Though naught but woodst and J n 

they see, [to be. 

Where streets should run and sages ought 
And look, how calmly iu yon radiant 
wave, 
The dying sun prepares his golden grave. 
Oh mighty river ! oh ye banks of shade ! 
Te matchless scenes, iu nature's morn- 
ing made. 
While still, in all th' exuberance of prime. 
She pour'd her wonders, lavishly sublime, 
If or yet had leam'd to stoop, with hum- 
bler care, [fair ; — 
From grand to soft, from wonderful to 
Say, were your towering hills, your 

boundless floods, 
Tour rich savannas and majestic woods. 
Where bards should meditate and he- 
roes rove, [her love, — 
And woman charm, and man deserve 
Oh say, was world so bright, but bom to 

grace 
Its own half-organized, half-minded racet 
Of weak barbarians, swarming o'er its 
breast, 

anecdote is related by many as a certain 
prognostic of tlie future niagnificonce of this 
city, which is to be, as it were, a second 
Kome."— TF^Zd's Traveh, letter i v. 

* A little stream runs through the city, 
which, with intolerable affectation, they have 
styled tlie Tiber. It was originally called 
Goose-Creek. 

t "To be under the necessity of going 
through a deep wood for one or two miles, per- 
haps iu order to see a next-door neighbor, and 
in the same city, is a curious, and, I believe, a 
novel circumstance." — Weld, letter iv. 

The Federal City (if it must be called a city) 
has not been much increased since Mr. Weld 
visited it. Most of the public buildings, which 
■were then in some degree of forwardness, have 
been since utterly suspended. The hotel is al- 
ready a ruin ; a great part of its roof is fallen 
in, and the rooms are left to be occupied gra- 
tuitously by the miserable Scotch and Irish 
emigrants. The President's house, a very no- 
ble structure, is by no means suited to the phi- 
losophical humility of its present possessor, who 
inhabits but a corner of the mansion himself, 
and abandons the rest to a state of uncleanly 
desolation, which those who are not philos('>- 
phers cannot look at without regret. This 
grand edifice is encircled by a very rude pal- 



Like vermin gender'd on the lion's crest? 
Were none but brates to call that soil 

their home, 
Where none but demigods should dare to 

roam? 
Or worse, thou wondrous world ! oh ! 
doubly worse, [nurse 

Did heaven design thy lordly land to 
The motley dregs of every distant clime, 
Each blast of anarchy and taint of crime 
Which Europe shakes from her perturb- 
ed sphere, 
In fuU mahgnity to rankle here ? 

But hold,— observe yon little mount 

of pines, [fly shines. 

Where the breeze muraiurs and the fire- 
There let thy fancy raise, in bold relief. 
The scnptured image of that veteran 

chief $ 
Who lost the rebel's in the hero's name, 
And climb'd o'er prostrate loyalty to 

fame; 
Beneath whose sword Columbia's patriot 

train 
Cast ofi" their monarch, that their mob 

might reign. 

How shall we rank thee upon glory'g 

page? [sage! 

Thou more than soldier and just less than 

Of peace too fond to act the conqueroi-'s 

part, [art, 

Too long in camps to leam a statesman's 

ing. through which a common rustic stile intro- 
duces the\ isiters of the tirst man iu Amirica. 
With respect to all that is within tlie house, I 
shall imitate the prudent forbearance of Hero- 
dotus, and say, to 6e ev aTropprjTO). 

The private buildings exhibit the same char- 
acteristic display of arrogant speculation 
and premature ruin; and the few ranges of 
houses which were begun some years ago have 
remained so long waste and unfinished, that 
they are now for the most part c'-'apalatcd. 

I The pieture which Mun'on and De Pauw 
have drawn of the American Indian, though 
very humiliating, is, as far as I can. judge, much 
more correct than theflattering representations 
which Mr. Jefferson has given us. See the 
Is'otes on Virginia, where this gentleman en- 
deavors to disprove in general the opinion 
maintained so strongly by some philosophers, 
that nature (as ilr. Jefferson expressesit) 6e- 
littleg her productions in the western world. M. 
de Pauw attributes the imperfections of animal 
life in America to the ravages of a very recent 
deluge, from whose effects upon its soil and at^ 
mosphere it has not yet sutlieiently recover- 
ed. —/fcc/ifrcAes stir ies Amci-icains, part i 
toni. i. p. 10t>, 

§ On a small hill near the Capitol there is to 
be au equestrian statue of General Washingtoa 




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186 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



N"at;ire desigii'd thee for a hero's mould, 
But, ere she cast thee, let the stuff grow 
cold. 

"WTiile loftier souls command, nay, 

make their fate, [be great. 

Thy fate made thee and forced thee to 
Tet Fortune, who so oft, so blindly sheds 
Her brightest halo round the weakest 

heads, 
Found thee undazzled, tranquil as before. 
Proud to be useful, scorning to be more; 
Less moved by glory's than by duty's 

claim, [aim ! 

Renown the meed, but self-applause the 
All that thou wert reflects less fame on 

thee. 
Far less, than all thou diAst forbear to be. 
Nov yet the patriot of one land alone, — 
For thine 's a name all nations claim 

their own ; [good and brave, 

And every shore, where breathed the 
Echo'd the plaudits thy own country 

gave. 

Now look, my friend, where faint the 

moonlight falls [halls, — 

On yonder dome, and, in those princely 
If thou canst hate, as sure that soul must 

hate, [great, — 

Which loves the virtuous and reveres the 
If thou canst loathe and execrate with 

me [phy, 

The poisonous drug of French philoso- 
That nauseous slaver of these frantic 

times, [crimes,— 

With which false liberty dilutes her 
K thou hast got within thy free-bom 

breast, [the rest, 

One pulse that beats more proudly than 
With honest scomforthatinglorious soul. 
Which creeps and winds beneath a mob's 

control, [ble's nod. 

Which courts the rabble's smile, the rab- 
And makes, like Egypt, every beast its 

god, [tongue, forbear ! 

There, in those walls — but, burning 

* Tn the ferment which the French revolution 
excited among the democrats of America, and 
the licentious sympathy with which they shared 
in the wildest excesses of jacobinism, we may 
find one source of that vulgarity of vice, that 
hostility to all the graces of life, which distin- 

fnishes the jiresent demagogues of the United 
tates, and has become indeed too generally the 
characteristic of their countrymen. But there 
is another cause of the corruption of private 
morals, which, encouraged as it is by the gov- 
ernment, and identified with the iiitereste of 



Rank must be reverenced, even the rank 

that's there : [we part : 

So here I pause— and now, dear Hume, 
But oft again, in frank exchange of heart, 
Thus let us meet, and mingle converse 

dear [here. 

By Thames at home, or by Potowmac 
O'er lake and marsh, through fevers 

and through fogs, [and frogs. 
Midst bears and yankees, democrats 
Thy foot shall follow me, thy heart and 

eyes [spise.* 

With me shall wonder, and with me de- 
While I, as oft, in fancy's dream shall 

rove, [I love, 

With thee conversing through the land 
Where, like the air that fans her fields 

of green, [rene ; 

Her freedom spreads, unfever'd and se- 
And sovereign man can condescend to 

see [than he. 

The throne and laws more sovereign still 



LIXES 

WRITTEN ON LEAVING PHILADELPHIA. 

TrivBe T-qv TToXiv c^iAws 

EiJTWV eira^ta yap. 

SoPHOCL. (Edip. Colon, v. 768. 

Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer 

roved, [his eye 

And bright were its flowery banks to 

But far, very far were the fnends that he 

loved, [a sigh. 

And he gazed on its flowery banks with 

Oh Nature, though blessed and bright 
are thy rays, [ingly thrown. 

O'er the brow of creation enchant- 
Yet faint are they all to the lustre that 
plays [our own. 

In a smile from the heart that is fondly 

Nor long did the soul of the stranger re- 
main [guish'd to meet ; 
Unbless'd by the smile he had lan- 

the community, seems to threaten the decay of 
all honest principle in America. I allude to 
those fraudulent violations of neutrality to 
which they are indebted for the most lucrative 
part of their commerce, and by which they have 
so long infringed and counteracted the" mari- 
time rights and advantages of this country. 
This unwarrantable trade is necessarily abet- 
ted by such a system of collusion, imposture, 
and perjury, as cannot fail to spread rapid con- 
tamination around it. 




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POEMS KELATING TO AMEEICA. 



181 



Though scarce did he hope it ■would 
soothe him again, 
Till the threshold of home had been 
press'd by his feet. 

But the lays of his boyhood had stol'n to 
their ear, [so humble a name ; 
And they loved what they knew of 
And they told him, with flattery wel- 
come and dear, 
That they found in his heart some- 
thing' better than fame. 

ITor did woman — oh woman I whose 

form and whose soul 

Are the spell and the light of each 

path we pursue ; [at the pole, 

WTiether sunn'd in the tropics or chiU'd 

If woman be there, there is happiness 

too: — 

For did she her enamoring magic deny, — 

That magic his heart liad relinquish'd 

so long, — [eye, 

Like eyes he had loved was Jicr eloquent 

Like them did it soften and weep at 

his song. 

Oh, bless'd be the tear, and in memory 
oft [derer's dream ; 

May its sparlde be shed o'er the wan- 
Thrice bless'd be that eye, and may pas- 
sion as soft, [beam ! 
As free from a pang, ever mellow its 

The stranger is gone — but he will not 

forget, [toils he has known, 

When at home he shall talk of the 

To tell, with a sigh, what endearments 

he met, [Schuylkill alone. 

As he stray'd by the wave of the 



LINES 



WRITTEN AT THE COHOS, OR FALLS OP 
THE MOHAWK RIVER.* 

Gia era in loco ove s' ndia 1 rimbombo 
Deir acqua . Dante. 

From rise ot mom till set of sun 
I've seen the mighty Mohawk run ; 

* There is a dreary and savape character in 
the country immediately about these Talis, 
which is much more in harroouy with the wild- 
ness of such a scene than the cultivated lands 
in the neighborhood of Niagara. See the 
drawing of them in Mr. Weld's book. Accord- 
ing to hlra, the perpendicular height of the Cohos 
Fall is fifty feet; but the Marquis de Chastoi- 
lux makes it seventy-six. 

The fine rainbow, which is continually form. 



And as I mark'd the woods of pine 
Along his min-or darkly shine. 
Like tall and gloomy forms that pass 
Before the wizard's midnight glass ; 
And as I view'd the hurrying pace 
With which he ran his turljid race, 
Kushing, ahke untired and wild. 
Through shades that frown'd aud flow. 

ers that smiled, 
FJying by every green recess 
That woo'd him to its calm caress, 
Yet, sometimes turning with the wind, 
As if to leave one look behind, — 
Oft have I thought, aud thinking sigh'd, 
How like to thee, thou restless tide, 
May be the lot, the life of him 
Who roams along thy water's brim; 
Through what alternate wastes of wo 
And jowers of joy my path may go; 
How many a sheUer'd, calm retreat 
May woo the while my weary feet, 
While still pursuing, still unbless'd, 
I wander on, nor dare to rest ; 
But, urgent as the doom that calls 
Thy water to its destined falls, 
I feel the world's bewild'ring force 
Hurry my heart's devoted course 
From lapse to lapse, till life be done, 
And the spent current cease to run. 
One only prayer I dare to make, 
As onward thus my course I take; — 
Oh, be my falls as bright as thine ! 
May heaven's relenting rainbow shino 
Upon the mist that circles me. 
As soft as now it hangs o'er thee ! 



SON-G 

OP THE EVIL SPIRIT OF THE WOODS.t 

Qua via difflcilis, quaqne est via nulla. 
Ovid. Metam. lib. iii.v. 29" 

ITow the vapor, hot and damp, 
Shed by day's expuing lamp. 
Through the misty ether spreads 
Every ill the white man dreads; 
Fiery fever's thirsty thrill. 
Fitful ague's shivering chill ! 

ing and dissolving, as the spray rises into the 
light of the sun, is perhaps the most interesting 
beauty which these wonderful cataracts exhibit. 
t The idea of this poem occurred to mo in 
passing through the very dreary wilderness be- 
tween Batavia, a new settlement in the midst 
of the woods, and the little village of Buffalo 
( upon Lake Erie This is the most fatiguing 
I part of the route, in travelling through the 
I Genesee country to Niagara, 



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188 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Hark ! I hear the traveller's song, 
As he winds the woods along; — 
Christian, 'tis the song of fear; 
"Wolves are round thee, rught is near, 
And the wild thou dar'st to roam^ 
Think, 'twas once the Indian's home !* 

Hither, sprites, who love to harm, 
Wheresoe'er you work your charm. 
By the creeks, or by the brakes, 
Where the pale witch feeds her snakes. 
And the caymant loves to creep. 
Torpid, to kis wintry sleep : 
Where the bird of carrion flits. 
And the shudd'riug murderer sits.f 
Lone beneath a roof of blood ; 
While upon his poisou'd food, 
From the corpse of him he slew 
Drops the chill and goiy dew. 

Hither bend ye, turn ye hither. 
Eyes that blast and wings that wither I 
Cross the wand'riug Christian's way, 
Lead him, ere the glimpse of day, 
Many a mile of maJd'ning eiTor, 
Through the maze of night and terror 
Till the morn behold him lying 
On the damp earth, pale and dying. 
Mock him, when his eager sight 
Seeks the cordial cottage-light; 
Gleam then, like the lightning-bug. 
Tempt hnn to the den that's dug 
For the foul and famish'd brood 
Of the she-wolf, gaunt for blood ; 
Or, unto the dangerous pass 
O'er the deep and dark morass, 
Where the trembling Indian brings 
Belts of porcelain, pipes, and rings. 
Tributes, to be hung in air, 
To the Fiend presiding there !§ 

i Then, when night's long labor past, 
Wilder'd, faint, he falls at last, 

♦ "The Five Confederated Kntioiis (of Indi- 
ans) were settled aloiiir the brinks of tlie Sns- 
quehaiinah niid tlion:l,i.!ee?.t ciuiiurj, until the 
year 177!i, when General Sullivan, vith an 
army of 4000 men, drove them from their couii 
try to Niacrara, where, boina; obliged to live on 
salted provisions, to wliieli they were unaccus- 
tomed, preat numbers of them died. Two 
hundred of them, it is said, were buried in one 
grave, where they had encamped.'' — Morse's 
American Oeography. 

i j 'i'be alligator, who is supposed to lie in a 
'torpid state all the winter, in the bank of some 
creek or pond, havings previously swallowed a 
larp:e number of pine-knots, w'lich are liis only 
eustenance during the time. 

I This was the mode of punishment for mur- 
der (aa Charlevoix tells us) among the Uurous. 



Sinking where the causeway's edge 
Moulders m the shmy sedge, 
There let every noxious thing 
Trail its filth and fix its sting; 
Let the bull-toad taint him over, 
Round him let moschetoes hover, 
In his ears and eyeballs tingling, 
With his blood then- poison mingling, 
Till, beneath the solar fires, 
Rankhng aU, the wretch expires ! 

TO THE HONORABLE W. R. 

SPENCER. 

FROM BUFFALO, UPON LAKE ER.T?. 

Neovenitad duros musa roeata Getas. 
Oviu. ex I'onto, lib. i. ep. 5. 

THOtr oft hast told me of the happy houp 
Enjoy'd by thee in fair Italia's bowers, 
Where, ling'ring yet, the ghost of aa 

cient wit [fiit, 

'Midst modern monks profanely dares tc 
And pagan spirits, by the pope unlaid, 
Haunt every stream and sing througJi 

every shade. l_be 

There still the bard who (if his numbers 
His tongue's light echo) must have talk'd 

like thee, — [has caught 

The courtly bard, from whom thy mind 
Those playful, sunshine holidays ol 

thought. 
In which the spunt baskingly reclines, 
Bright without eifort, resting while it 

shines, — [to see 

There still he roves, and laughing loves 
How modern priests with ancient rakes 

agree ; [land shmes. 

How, 'ueath the cowl, the festal gar- 
And Love stiU finds a niche in Christiac 

shrines. 

"They laid the dead body upon poles at the top 
of a cabin, and the murderer was obliged to re- 
mausveral days together, and to receive all 
that dropped from the carcass, not only on 
himself but on his food.'' 

§ " Wo find also collars of porcelain, tobac- 
co, ears of maize, skins, ice, by the side of 
difiicult and dangerous ways, on rocks, or by the 
side of the falls: and these ore so many offer- 
ings made to the spirits which preside in these 
places."— See Charlevoix' s Letter on the Tradi. 
tions and the Religion of the Savagex of Canada. 

Father Hennepin too mentions this ceremony; 
he also says, "We took notice of one barba- 
rian, who made a kind of sacrifice upon an oak 
at the Cascade of St. Antony of I'adua, upon 
the river Ali.ssissippi."— See Hennepin's Voy- 
age i7i to North Ainerica, 



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POEMS RELATmG TO AMEEICA. 



189 



There still, too, roam those other souls 

of song, [long, 

"Witb whom thy spirit hath communed so 
That, quick as light, their rarest gems 

of thought, [brought. 

By Memory's magic to thy lip are 
But here, alas ! by Erie's stormy lake. 
As, far from such bnght haunts my 

course I take, [plays, 

Ko proud remembrance o'er the fancy 
No classic dream, no star of other days 
Hath left that visionary hght behind, 
That ling'ring radiance of immortal 

mind, [scene, 

Which gilds and hallows even the rudest 
The humblest shed, where genius once 

has been ! 

All that creation's varying mass as- 
sumes [blooms ; 
Of grand or lovely, here aspires and 
Bold rise the mountains, rich the gardens 
glow, [ers flow ; 
Bright lakes expand, and conquering* riv- 
But mind, immortal mind, without whose 
ray, [clay, 
This world's a wilderness and man but 
LJind, mind alone, in barren, stQl repose, 
Nor blooms, nor rises, nor expands, nor 
flows. [and all 
Take Christians, Mohawks, democrats, 
From the rude wigwam to the congress- 
hall, [or free, 
From man the savage, whether slaved 
To man the civihzed, less tame than he,— 
'Tis one dull chaos, one unfertile strife 
Betwixt half-pohsh'd and half-barbarous 
life ; [Isrew 
Where every ill the ancient world could 
Is mix'd with every grossness of the new ; 
Where all corrupts, though little can en- 
tice, 
And naught is known of luxury, but its 
vice! 

* This epithet was 8ng:gested by Charlevoix's 
striking' description of the confJuence of the 
Missouri with the Mississippi. " I believe tliis 
is the finest confluence in the world. The two 
rivers are much of the same breadtli, each 
about half a league ; but the Missouri is by far 
the most rapid, and seems to enter the Missis- 
sippi like a conciueror, through which it carries 
its white waves to the opposite shore, without 
niixinij; tlirm : afterwards it gives its color to 
the. :\lississippi, which it never loses again, 
but cnirics cpiite down to the sea." — Letter 
xxvii. 

t Alluding to the fanciful notion of " words 
congealed in northern 11 ir.' 

X In the society of Mr. Dennie auA his frienda 



Is this the region then, is this the clime 
For soaring fancies ? for those dreams 

suldime. 
Which all their miracles of light reveal 
To heads that meditate and hearts that 

feel? 
Alas ! not so — the Muse of Nature lights 
Her glories round ; she scales the moun- 
tain heights. 
And roams the forests; every wondrous 

spot 
Bums with her step, yet man regards it 

not. [nir. 

She whispers round, her words are in the 
But lost, unheard, they linger freezing 

there, t 
Without one breath of soul, divinely 

strong. 
One ray of mind to thaw them into song. 

Tet, yet forgive me, oh ye sacred few. 
Whom late by Delaware's green banks I 

knew; [a social eve, 

Whom, known and loved through many 
'Twas bliss to live with, and 'twas pain 

to leave, j: [scaun'd 

Not with more joy the lonely exile 
The writing traced upon the desert's 

sand, [find 

Where his lone heart but little hoped to 
One trace of life, one stamp of human 

kind, [zeal, 

Than did I hail the pure, th' enlighten' d 
The strength to reason and the warmtlj. 

to feel, 
The manly polish andtheilluminedtaste^ 
Which, — 'mid the melancholy, heartless 

waste [few ! 

My foot has traversed,— oh you sacred 
I found by Delaware's green banks with 

you. 

Long may you loathe the GalUc dross 
that runs 

at Philadelphia, I passed the few agreeable 
moments which my tour through the States af 
forded me. Mr. Dennie hns siiceeedcd in dif- 
fusing through this cultivated little circle that 
love for good literature and sound politics, 
which he feels so zealously himself, and which 
is so very nirely the characteristic of his coun- 
trymen. They will not. I trust, uecu.so me ol 
illiberality for the picture which I have given 
of the ignorance and coiTuption tliat surround 
tliera. If I did not hate, as I ought, the r.ibhle 
to which they are opposed, I could not value, as 
1 do. the spirit with which they defy it; lani in 
learning from them what Americans can be, I 
but see with the more indignation what Amur- 
icttUB ar$. 



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190 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



Through your fair country and corrupts 

its sons ; 
Long love the arts, the glories -which 

adorn [sires u-ere born. 

Those fields of freedom, where your 
Oh ! if America can yet be great, 
If neither chaiu'd by choice, nor doom'd 

by fate [now, 

To the mob-mania which imbrutes her 
She yet can raise the crown'd, yet civic 

brow 
Of single majesty, — can add the grace 
Of Rank's rich capital to Freedom's base, 
Nor lear the mighty shaft will feebler 

prove [above;— 

For the fair ornament that flowers 
If yet released from all that pedant 

throng, [wrong. 

So vain of error and so pledged to 
Who hourly teach her, like themselves, 

to hide [pride. 

Weakness in vaunt, and barrenness in 
She yet can rise, can wreathe the Attic 

charms [arms. 

Of soft refinement round the pomp of 
And see her poets flash the fires of song, 
To light her warriors' thunderbolts along; 
It is to you, to souls that favoring heaven 
Has made like yours, the glorious task is 

given:— [done; 

Oh ! but for such, Columbia's days were 
Rank without ripeness, quicken'd with- 
out sun. 
Crude at the surface, rotten at the core, 
Her fruits would fall, before her spring 

were o'er. 

Believe me, Spencer, while I wing'd 
the hours [banks of flowers. 

Where Schuylkill winds his way through 
Though few the days, the happy even- 
ings few, [they fiew. 
So warm with heart, so rich with miiid 
That my charm'd soul forgot its wish to 

roam, 

And rested there, as in a dream of home. 

And looks I met, Mke looks I'd loved 

before, [o'er 

And voices too, which, as they trembled 

The chord of memory, found full many 

a tone [own. 

Of kindness there in concord with their 

Yes,— we had nights of that communion 

free, [with thee 

That flow of heart, which I have known 

So oft, so warmly; nights of mirth and 

mind, 



Of whims that taught, and follies that 

refined. 
When shall we both renew them ? when, 

restored 
To the gay feast and intellectual board. 
Shall I once more enjoy with thee and 

thine [that refine ? 

Those whims that teach, those follies 
Even now, as wand'ring upon Erie's 

shore, 
I hear Niagara's distant cataract roar, 
I sigh for home, — alas ! these weary feet 
Have many a mile to journey, ere we 

meet, 
n nATPis, ns soy kapta nyn mneian 

EXn. EuEiPmES. 



BALLAD STANZAS. 

I KNEW by the smoke, that so gracefuily 

curl'd [was near, 

Above the gi-een elms, that a cottage 

And I said, " If there's peace to be 

found in the world, [for it here ! ' 

*' A heart that was humble might hope 

It was noon, and on flowers that lan- 
guished around 
In silence reposed the voluptuous bee '. 
Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not 
a sound [low beech-tree. 

But the woodpecker tapping the hol- 

And, " Here in this lone little wood," 

I exclaim' d, [and to eye, 

" With a maid who was lovely to soul 

"Who would blush when I praised her, 

and weep if I blamed, 

•'How blest could I live, and how 

calm could I die ! 

" By the shade of yon sumach, whose 
red beny dips [sweet to recline, 
" In the gush of the fountain, how 
" And to know that I sigh'd upon inno- 
cent lips, [any but mine !" 
•'Which had never been sigh'd on by 



A CANADIAN" BOAT SONG. 

WW^T^NON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE.* 
Et remigem cantus hortatur. 

QUINTILIAN. 

Faintly as tolls the evening chime 
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep 
time. 



* I wrote t.hfiso wordu tn ai 
Doatmen sung to us frequently. 



air" -whinh our 
The wind was 



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POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



191 



Soon as the woods on shore look dim, 
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting 

hymn.* 
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast. 
The Rapids are near and the daylight's 

past. 

Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? 
There is not a breath the blue wave to 

curl ; 
But when the wind blows off the shore, 
Oh ! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast. 
The Rapids are near and the daylight's 

past. 

TTtawas' tide ! this trembling moon 
Shall see us float over thy surges soon. 
Saint of this green isle ! hear our prayers. 
Oh, grant us cool heavens and favoring 

airs. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near and the daylight's 

past. 

TO THE LADY CHARLOTTE 
RAWDON". 

FROM THE BANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE. 

.tToT many months have now been 
dream'd away [ing ray 

Since yonder sun, beneath whose even- 
Our boat glides swiftly past these wood- 
ed shores, [pours, 
Saw me where Trent his mazy current 
OQ unfavorable that they were oblifjed to row 
all the way, and we were five days in descend- 
ing the river from Kingston to Montreal, ex- 
pos(xl to an intense sun during the day, and at 
night forced to take shelter from the dews in 
any miserablehut upon the banks that would re- 
ceive us. But the magnificent scenery of the 
St. Lawrence repays all such difficulties. 

Onrvoyageurs had good voices, and snug per- 
fectly in tune together. The original words of 
the air. to which J. adapted these stanzas, ap- 

r;ared to be a long, incoherent story, of which 
could understand but little, from the barbar- 
ous pronunciation of the Canadians. It begins, 
Dans mon chemin j'ai rencontr6 
Deux cavaliers tresbien months ; 
And the refrain to every verse was, 

A Tombre d'un bois je m'en vais joner, 
A Tombre d'un bois je m'en vais danser. 
I ventured to harmonize this nir, and have 
published it. Without that charm which asso- 
ciation gives to every little memorial of scenes 
or feelings that are past, the melody may, per- 
haps, be thought common and trifling ; but I 
remember when we have entered, at sunset, 
upon one of those beautiful lakes into which the 



And Donington's old oaks, to every 

breeze, 
Whisper the tale of bygone centuries ; — 
Those oaks, to me as sacred as the 

groves, [roves, 

Beneath whose shade the pious Persian 
And hears the sphit-voice of sire^ or 

chief. 
Or loved mistress, sigh in every leaf t 
There, oft, dear Lady, while thy lip hath 

sung [himg 

My own unpolish'd lays, how proud I've 
Ou every tuneful acceut! proud to feel 
That notes like mine should have the fate 

to steal [along. 

As o'er thy hallowing lip they sigb'd 
Such breath of passion and such soul of 

song. [boy 

Tes, — I have wonder'd. like some peasant 
Who sings, on Sabbath-eve, his strains 

of joy, [note 

And when he hears the wild, uututor'd 
Back to his ear on softening echoes float, 
Believes it stiU some answering spirit's 

tone, [own! 

And thinks it all too sweet to be his 

I dreamt not then that, ere the roll 

ing year [hero 

Had fill'd its circle, I should wandei 

In musing awe ; should tread this wo > 

drous world. 
See all its store of inland waters hurl'i' 
In one vast volume down Niagara'. 

steep, 
St. Lawrence so grandly and unexpectedly 
opens, I have heard this simple air with a plea- 
sure which the finest compositions of the finest 
masters have never given nie ; and now there 
is not a note of it which does not recall to my 
memory the dip of our oars in the St. Law- 
rence, the flight of our boat down the Rapidv 
and all those new and fanciful impressions to 
which ray heart was alive during the whole ot 
this very interesting voyage. 

The above stanzas are supposed to be sung 
by tliose voyageurs who go to the Grand Port- 
age by the Utawas Elver. For an account o. 
this wonderful undertaking, see Sir Alexander 
Mackenzie's General History of the Fur Trade, 
prefixed to his Journal. 

* •' At the Rapid of St. Ann they are obliged 
to take out part, if not the whole,"of their lad- 
ing. It is from this spot the Canadians eon- 
siderthey take their departure, as it po.ssesses 
the last church on the island, which is diull- 
cated to the tutelar saint of voyagers."— J/ac- 
kenzie, General History of the Fur Trade. 

t •' Avendo essi per co.stume di avere in ven- 
orazione gli alberi grnndi et antichi, nnasi die 
siano spesso ricettaccoli di anime beate."— 
Pietro della Valle, part. second., lettera lb' da? 
giardini di Sciraz. 



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192 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



Or calm behold them, in transparent 

sleep, 
Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed 
Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's 
bed ; [glide 

Should trace the grand Cadaraqui, and 
Down the white rapids of his lordly tide 
Tlirough massy woods, mid islets flow- 
ering fair [ful pair 
And blooming glades, where the first sin- 
For consolation might have weeping trod. 
When banish'd from the garden of their 
God. [man. 
Oh, Lady ! these are miracles, which 
Caged in the bounds of Em'ope's pigmy 
span, [must see 
Can scarcely dream of, — which his eye 
To know how wonderful this world can 
be! 

But lo, — the last tints of the west de- 
cline, [of pine. 
And night falls dewy o'er these banks 
Among the reeds, in which our idle boat 
Is rock'd to rest, the wind's complaining 
note [flutes , 
Dies Like a half-breathed whispering of 
Along the wave the gleaming norpoise 

shoots, 
And Tcan trace him, like a watery star,* 
Down the steep current, till he fades afar 
Amid the foaming breakers' silvery light. 
Where yon rough rapids sparkle through 
the night. [stray, 

Here, as along this shadowy bank I 
And the smooth glass-snake, t gliding 
o'er my way, [scaly form. 

Shows the dim moonlight through his 

* Anburcy, in his Travels, has noticed this 
shooting illumiuation which porpoises diffnse at 
night through the river St. Lawrence.— Vol. i. 
p. 29. 

f Tlie glass-snake is brittle and transparent. 

t " The deoarted spirit goes into the Coun- 
try of Souls, where, according to some, it is 
transformed into a dove." — Charlevoix, upon 
the Traditions and the Religion of the Savages 
of Canada. See the curious fable of the Amer- 
icau Orpheus iu Lafitau, torn. i. p. 402. 

^ '■ The mountains appeared to he sprinkled 
with whits stones, which plistenei in tlie sun, 
and were called by the Indians manetoe asen- 
iah or spirit stones."— Ifac^en2ic's Journal. 

II These lines were suggested by Carver's de- 
scription of one of the American lakes. ""When it 
was calm," he says, '• and the sun shone bright, 
I could sit in my canoe, where the depth was 
upward of six fathoms, and plainly see huge 
piles of stone at the bottom, of ditt'erent shapes, 
some of which appeared as if they had been 
hewn ; the water was at this time as pure and 
transparent as air, my oanoe seemed as if it I 



Fancy, with all the scene's enchantment 

warm. 
Hears in the murmur of the nightly 

breeze 
Some Indian Spuit warble words like 

these:— 

From the land beyond the sea, 
Whither happy spirits flee ; 
Where, trausforui'd to sacred doves, t 
Many a blessed Indian roves 
Through the air on wing, as white 
As those wondi-ous stones of light,§ 
Which the eye of morning counts 
On the Apallachian mounts,^ 
Hither oft my flight I take 
Over Huron's lucid lake. 
Where the wave, as clear as dew, 
Sleeps beneath the light canoe, 
Wliich, reflected, floating there. 
Looks as if it hung in air. || 

Then, when I have stray'd awhile 
Through the Manataulin isle, IT 
Breathing all its holy bloom, 
Swift I mount me on the plume 
Of my Wakon-Bird,** and fly 
Where, beneath a burning sky, 
O'er the bed of Erie's lake 
Slumbers many a water-snake, 
Wrapt within the web of leaves. 
Which the water-lily weaves. tt 
Is'ext I chase the flow'ret-king 
Through his rosy realm of spnng; 
See him now, while diamond hues 
Soft his neck and wings suffuse. 
In the leafy chalice sink, 
Thu'sting for his balmy drink ; 

hung suspended in that element. It was im- 
possible to look attentively through this limpid 
medium, at the rocks below, without finilhig, 
before many minutes were elapsed, your head 
swim and your eyes no longer able to behold 
the dazzling scene"" 

IT Apres avoir traverse plusieurs isles pen 
considerables, nous en trouvumes le quatricme 
jour une fameuse nomm^e I'lsle do Manitoua- 
lin. — Voyages du Baron de Luhontan, tom. i. 
let. 15. Manotaulin signifies a Place of Spir- 
its, and this island in Lake Huron is held sa- 
cred by the Indians. 

** " the Wakon-Bird, which probnbly is of the 
same species with the Bird of Paradise, re- 
ceives its name from the ideas tlie Indians 
have of its superior excellence; the "Wakon- 
Bird being, in their language, the Bird of the 
Great Spirit." — Morse. 

ttThe islands of Lake Erie are surrounded 
to a considerable distance by the large pond- 
lily, whose leaves spread thickly over the sur- 
face of the lake, and form a kind of bed for th» 
water-snakes in summer. 



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POEMS EELATDfG TO AMERICA. 



193 



N"ow behold him all on fire. 

Lovely m his Icoks of ire, 
Breaking every infant stem, 
Scatt'ring every velvet gem, 
"Where his little tyrant hp 
Had not found enough to sip. 

Then my playful hand T steep 
Wliere the go Id- thread" loves to creep. 
Cull from thence a tangled wreath, 
Words of magic round it breathe, 
And the sunny chapiet spread 
O'er the sleeping fly-bird's head,t 
Till, with dreams of honey blest, 
Haunted, in his downy nest, 
By the garden's fairest speUs, 
Dewy buds and fragrant bells. 
Fancy all his soul embowers 
^u the fly-bird's heaveu of flowers. 

Oft, when hoar and silvery flakes 
Melt along the rufiled lakes, 
W^heu the gray moose sheds his homa, 
tVhen the track, at evening, warns 
Weary hunters of the way 
To the wigwam's cheering ray, 
Then, aloft through freezing air, 
With the snow-bird { soft and fair 
A.S the fleece that heaven flings 
O'er his little pearly wings, 
Light above the rocks I play, 
"Where Is^iagara's starry spray. 
Frozen on the cliff", appears 
Like a giant's starting tears. 
There, amid the island-sedge. 
Just upon the cataract's edge, 
"Where the foot of living mau 
Never trod since time began. 
Lone I sit, at close of day, 
"While, beneath the golden ray, 
Icy columns gleam below, 
Feather'd round with falling snow, 
And au arch of glory springs. 
Sparkling as the chain of rings 
Round the neck of virgins hung, — 

* " The p:old threail is of the Tine kind, and 
grows in swamps. The roots spread themselves 
just miller the surfaoe of the morasses, and are 
sasily drawn out by handfuls. They rcseml)le 
a lariiO entangled *skeiu of sillj, and are of a 
brif?ht yellow."— J/o«e. 

\ "L'oiseaumouche, groscommeunhanneton, 
est lie toutes couleurs, rives et chanfj-eantes : 
il tire sa subsistence des fieurscomrae lesabeil- 
les ; son nid est fait d'un cotton tr6s fin suspen- 
du i une l)ranche d'arbre." — Voyar/es aux Indes 
Occidentales, par M. Bossu, seconde part. lett. xx. 

\ Emberiza hyemalis.— See Imlay's Kentiic- 
ky.p.^Sa. 



Virgins, § who have wander'd young 
O'er the waters of the west 
To the land where sphits rest I 

Thus have I charm'd, with visionary 
lay, 

The lonely moments of the night away : 
And now, fresh daylight o'er the water 

beams ! [streams. 

Once more embark'd upon the g;litt'riug 
Our boat flies light along the lealy shorej 
Shooting the falls, without a dip of oar 
Or breath of zephyr, like the mystic bark 
The poet saw, in dreams divinely dark, 
Borne, without sails, along the dusky 

flood, II 
"WTiUe on its deck a pilot angel stood. 
And, with his wings of living light un- 

furl'd. 
Coasted the dim shores of another world ! 

Yet, oh ! believe me, mid this min- 
gled maze [strays 
Of nature's beauties, where the fancy 
From charm to charm, where every flow- 
'ret's hue [is new,— 
Hath something strange, and every leaf 
I never feel a joy so pure and still, 
So inly felt, as when some brook or hUl, 
Or veteran oak, like those remembei-'d 
well, [flower's smell, 
Some mountain echo, or some wild- 
(For, who can say by what small fairy 

ties, 
The mem'ry clings to pleasure as it flies ?) 
Reminds my heart of many a sylvan 
dream [stream ; 

I once indulged by Trent's inspiring 
Of all my sunny moms and moonlijiht 
nights [breezy heights. 

On Donnington's green lawns and 

"Whether I trace the tranquil moments 

o'er [lore, 

"When I have seen thee cull the fruits of 

"With him, the polish'd warrior by thy side. 

5 Lafitau supposes that there was nn order of 
vestals establislied among the Iroquois Indiana. 
— Mceurs des Sauvagea Amerieains, <£c., torn. 
i. p. 173. 

II Vedi che sdegna gli argoraentl nmanlj 
Si che remo non vuol. iie altro velo, 
Che r ale suetraliti si lontaui. 

Vedi come 1' ha dritte verso 'I cielo 
Trattando 1' aerecon 1' eterne penne; 
Che non si mutan, come mortal pelo. 

Dante, Pur gator., cant iL 



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194 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



A sister's idol and a nation's pride ! 
When thou hast read of heroes, trojihied 
high [eye 

In ancient fame, and I have seen thine 
Turn to the hving hero, while it read, 
For pure and bright'ning comments on 

the dead ; — 
Or whether memory to my mind recalls 
The festal grandeur of those lordly haUs, 
When guests have met around the spark- 
ling board. 
And welcome warm'd the cup that lux- 
ury pour'd ; 
When the bright future star of England's 

throne, 
With magic smile, hath o'er the banquet 

shone, 
Winning respect, nor claiming what he 
won, [sun 

But tempering greatness like an evening 
Whose light the eye can tranquilly ad- 
mire, [fire ;— 
Radiant, but mild, all softness, yet all 
Whatever hue my recollections take, 
Even the regret, the very pain they wake 
Is mix'd with happiness ; — but, ah ! no 
more— [o'er 
Lady ! adieu— my heart has linger'd 
Those vanish'd times, till all that round 
me lies, [on my eyes I 
Streams, banks and bowers have faded 



IMPROMPTU, 

AFTER A VISIT TO MRS. , OP 

MONTREAL. 

TwAsbut for a moment — and yet in 

that time [an hour : 

She crowded th' impressions of many 

Her eye had a glow, like the sun of her 

chme, [into flower. 

Which waked every feehng at once 

Oh ! cculd we have borrow'd from Time 

but a day, [agaiu, 

To renew such impressions again and 

The things we should look and imagine 

and say [wasted till then. 

Would be worth all the life we had 

* Tliis is one of the Magdalen Islands, nnd, 
sinpiildil.v eiiuufrh, is the property of Sir Isaac 
Coflin. The aliove lines were suggested by a 
superstition very common among sailors, who 
«all this gliost-ship, Ithink, " the flying Dutch- 
man." 

We were thirteen days on our passage from 
Quebec to Halifax, and I had been so spoiled 



What we had not the leisure or language 

to speak, 

We should find some more spiritual 

mode of revealing, 

And, between us, should feel just as 

much in a week [in feeling. 

As others would take a millennium 



WRITTEN" ON" PASSING DEAD 
MAN'S ISLAND," 

IK THE GULP OF ST. LAWRENCE, LATK 
IN THE EVENING, SEPTEMBER. 1804. 

See you, beneath yon cloud so dark. 
Fast ghding along a gloomy bark ? 
Her sails are full, — though the wind is 
still, [to fill ! 

And there blows not a breath her sails 

Say what doth that vessel of darknesc". 

bear? 
The silent calm of the grave is there, 
Save now and agaiu a death-knell rung, 
And the flap of the sails with night-fog 

hung. 

There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore 

Of cold and pitiless Labrador ; 

Where, under the moon, upon mounts 

of frost. 
Full many a mariner's bones are toss'd. 

Yon shadowy bark hath been to that 
wreck, [deck, 

And the dim blue fire that lights her 
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew 
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew. 

To Deadman's Isle, in the eye of the 

blast, 
To Deadman's Isle, she speeds her fast; 
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl'd. 
And the hand that steers is not of tins 

world ! 

Oh ! hurry thee on— oh ! hurry thee on, 
Thou terrible bark, ere the night be 

gone, 
Nor let morning look on so foul a sight 
As would blanch forever her rosy light 2 

by the truly splendid hospitality of my friends 
of the Phaeton and Boston, that I was but ill- 
prepared for the miseries of a Canadian vessel. 
The weather, however, was pleasant, and the 
scenery along the river delightful. Our pas- 
sage through the Gut of Canso, with a bright 
sky aud a fair wind, was particularly strikin| 
and romantic. 



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POEMS KELATmG TO AMERICA. 



195 



TO THE BOSTON" FRIGATE,* 

ON LEAVING HALIFAX FOR ENGLAND, 
OCTOBER, 1804. 
NoCTTOu ■iTpo<l>a.<Ti.iy\vKepov. 

Pindar. Pyth. 4. 

"With trir.mpli this morning, oh Boston! 
I hail [Ihy sail, 

The stir of thy deck and the spread of 
For they tell me I soon shaU be wafted, 
in thee, [the free, 

To the flourishing isle of the brave and 
And that chill is'ova Scotia's unpromising 

strandt 
Is the last I shaU tread of American land. 
"WeU— peace to the land ! may her sons 
know, at length, [strength. 

That in high-minded honor Lies liberty's 
That though man be as free as the fet- 
terless wind, [unbind. 
As the wantonest air that the north can 
Yet, if health do not temper and sweeten 
the blast, [it pass'd. 
If no harvest of mind ever sprung where 
Then unbiest is such freedom, and bale- 
ful its might, — [blight ! 
Free only to ruin, and strong but to 

Farewell to the few I have left with 
regret ; [not forget. 

May they sometimes recall what I can- 

The delight of those evenings, — too brief 
a delight ! 

When in converse and song we have 
stolen on the night ; 

When they've asked mo the manners, the 
mind, or the mien [I had seen, 

Of some bard I had known or some chief 

Whose glory, though distant, they long 
had adored. 

Whose name had oft hallow'd the wine- 
cup they pour'd ; 

And still as, with sympathy humble but 
true, [I knew, 

I have told of each bright son of fame all 

They have listeu'd, and sigh'd that the 
powerful stream [dream. 

Of America's empire should pass, like a 

* Commanded l)y Captain J. E. Douglas, with 
wliom I I'L'tuined to England, and to whom I am 
indebted lor many, many liindncssos. In truth, 
I should but offund the delicacy of my friend 
Douglas, and, at the same time, do injustice to 
my own feelings of gratitude, did I attempt to 
say how much I owe to him. 

1 Sir John Wentworth, the Governor of Nova 
Scotia, very kindly allowed mo to accompany 
him on his visit t(>"thc College, which they have 
lately established at Windsor, about forty miles 



Without leaving one relic of genius, to 

say [vanish'd away ! 

How sublime was the tide which had 
FareweU to the few — though we never 

may meet [sweet 

On this planet again, it is soothing and 
To think that, whenever my song or my 

name [the same 

Shall recur to their ear, they'll recall me 
I have been to them now, young, uu- 

thoughtful, and blest, [press'd. 
Ere hope had deceived me or sorrow de- 

But, Douglas ! while thus I recall to 

my mind L'^^liii't^) 

The elect of the land we shall soon leave 
1 can read in the weather-wise glance ot 

thine eye, [sky. 

As it follows the rack flitting over the 
That the faint coming breeze will be fair 

for our flight, [of mghf^ 

And shall steal us away, ere the falliuf. 
Dear Douglas ! thou knowest, with thct 

bj^ my side, [courage to guide 
With thy friendship to soothe me, thj/ 
There is not a bleak isle in those sum- 

mf rless seas, 
Where the day comes in darkness, or 

shines but to freeze, [shore, 

Not a tract of the line, not a barbarous 
That I could not with patience, with 

pleasure explore ! [now, 

Oh think then how gladly I follow thee 
When Hope smooths the billowy path 

of our prow, [springing wind 

And each prosperous sigh of the west- 
Takes me nearer the home where my 

heart is enshrined ; [me again, 
"Where the smile of a father shall meet 
And the tears of a mother turn bliss into 

pain ; [steal to my heart, 

"Where the kind voice of sisters shall 
And ask it, in sighs, how we ever could 

part?— 

But see !— the bent top-sails are ready 

to swell — [farewell ! 

To the boat — I am with thee — Columbia, 

from HaRfax, and I was indeed most pleasantly 
surprised by the beauty and fertility of the coun- 
try which opened upon us after the bleak nnd 
rocky wilderness by which Halifax is sur- 
rounded. — I was told that, in travelling on- 
wards, we should find the soil and the scenery 
improve, and it gave mo much pleasure to know 
that the worthy Governor has by no meanssucU 
an " inamabile'regnum" as I was, at first sight 
inclined to believe. 



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196 MOOKE'S WORKS. 



CORUUPTIOK, AND INTOLERANCE: 

TWO POEMS: 

ADDRESSED TO AN ENGLISHMAN BY AN IRISHMAN. 
1808. 



PREFACE. 

The practice which has been lately in- 
troduced into literature, of writiug very 
long notes upon very indifferent verses, 
appears to me rather a happy invention ; 
as it supplies us with a mode of turning 
ilull poetry to account ; and as horses 
too heavy for the saddle may yet serve 
well enough to draw lumber, so Poems 
of this kind make excellent beasts of 
bm-den, and will bear notes, though 
they may not bear reading. Besides, 
the comments in such cases are so little 
under the necessity of paying any ser- 
vile deference to the text, that they may 
even adopt that Socratic dogma, "Quod 
supra nos nihil ad nos." 

In the first of the two following 
Poems, I have ventured to speak of the 
Revolution of 1688 in language which 
has sometimes been employed by Tory 
writers, and which is therefore neither 
very new nor popular. But however an 
Englishman might be reproached with 
ingratitude, for depreciating the merits 
and results of a measure which he is 
taught to regard as the source of his 
liberties — however ungrateful it might 
appear in Alderman B— rch to question 
for a moment the purity of that glorious 
era to which he is indebted for the sea- 
soning of so many orations — yet an Irish- 
man, who has none of these obligations 
to acknowledge ; to whose country the 
Revolution brought nothing but injury 
and insult, and who recollects that the 
book of Molyneux was burned, by order 



of William's Whig Parliament, for dar- 
ing to extend to unibrtunate Ireland 
those principles on which the Revolution 
was professedly founded — an Irishman 
vuiy be allowed to criticise freely thvj, 
measures of that period, without expos- 
ing himself either to the imputation of 
ingratitude, or to the suspicion of being 
inSuenced by any Popish remains of 
Jacobitism. No nation, it is true, was 
ever blessed with a more golden oppor- 
tunity of establishing and securing its 
liberties forever than the conjuncture of 
Eighty-eight presented to the people ot' 
Great Britain. But the disgiaceful 
reigns of Charles and James had weak- 
ened and degraded the national char- 
acter. The bold notions of popular right, 
which had arisen out of the struggles be- 
tween Charles the First and his Parlia- 
ment, were gradually supplanted by 
those slavish doctrines for which Lord 
H — kesb— ry eulogizes the churchmen 
of that period ; and as the Refonuation 
had happened too soon for the purity of 
religion, so the Revolution came too 
late for the spirit of liberty. Its advan- 
tages, accordingly, were for the most 
part specious and transitory, while the 
evils which it entailed are still felt and 
stiU increasing. By rendering unneces- 
sary the frequent exercise of Preroga- 
tive, — that imwieldy power which can- 
not move a step without alarm, — it di- 
minished the only interference of the 
Crown, which is singly and independ- 
ently exposed before the people, and 
whose abuses therefore are obvious to 




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CORRUPTION J A POETIC EPISTLE. 



197 



their senses and capacities. Like the 
myrtle over a celebrated statue in Min- 
erva's temple at Athens, it skilfully 
veiled from the pubhc eye the only ob- 
trusive feature of royalty. At the same 
time, however, that the Revolution 
abridged this unpopular attribute, it 
amply compensated by the substitution 
of a new power, as much more potent in 
its effect as it is more secret in its opera- 
tions. In the disposal of an immense 
revenue and the extensive natronage an- 
nexed to it, the first foundations of this 
power of the Crown were laid ; the inno- 
vation of a standing army at once in- 
creased and strengthened it, and the few 
slight barriers which the Act of Settle- 
ment opposed to its progress have all 
been gradually removed during the 
•whiggish reigns that succeeded ; till at 
leugtli this spirit of influence has be- 
come the vital principle of the state,— 
an agency, subtle and unseen, which 
pervades every part of the Constitution, 
lurks under all its forms and regulates 
all its movements, and, like the invisible 
fylph or grace which presides over the 
iaiotious of beauty, 

lUam, quiequid aait, qnoquo vestigia fiectit, 
Compouic furtim subsequiturque." 

The cause of Liberty and the Revoration 
m-e so habitually associated in the minds 
of Euglishmeu, that probably in object- 
ing to the latter I may be thought hos- 
tile or indifferent to the formen But 
asF":rediy nothing could be more unjust 
than such a suspicion. The very object, 
indeed, which my humble animadver- 
sions would attain is, that in the crisis 
to which I think England is now hasten- 
ing, and between which aud foreign 
subjugation she may soon be compelled 
to choose, the errors and omissions of 
1G88 should be remedied ; and, as it was 
then her fate to experience a Revolution 
without Reform, so she may now en- 
deavor to accomplish a Reform without 
Eevolution. 

In speaking of the parties which have 
so long agitated England, it will be ob- 
served that I lean as little to the Whigs 
as to their adversaries. Both factions 

* Angli suos ac sua omnia irapense mirantur; 
creteras iiationes despectui hnhent.— Barclay, 
(as quoted in one of Dryden's prefaces.) 

t England began very early to feel the effects 
of cruelty towards her dependencies. "The 



have been equally cruel to Ireland, aud 
perhaps equally insincere in their efforts 
for the liberties of England. There ia 
one name, indeed, connected with 
whiggism of which I can never think 
but with veneration and tenderness. As 
justly, however, might the light of the 
sun be claimed by any particular natiou, 
as the sanction of that name be monop 
olized by any party whatsoever. Mr. 
Fox belonged to mankind, aud thej 
have lost in him their ablest friend. 

With respect to the few hues upon 
Intolerance, which I have subjoined, 
they are but the imperfect beginning of 
a long series of Essays, with which I 
here menace my readers, upon the same 
important subject. I shall look to no 
higher merit in the task, than that of 
giving a new form to claims and remon- 
strances, which have often been much 
more eloquently urged, and which 
would long ere now have produced their 
effect, but that the minds of some of our 
statesmon, like the pupil of the human 
eye, contract themselves the more, the 
stronger light there is shed upon them. 



CORRUPTIOK. 



AN EPISTLE. 

Nuv 8' iiravB' ui<nrefy cf oyopa? fKnenparai 
ravTa.' avr^nj'qKTai 6e avTt rovruju, V(f)' utv aTroA* 
wAe Kai vevocrriKev ij 'EAAas. Taura S' earc Ti ; 
fr)A05, ti Tis ei\r)(j>e Tf YcAws an O/iioAoYT avy 
yvu)iJ.Ti\ TOi? eAeyp^o/xei'Ois- /xi<ro?, av toutoi? tis 
€7riTtfia* TaAAa TtavTa, ocra tx Tou duipodoKnv 
T),OTr)Tac. DEMOSTH. Fllilipp. ii). 

Boast on, my friend — though stripp'd 

of all beside, [pride;* 

Thy struggling nation still retains her 
That pride, which once in genuine glory 

woke [St. John spoke ; 

When Marlborough fought, and brilliant 
That pride which still, by time and 

shame unstung, 
Outlives even AVh-tel-cke's sword and 

H-wk-sb'ry's tongue ! [islet 

Boast on, my friend, while in this humbled 

severity of her government (says Macpherson) 
contributed n)ore to deprive her of the conti- 
nental dominions of the family of Plantagenet 
than the arms of France."— See his History- 
vol. i. 




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198 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



Where Honor mourns and Freedom fears 
to smile, [is known 

WTiere the bright light of England's fame 
But by the shadow o'er oxxr fortunes 
thrown ; [wrongs and slights,* 
Where, doom'd om-selves to naught but 
We hear you boast of Britain's glorious 
rights, [he, 

As wretched slaves, that under hatches 
Hear those on d-sck extol the sua and 
sky ! [native haunts, 

Boast on, while wandering through my 
I coldly listen to thy patriot vaimts ; 
And feel, though close our wedded coun- 
tries twine, [from thine. 
More sorrow for my own than pride 

Yet pause a moment— and if truths 
severe 
Can find an inlet to that courtly ear, 
Which hears no news but W— rd's ga- 
zetted lies, [Pye's,— 
And loves no poKtics in rhyme but 
If aught can please thee but the good 

old saws 
Of" Church and State," and" William's 
matchless laws," [eight," — 

And"Acts and Rights of glorious Eighty- 
Things, which though now a century 
out of date, [words, 

Still serve to ballast, with convenient 

* " By tho total reduction of the king;tlom of 
Ireland in 1691, (says Burke,) the ruin of the 
native Irish, and in a fjreat measure, too, of the 
first races of the English, was completely ac- 
complishoJ. The new Eng-lish interest was 
settled with as solid a stability as any thing in 
human atl'airs can look for. All the penal 
laws of that unparalleled code of oppression, 
which were made after the last event, were 
manifestly the effects of national hatred and 
Bcorn towards a conquered people, whom the 
victors delighted to trample upon, and were not 
at all afraid to provoke. " Yet this is the era to 
which the wise Common Council of Dublin 
refer us for " invaluable blessings," &c. 

t It never seems to occur to those orators 
and addressers who round off so many senten- 
ces and paragraphs with the Bill of Eights, the 
Act of Settlement, &c., that most of the provis- 
ions which these Acts contained for the preser- 
vation of parliamentary independence have 
been long laid aside as romantic and trouble- 
some, i never meet, I confess, with a politi- 
cian who quotes seriously the Declaration of 
Kights, &c., to prove the actual existence of 
English liberty, that I do not think of that mar- 
quis whom Montesquieu mentions,* who set 
about looking for mines in the Pyrenees, on tho 
strength of authorities which he had read in 
Mmeancient authors. The poor marquis toiled 

•Liv. zxL chap. 3. 



A few crank arguments for speeching 
lords,— t 

Turn, while I tell how England's free- 
dom found, [deadJdest wound ; 
Where most she look'd for life, her 
How brave she struggled, while her foe 
was seen, [a screen ;- 

How faint since Influence lent that foe 
How strong o'er James and Popery she 
prevail'd, [assail'd.t 

How weakly fell, when Whigs and gold 

While kings were poor, and all those 
schemes imknown [throne ; 

Which drain the people to enrich the 
Ere yet a yielding Commons had supplied 
Those chains of gold by which them- 
selves are tied ; [creep 
Then proud Prerogative, untaught to 
With bribery's silent foot on Freedom's 

sleep, 
Frankly avow'd his bold enslaving plan, 
That claim'd a right fi-om God to tram- 
ple man ! [roused mankind 
But Luther's schism had too much 
For Hampden's truths to Hnger long be- 
hind ; [fallen so low, 
Nor then, when king-like popes had 
Could pope-lilve kings§ escape the level 
ling blow. [we bow 
That ponderous sceptre, (in whose place 

and searched in vain. He quoted his authori- 
ties to the last, but found no mines after all. 

JThe chief, perhaps the only advantage which 
has resulted from the system of influence, is 
that tranquil course of uninterrupted action 
which it has given to the administration of gov- 
ernment. If kings ?rtM«'i be paramount in the 
state, (and their ministers for the time being 
always think so,) the country is indebted to the 
Kevolution for enabling them to become so 
quietly, and for removing skilfully the danger 
of those shocks and collisions which the alarm- 
ing efforts of prerogative never failed to pro- 
duce. 

Instead of vain and disturbing efforts to es- 
tablish that speculative balance of the constitu- 
tion, which, perhaps, has never existed but in 
the pages of Montesquieu and De Lolme, a pre- 
ponderance is now silently yielded to one of the 
three estates, which carries the other two al- 
most insensibly, but still effectually, along with 
it: and even though the path may lend even- 
tually to destruction, yet its specious and gild- 
ed smoothness almost atones for the danger; 
and, like Milton's bridge over Chaos, it may be 
said to lead, 

" Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to — — ." 

^.Tho drivelling correspondence between 
James I. and his " dog Steenie," (the Duke of 
Buckingham,) which we find among the Hard- 
wicke Papers, sufficiently sliows, if we wanted 



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COKRUPTION"; A POETIC EPISTLB. 



199 



To the light talisman of influence now,) 
Too gross, too visible to work the speU 
"WTiieh modem power performs, in frag- 
ments fell : [ed o'er 
In fragments lay, tUl, patch'd and paint- 
With fleur-de-lys, it shone and scourged 
once more. 

'Twas then, my friend, thy kneeling 

nation quaffd [opiate draught 
Long, long and deep, the churchman's 
Of passive, prone obedience — then took 

flight 
All sense of man's true dignity and right ; 
And Britons slept so sluggish m their 

chain, [most in vam. 

That Freedom's watch-voice calPd al- 
Oh England ! England ! what a chance 

was thine, [line 

When the last tyrant of that ill-starr'd 

any such illustration, into what tlotiiig, idiotic 
brains the ])lau of arbitrary powfr may enter. 

'Tacitus has expressed liis opiuion in a pas- 
sage very frequently quoted, that such a distri- 
bution of power as the theory of the British 
constitution exhibits is merely a subject of 
bright speculation, "a system more easily 
praised than practised, and which, even could 
it happen to exist, would certaiuly not prove 
permanent:" and, in truth, areview of Eng- 
land's annals would dispose us to agree with 
the great historian's remark. For we find that 
at no period whatever has this balance of the 
three estates existed ; that the nobles predomi- 
nated till the policy of Henry VII. and his suc- 
cessor reduced their weight by breaking up the 
feudal system of property; that the power of 
the Crown became then supreme and absolute, 
till the bold encroachments of the Commons 
subverted the fabric altogether; that the alter- 
nate ascendency of prerogative and privilege 
distracted the period which followed the Res- 
toration ; and that, lastly, the Acts of 1688, by 
laying the foundation of an unbounded court.in- 
fluence, have secured a preijonderance to the 
Throne, which every succeeding year increases. 
So that the vaunted British constitution has 
never perhaps existed but in mere theory. 

tTlie monarchs of Great Britain can never 
be sufficiently grateful for that accommodating 
spirit which led the Revolutionary "Whigs to 
give away the crown, without imposing any of 
those restraints or stipulations which other 
men might have taken advantage of so favora- 
ble a moment to enforce, and in the framing of 
which they had so good a model to follow as the 
iiraitations proposed by the Lords Essex and 
Halifax, in the debate iipon the Exclusion Bill. 
They not only condescended, however, to ac- 
cept of jilaces, but took care that these digni- 
ties should be no impediment to their "voice 
potential " in affairs of legislation ; and al- 
though .-in Act was after many years suffered to 
pass, which by one of its articles disqualified 
placemen from serving as members of the 
House of Commous, it was yet not allowed to 



Fled from his sullied crown, and left thee 

free 
To found thy own eternal liberty ! 
How nobly high, in that propitious hour, 
Might patriot hands have raised the 

triple tower* 
Of British freedom, on a rock divine 
Which neither force could storm nor 

treachery mine ! 
But, no — the luminous, the lofty plan, 
Like mighty Babel, seem'd too bold for 

man ; 
The curse of jarring tongues again was 

given 
To thwart a work which raised men 

nearer heaven. 
While Tories marr'd what .Whigs had 

scarce begun, 
WhUe Whigs undid what Whigs them- 
selves had done,t 

interfere with the influence of the reigning 
monarch, nor with that of his successor Anne. 
The purifying clause, indeed, was not to take 
effect till after the decease of the latter sove- 
reign, and she very considerately repealed it 
altogether. So that, as representation has con- 
tinued ever since, if the king were simple 
enough to send to foreign courts ambassadors 
who were most of them in the pay of those 
courts, he would be just as honestly and faith- 
fully represented as are his people. It would 
be "endless to enumerate all the favors which 
were conferred upon William by those '■ apos- 
tate Whigs." They coinplimenled him with the 
first suspension of t lie Habeas Cm-pus Act which 
had been hazarded since the confirmation ot 
that privilege ; and this example of our Deliv- 
erer's reign has not been lost upon any of his 
successors. They promoted the establishment 
of a standing army, and circulated in its de- 
fence the celebrated " Balancing Letter," in 
which it is insinuated that England, even then, 
in her boasted hour of regeneration, was ar- 
rived at such a pitch of faction and corruption 
that nothing could keep her in order but a 
Whig ministry and a standing army. They 
refused, as long as they could, to shorten the 
duration of parliaments ; and though, in the 
Declaration of Rights, the necessity of such a 
reform was acknowledged, they were able, by 
arts not unknown to modern ministers, to 
brand those as traitors and republicans who 
urged it.' But the grand and distinguishing 
trait of their measures was the power they bo- 
stowed on the Crown of almost annihilatingthe 
freedom of elections,— of turning from its 
course and forever defiling that great stream 
of Representation, which had, even in the most 
agitated periods, reflected some features of the 
people, but which, from thenceforth, became 
the Pactolus, the " aurifer amnis," of the court, 
•See a pamphlet published In 1693, upon the King's 
refuslnc to slfcn the Trionnial Bill, calleii " A Dis- 
course between a Veoman of Kent and a Knight of a 
Shire."— "Hereupon (says the Yeoman) the ^entlo 
man grew anary, and said that I talked like a bas* 
commons- wealth man." 



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200 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



The hour was lost, and William, with a 

smile, [ish'd pile ! 

Saw Freedom weeping o'er the unfin- 

Hence all the ills you suffer,— hence 
remain [chain,* 

Such galhng fragments of that feudal 
Whose links, around yoa by the Norman 
flung, [have clung. 

Though loosed and broke so often, still 
Hence sly Prerogative, like Jove of old. 
Has tm-n'd his thunder into showers ol 
' gold, [joys,t 

Whose silent courtship wins securer 

and served as a mirror of the national will 
and popular feeliii!; no longer. We need but 
consult the writings of the time to understand 
the astouishraent then excited by measures, 
vhicli the practice of a century has rendered 
not only f.imiliar but necessary. See a pam 

fihlet called •' The Danger of Mercenary Par- 
laments," 1608 ; State Tracts, Will. III. vol. 
ii. ; see also " Some Paradoxes presented as a 
New Year's Gift. ' {Slate Poems, vol in.) 

* The last gre.at wound given to the feudal 
system was the Act of the 12th of Charles II , 
which abolished the tenure of kniglit s service 
in capite, and which Blackstone compares, for 
its salutary influence upon propi-rty, to the 
boasted provisiousof M'lgnaChaita itself. Yet 
even in this Act we see the effects of tliat coun- 
teracting spirit which has contrived to weaken 
every efibrt of the English nation towards lib- 
erty. The exclusion of copyholders from their 
share of elective rights was permitted to re- 
main as a brand of feudal servitude, and as an 
obstacle to the rise of that strong counterbal- 
ance which an equal representation of property 
wonldoiipose to the weight of the Crown. If 
the managers of the Revolution had been sin- 
cere ill their wishes for reform, they would not 
only have t.iken this fetter off the rights of 
election, but would have renewed the mode 
adopted in Cromwell's time, of increasing the 
number of knights of the shire, to the exclusion 
of those rotten insignificant boroughs, wliich 
hfive tainted the whole mass of the constitu- 
tion. L'ird Clarendon calls this measure of 
Cromwells "an alteration fit to be more war- 
lan table made, and in a better time." It formed 
part of Mr. Pitt's plan in 178:); but Pitt's plan 
of reform was a kind of announced dramatic 

gicce. about as likely to be ever acted as Mr. 
heridan's " Foresters." 

t fore enim tutum iter et patens 

Converso in pretium Deo. 
Aurum per medios ire satellites, &c. 

Ho RAT. 
It would be a task not uninstructive to trace 
the history of Prerogative from the date of its 
strength under the Tudor princes, when Henry 
VII and his successors " taught the people (as 
Nathaniel Bacon says*) to dance to the tune of 
Allegiance." to the period of the Revolution, 
when the Throne, in its attacks upon liberty, be- 

'lyatoTic. and PoliUc. Discourse, &c,,part U- p. lU. 



Taints by degrees, and ruins without 
noise. [cred things 

While parliaments, no more those sa- 
Which make and rule the destiny ot 
kings, [thrown. 

Like loaded dice by ministers are 
And each new set of sharpers cog their 
own. [ury steals, 

Hence the rich oil, that from the Treas- 
Drips smooth o'er all the Constitution's 
wheels, [p'ayjt 

Giving the old machine such phaut 
That Court and Commons jog one jolt- 
less way, 

pan to exchangethe noisy explosions of Preroga 
tive for the silent ana effectual air-gun ol Influ- 
ence. In following its course, too. since that 
memorable era, we shallfind that, while the roy- 
al power has beenabridged in branches where it 
might be made condijcive to the interests ot the 
people, it has been left in full and unshacklec 
vigor against almost every point where the in 
togrity ot the constitution is vulnerable. Foi 
instance, the power of chartering boroughs, tc 
whose capricious abuse in the hands of tlu 
Stuarts we are indebted for most of the pn'sent 
anomalies of representation, might, if surtered 
to remain, have in some degree atoned for its 
mischief, by restoring the old nncliartered 
boroughs to their rights, and widening more 
etinally the basis of the legislature. But, by the 
Act of Union with Scotland, this part of the 

Ererogative was removed, lest Freedom should 
ave a chance of being healed, even by the 
rust of the spear which liad formerly wouiwled 
her. The dangerous power, however, of cre- 
ating peers, which has been so often exercised 
for the government against the constitution, is 
still left in free and unqualified activity ; not- 
withstanding the example of that celebrated 
Bill for the limitation of this ever-budding 
branch of prerogative, which was projiosed in 
the reign of George I., under the peculiar sanc- 
tion and recommendation of the Ciown. but 
which the Whigs thought right to reject with 
all that characteristic delicacy, whicli, in gen- 
eral, prevents them, when enjoying the sweets 
of ofBce themselves, from taking any nncourtly 
advantage of the Throne. It will be recol- 
lected, however, that the creation of the twelve 
peers by the Tories in Anne's reign (a measure 
which Swift, like a true party man, defends) 
gave these upright Whigs all possible alarm for 
their liberties. 

Witli regard to the generous fit about his 
prerogative which seized so unroyally tlie good 
king George I., historians have hinted that the 
paroxysm originated far more in hatred to his 
son than in love to the constitution.! This of 
course, however, is a calumny: noloyfd person, 
acquainted with the annals of the three Georges, 
could possibly suspect any one of those gracious 
monarchs either of ill-will to his heir, or indiffer- 
ence for the constitution. 

} " They drove so fast, (says Wei wood of the 



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CORRUPTIOI^"; A POETIC EPISTLE. 



201 



While "Wisdom trembles for tlie crazy car, 
So gnt, so rotten, carrying fools so far ; 
And the duped people, hourly doom'd to 

pay [away, — * 

The sums that bribe their liljerties 
Like a young eagle, who has lent his 

plume [his doom, 

To fledge the shaft by which he meets 
See their own feathers pluck'd, to wing 

the dart _ [heart ' 

Which rauk corruption destines for their 
But soft ! methinks I hear thee proudly 

say 
" What ! sball I listen to the impious lay, 
"That dares, with Tory license, to 

profane [glorious reign? 

*' The bright bequests of William's 
" Shall the great wisdom of our patriot 

sires, [sa-^ory B— rch admires, 
"Whom H — wks — b— y quotes and 

ministers of Charles I.,) that it was no wonder 
that the wheels aud chariot broke." (Memoirs, 
p. 35.)— But this fatal accident, if we may 
judfje from experience, is to be imputed far less 
to the folly and impetuosity of the drivers, than 
to the want of that supplying oil from the 
Treasury which has been found so necessary to 
make a froyernment like that of England ruu 
smoothly. Had Charles been as well provided 
with this article as his successors have been 
since the happy Kevolution, his Commons would 
never have merited from him the harsh appel- 
lation of "seditious vipers," but would have 
been (hs they now are, and I trust always will 
be) "dutiful Commons," "loyal Commons," 
&c., &c., and would have g:iven him ship- 
money, or any other sort of money he might 
have fancied. 

* Among tliose auxiliaries which the Revolu- 
tiiMi of 1H88 marshalled on the side of the 
Throne, the bugbear olr Popej-y has not been 
the least convenient and serviceable. Those 
unskilful tyrants, Charles and James, instead 
of profiting by that useful subserviency which 
has always distinguished the ministers of our 
religions establishment, were so infatuated as to 
plan the ruin of this best bulwark of their 
power, and, moreover, connected their designs 
upon the church so undisguisedly with their at- 
tiuks upon the Constitution, that tbev identified 
in tlie minds of the people the interests of their 
religion and their liberties. During those 
times, therefore, " No Popery " was the watch- 
word ot freedom, and served to keep the public 
spirit awake against the invasions of bigotry 
and preiogative. The Revolution, however, by 
removing this object of jealousy, has produced 
a reliance on the orthodoxy of the Throne, of 
which the Throne has not failed to take advan- 
tage : find the cry of " No Popery " having thus 
lost its power of alarming the people against 
the inroads of the Crown, has served ever since 
the very different purpose of strengthening the 
Crown, against the pretensions and struggles of 
the people. The danger of the Church from 
Papists and Pretenders was the chief pretext 



"Be slander'dthus? Shall honest St— le 

agree [free, 

"With virtuous R — se to call us pure and 

" Yet fail to prove it ? Shall our patent 

pair [in air, 

" Of wise state-poets waste their words 

"And P — e unheeded breathe his pros- 

perous strain, [in vainf'i 

"And C— nn— ng take thepeojylc's sense 

The people !— ah, that Freedom'? form 

should stay 
Where Freedom's spirit long hath pass'd 

away ! 
That a false smile should play around the 

dead, [fled !i 

And flush the features when the soul hath 
When Rome had lost her vutue wjth her 

rights, [heights 5 

When her foul tp-ant sat on Capreise's 

for the repeal of the Triennial Pill for the 
adoption ot a standing army, for the immerous 
suspensions of the Habeas Corpus Act, and. in 
short, for all those spirited inliaciioiis of the 
couotituUun by which the reigns of the last 
century were so eminently di,^tingui>lied. We 
have seen very lately, too. how the Tlirone has 
bcea enabled, by the same scarecrow sort of 
alarm, to select its ministers from among men 
whose servility is their only t-luim to elevation, 
and who are pledged (it such an alternative 
could arise) to take part with the scruples of 
the King against the salvation of the empire. 

t Somebody has said, " Quand tous Ics poetes 
seraient noyCs, ce ne seriiit psis grand dora- 
mago," but 1 nm aware thai this is not fit Ian- 
guage to be held at a time v hen our birth-day 
odes and state papers arc urilteubysuch pretty 
poets as Mr. P — e and Mr. C — nn — ng. All! 
wish is, that the latter gentleman would change 
places with his brother P — e, by which means 
we should have somewhat less pro<e in ourodes 
and certainly less poetry m oiir politics 

t"It IS a scandal (said .Sir Charles Sodley in 
"William's reJgn) that a government so sick at 
heart as ours is should look so well in t he face ;" 
and Edmund Burke h:)s said, in the present 
reign, " When the people conceive th.nt laws 
and tribunals, and even popiihir as.seniblies, are 

Eerverted from the ends of tlieir institution, tliey 
nd in these names of degeneratoil establisti- 
ments only new motives to discontent. Those 
bodies which, when full of life and beauty, lay 
in their arms and were their joy and comfort, 
when dead and putrid become niore loathsome 
from remembrance of former endearments." — 
Thoughts on the present Discunn-nls, 1770. 

§ Tutor hiiberi 

Principis, AngnstACaprearnm in rupe sedentis 
Cum grege Chaldso. 

JnvEN.M,. Sat. X. V. 92. 
The senate still continued, during the reign of 
Tiberius, to manage nil the business of the pub- 
lic; the money was then and long after coined 
by their authority, and every other public affail 
i-eceived their sanction. 




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MOORE'S WOEKS. 



^.mid his ruflSan spies, and doom'd to 

death [their breath, — 

Each noble name they blasted with 
Even then, (in mockery of that golden 

time, 
WTien the Republic rose revered, sublime, 
And her proud sons, diffused from zone 

to zone, [own, ) 

Gave kings to every nation but their 
Even then the senate and the tribune 

stood, [flood 

Insulting marks, to show how high the 
Of Freedom flow'd, in glory's bygone 

day. 
And how it ebb'd,— fore ver ebb'd away!* 

Look but around— though yet a 

tyrant's sword [board, 

ISTor haunts our sleep nor gUtters o'er our 
Though blood be better drawn, by 

modern quacks, [or axe ; 

"With Treasmy leeches than with sword 
Yet say. could even a prostrate txibune's 

power, [hour, 

Or a mock senate, in Rome's servile 
Insult so much the claims, the rights of 

man, [van. 

As doth that fetter'd mob, that free di- 
Of noble tools and honorable knaves, 
Of pension'd patriots and privileged 

slaves ; — [can warm 

That party-color'd mass, which naught 
But rank corruption's heat — whose 

quicken'd swarm [golden sky, 
Spread their light wings in Bribery's 
Buzz for a period, lay then- eggs, and 

die ;— [dom's tomb 

That greedy vampire, which from free- 
Comes forth, with all the mimicry of 

bloom 

We are told by Tacitus of a certain race of 
men, who made themselves particularly useful 
to the Roman emperors, and were therefore 
called '-instrumenta regni," or " court tools." 

From this it appears that my Lords M , 

C » &c.. &c., are by no means things of 

modern invention 

' There is something very touching in what 
Tacitus tells us of the hopes that revived in 
.1 few patriot bosoms, when the death of Augus- 
.us was near apjjroaehing. and the fond ex- 
pectation with which they already began "bona 
iibertatis incassum disserere." 

According to Ferguson, Caesar's interference 
with the rights of election "made the subver- 
sion of the republic more felt than any of the 
former acts o'f his power." — Roman Republic, 
book v. chap. L 

\ Andrew Marvell. the honest opposer of the 
court during the reign of Charles the Second, 
and the last member of parliament who, ac- 



TJpon his lifeless cheek, and sucks and 

drains 
A people's blood to feed its putrid veins ! 

Thou start'st, my friend, at picture 

drawn so dark — , 
"Is there no hght?" thou ask'st — "no 

ling'ring spark [there none, 

" Of ancient fire to warm us ? Lives 
" To act a Marvell's part?" f — alas ! not 

one. [tends, 

To place and power all public spirit 
In place and power all publ'c spirit 

ends ;t [sky. 

Like hardy plants, that love the ah and 
When out, 'twill thrive— but taken in, 

'twill die ! 

ISot bolder truths of sacred Freedom 

hung [tongue. 

From Sidney's pen or bum'd on Fox's 
Than upstart Whigs produce each market 

night, [is light ; 

While yet their conscience, as their purse, 
While debts at home excite their care 

for those 
Which, du-e to tell, their much-loved 

country owes, 
And loud and upright, till their prize be 

known, [their own. 

They thwart the King's supplies to raise 
But bees, on flowers alighting, cease 

their hum — [dumb. 

So, settling upon places, Whigs grow 
And, though most base is he who, 'neath 

the shade [trade. 

Of Freedom's ensign plies corruption's 
And makes the sacred flag he dares to 

show 
His passport to the market of her foe, 
Yet, yet, I own, so venerably dear 

cording to the ancient mode, took wages from 
his constituents. The Commons have, since 
then, much changed their pav masters.— See 
the State Poems for some rude but spirited ef- 
fusions of Andrew Marvell. 

J The following artless speech of Sir Francis 
Winningtou, in the reign of Charles the Sec- 
ond, will nrause those who are fully aware of 
the perfection we have since attairied in that 
system of government whose humble begiu- 
nings so much astonished the worthy baronet. 
"I did observe (says he) that all those who 
had pensions, and most of those who had of- 
fices, voted all of a side, as they were directed 
by some great officer, exactly as if their 
business in this House had been to preserve 
their pensions and offices, and not to make 
laws for the good of them who sent them 
here." He alludes to that parliament which 
was called, par excellence, the Pensionary Par 
liameut. 




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CORRUPTION: A POETIC EPlSTLE. 



203 



Are Freedom's grave old anthems to my 
ear, [sung, 

That I enjoy them, though by traitors 

And reverence Scripture even from Sa- 
tan's tongue. 

iSTay, when the constitution has expired, 

I'll have such men, like Irish wakers, 
hired 

To chant old "Habeas Corpus" by its 
side, [died ? 

And ask, in purchased ditties, why it 

See yon smooth lord, whom nature's 

plastic pains 
"Would seem to've fashion'd for those 

Eastern reigns 
When eunuchs flourish'd, and such 

nerveless things 
As men rejected were the chosen of 

Kings; — * 
Even he, forsooth, (oh fi-aud, of all the 

worst!) [fh-st— 

Dared to assume the patriot's name at 
Thus Pitt began, and thus begin his 

apes ; 
Thus devils, when first raised, take 

pleasing shapes. 

* According to Xenophon, the chief circum- 
Btance which recommeuded these creatures to 
the services of Eastern princes wns the igno- 
minious station they held in society, and the 
probability of their being, upon this account, 
more devoted to the will and caprice of a mas- 
ter, from whose notice alone tliey derived con- 
sideration, and in whose favor they might seek 
refuge from the general contempt of mankind. — 
ASojoi ocres oi €uvouxoi irapa tois aAAoi? avQpia- 
jrois Kai &ia rovTO SecnroTOu eiTiKOvpov irpoaSeov- 

Toi.— But I doubt whether even an Eastern 
rrince would have chosen an entire administra- 
tion upon this principle. 

t" And in the cup an Union shall be thrown." 
Hamlet. 
\ Among the many measures, which, since 
the Kevolution, have contributed to increase 
the influence of the throne, and to feed up this 
"Aarou's serpent" of the constitution to its 
present health and respectable magnitude, 
there have been few more nutritive than the 
Scotcli and Irish Unions. Sir John Packer 
said, in a debate upon the former question, 
that " He would submit it to the House, wheth- 
er men who had basely betrayed their trust, 
by giving up their independent constitution, 
were fit to be admitted into the English House 
of Commons." But Sir John would have known, 
if he had not been out of place at the time, that 
the phancy of such materials was not among 
the least of their recommendations. Indeed, 
tlie promoters of the Scotch Union were by no 
means disappointed in the leading object of 
their measure, for the triumphant majorities of 
the court-pai-ty in parliament may be dated 



But oh, poor Ireland! if revenge be 
sweet 

For centuries of wrong, for dark deceit 

And with'ring insult — for the Union 
thrown 

Into thy bitter cup,+ when that alone 

Of slavery's draught was wantiagf— if 
for this 

Revenge be sweet, thou Jiast that da;- 
mon's bliss ; 

For, sure, 'tis more than hell's revenge 
to see 

That England trusts the men who've 
ruin'd thee ; — 

That, in these awful days, when every 
hour 

Creates some new or blasts some an- 
cient power, 

When proud ]S^apoleon, like th' enchant- 
ed .shield^ 

Whose light compell'd each wond'ring 
foe to }neld, 

"With baleful lustre blinds the brave and 
free. 

And dazzles Europe into slavery, — 

That, in this hour, when patriot zeal 
should guide, 

from the admission of the 4^ and the 16. Once 
or twice, upon the alteration of their law o( 
treason and the imiosition of llie malt-tax, 
(measures which were in direct violation of the 
Act of Union,) these worthy North Britons 
arrayed themselves in opposition to the court ; 
but finding this effort for their country unavail- 
ing, they prudently detennincdto think thence 
forward of themselves, and few men liave ever 
kept to a laudable resolution more firmly. The 
effect of Irish representation on the liberties of 
England will be no less perceptible and perma- 
nent. 

OuS" bye Tavpeu 

The infusion of such cheap and useful ingredi- 
ents as my Lord L., Mr. D. B., Sec, &o., into 
the legislature, cannot but act as a powerful 
alterative on the constitution, and clear it by 
degrees of all troublesome humors of honesty. 
§ The magician's shield in Ariosto: 
E tolto per vertii dello splendore 
La libertate a loro. Cant. 2. 

TVe are told that Caesar's code of morality wag 
contained in the following lines of Euripides, 
which that great man frequently repeated : — 

Etjrep yap aSiKeiv XPV TvpavviSo^ Trepi 
KaAAicTTOv aSiKeiV TaAAa S' eucTe^cif xpeiov. 

This is also, as it appears, the moral code of 
Napoleon. 

• From AratuB, (v. 716,) a poet who wrote upon as- 
tronomy, tboucli, as Cicero assures us, he knew noth- 
ing whatever about the subject : Justas thepreat Har- 
vey wrote '• De iJeneratlone," thou;;h he had as Uttlo 
to do with the matter as uiy liord Viscount 0. 



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20* 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



When Mind should rale, and— Fox 

should not have died, 
All that devoted England can oppose 
To enemies made fiends and iriends 

made foes, 
is the rank refuse, the despised re- 
mains 
Of that unpitying power, whose whips 
and chains [glance, 

Drove Ireland first to turn, with harlot 
Towards other shores, and woo th' em- 
brace of France ; — [fit 
Those hack'd and tainted tools, so foully 
For the grand artisan of mischief, P— tt, 
So useless ever but in vile employ. 
So weak to save, so vigorous to destroy — 
Such are the men that guard thy threat- 
en 'd shore, [no more. 
Oh England! sinking England!* boast 

* Tho following proplietic remnrks occur in a 
letter written liy Sir Kohcit Tnllict, wlio fit- 
tended tlic Duke of Bedford to Piiris in 1703. 
Talking of states wliich have grown powerful 
in commerce, he says, "According to the na- 
ture and common course of things, there is a 
confederacy against them, and consequently in 
the same proportion as they increase in riches, 
they approach to destruction. The address of 
our King William, in making all Europe take 
the alarm at France, has lirou'rht that country 
before us near that ino\itaMe period. We 
must necessarily have our turji, and Great Bri- 
tain will attain it as soon as France shall have 
a declaimer with organs as proper for that po- 
litical purpose as were those of oar William tho 

Third Without doubt, mv Loid, 

Great Britain must lower her flight. 'Europe 
will remind us of the balance of commerce as 
she has reminded France of the balance of 
power. The address of our statesmen will im- 
mortalize them by contriving for us a descent 
which shall not be a fall, by makingus rather 
resembleHollmd than Carthage and Venice."- - 
Le'ters on the French Nation. 

t The king-deposing doctrine, notwithstand- 
ing its many mischievous al)sur(lities, amis of 
BO little service to tlie cause ofpolltifal liliertv, 
by inculcating the riglit of resistance to tyrants, 
and asserting the v\ ill of tho people to be the 
only true fountain of power. Bcllarmine, the 
most powerful of tho advocates for papal au- 
Ihority, was one of the first to maintain {De 
Pontiff, lil). i, cap. 7) "that kings have not 
their .'uit'iority or office immediately from God 
nor his law ; but only from the law of nations ;' 
aiid in King James's "Defence of the Rights 
of Kings against Cardinal Perron." we find his 
Majesty expressing strong indignation against 
the Cardinal for having asserted "th.at'tothe 
deposing of a king the consent of the people 
must be obtained "— " for by these words (says 
James) the people are exalted above the king, 
and made the judges of the king's deposing," 
p. 421. — Even in ilariann's celebrated book, 
where the nonsense of bigotry does not inter- 
fere, there may be found many liberal and en- 



INTOLERANCE; 



" This clamor, which pretends to be raised 
for the safety of religion, has almost worn out 
the very appearance of it. and rendered us not 
only the most divided but the most immoral 
people upon the face of the earth." 

AuDisoN, Freeholder, No. 37. 

Start not, my friend, nor think the 
muse will stain 

Her classic fingers with the dust profane 

Of Bulls, Decrees, and all those thun- 
d'ring scrolls, 

"Which took such freedom once with 
royal souls,t 

When heaven was yet the pope's ex- 
clusive trade, [they're made. 

And kings were damn'd as fast as now 

lightened views of the principles of govern- 
ment, of the restraints which should be imposed 
upon royal power, of the subordination of the 
Throne to the interests of the people. &c. <S,c. 
{De Rogc et Hcgis Institutione. See particu 
larly lib. i. cap. 6. 8, and 9.)— It is rather re- 
markable, too. that England should be indebted 
to another Jesuit for the earliest defence of 
that principle upon which the Eevolution was 
founded, namely, the right of the people to 
change the succession. —(See Dolemnn's "Con- 
ferences," W'itten in support of the title of the 
Infanta of S) ain against that of James I.) — 
Whea Englishmen, therefore, say that Popery 
is the religion of slavery, they s-hould not only 
recollect that their own boasted constitution is 
tlie work and bequest of popi.^h ancestors: 
they should not only remember the laws of Ed 
ward III., " under whom (says Bolingbioke) 
the constitution of our parliaments, and the 
whole form of our government, became reduced 
into better form ." but they should know that 
even the errors charged on Popery have leaned 
to the cause of liberty, and that Papists were 
the first promulgators of the doctrines which 
led to the Eevolution. — In general, however, 
the political principles of the Komnn Catholics 
have been described as happened to KUit the 
tempoi'ary convenience of their oppressors, and 
have been represented alternately as slavish or 
refractory, according as a pretext fortoiinent- 
ing them was wanting. The same inconsist- 
ency has marked every other imputation acainst 
them. They are charged with laxity in the 
observance of oaths, though an oath lias been 
found sufficient to shut them out from all 
worldly advantages. If they reject certain de 
cision.s of their church, they are said to be 
skeptics and bad Christians; if they ndmit 
those very decisions, they are branded as bigots 
and bad subjects We are told that confidence 
and kindness will make them enemies to the 
government, though we know that exclusion 
and injuries have hardly prevented them from 
being its friends. In short, nothing can better 
illustrate the misery of those shifts and evasions 
by which a long course of cowardly injustiee 



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IN"TOLBRAN-CB ; A SATIRE. 



205 



No. no— let D— gen— n search the papal 

chair* [there ; 

For fragrant treasures long forgotten 

And, as the witch of iunless Lapland 

thinks [stinks, 

That little swarthy gnomes delight in 

Let sallow P— re — v — 1 snuff up the gale 

Which wizard D— gen — n's gathered 

sweets exhale. [to scorn 

Enough for me, whose heart has learn'd 

Bigots alike in Rome or England born, 

Who loathe the venom whencesoe'er it 

springs, [kings, — 

From popes or lawyers,! pastry-cooks or 

Enough for me to laugh and weep by 

turns, 
As mirth provokes, or indignation bums. 
As C — nn — ng vapors, or as France suc- 
ceeds, [Ijleeds ! 
As H— wk — sb'ry proses, or as Ireland 

And thou, my friend, if, in these 
headlong days, [plays 

When bigot Zeal "her drunken antics 
So near a precipice, that men the while 
Look breathless on and shudder while 
they smile — [look 

If, in such fearful days, thou'lt dare to 
To hapless Ireland, to this rankling nook 
Which Heaven hath freed from poison- 
ous things ip vain, 
While G — if- rd'f tongue and M— s- 

gr — ve's pel /emain — 
If thou hast yet to golden blinkers got 
To shade thine ejes from this devoted 
spot, [the world they be, 

wrongs, though blazon' d o'er 
Placemen alone are privileged not to 
see — [shamrock wreathes 

Oh ! turn awhile, and, though the 
My homely harp, yet shall the "song it 
breathes 

must be supported, than the ■\rhole history of 
Great Britain's conduct towards the Catholic 
part of her empire. 

*The -'Stella Stercoraria" of the popes.— 
Tlie Jtight Honorable and learned Doctor will 
fiiui an en^raring of this chair in Spanheim's 
"Disquisitio Historica de Papa Foemina," 
(p IIH) ; and I recommend it as a model for the 
fashion of that seat which tlie Doctor is about 
to take in the privy-council of Ireland. 

tWhen Innocent X. was entreated to decide 
the controversy between the Jesuits and the 
Jansenists, he "answered that "he had been 
bred a lawyer, and had therefore nothing to do 
■with divinity." — It were to be wished that 
some of our English pettifoggers knew their 
own fit element as well as Pope Innocent X. 

{NottheC — md — n who speaks thus of Ireland: 

"To wind up all, whether we regard the 



Of Ireland's slavery, and of Ireland's 

woes, 
Live, when the memory of her tyrant 

foes [warn. 

Shall but exist, aU future knaves to 
Embalm'd in hate and canonized by 

scorn ; [profound 

When C — stl — r — gh, ia sleep still more 
Than his own opiate tongue now deals 

around, [day 

Shall wait th' impeachment of that awful 
Which even his practised hand can't 

bribe away. 

Yes, my dear friend, wert thou but 

near me now, [brow 

To see how Spring lights up on Erin's 
Smiles that shine out, unconquerably 

fan-, [C — md — nf there,— 

Even through the blood-marks left by 
Couldst thou but see what verdure paints 

the sod, [have trod. 

Which none but tyrants and their slaves 
And didst thou know the spirit, kind and 

brave, [slave. 

That warms the soul ^f each insulted 
Who, tired with stmggiing, sinks be- 
neath his lot, [forgot^ — ■ 
And seems by all but watchful France 
Thy heart would bum — yes, even thy 

Pittite heart [blooming part 

Would bum, to think, that such a 
Of the world's garden, rich in nature's 

charms, [anns. 

And fiU'd with social souls and vigorous 
Should be the victim of that canting 

crew, 
So smooth, so godly, — ^yet so devilish too; 
Who, arm'd at once with prayer-books 

and with whips, 1| 
Blood on then- hands, and Scripture on 

their lips, 

fruitfulness of the soil, the advantage of the 
sea, with so many commodious havens, or tlie 
natives themselves, who are warlike, ingenious, 
handsome, and well-complexioned, soft-skinued 
and very nimble, by rea.sou of the pliantness of 
their muscles, this Island is in many respects so 
happy, that Giraldus might very well sav. 
'Nature had regarded with more favorable 
eyes than ordinary this Kingdom of Zephyr.' " 

§The example of toleration, which Bona'parte 
has held forth, will, I fear, produce no other ef- 
fect than that of determining tho British pov- 
ernmenttopersist, from the very spiritof opposi- 
tion, in their own old system ot' intolerance and 
injustice; just as the Siamese blacken theirtoeth, 
"because, they say, "the devil has whiteones."* 
llOno of the unhappy results of the coiiti-o- 

•See I'HUtolre Maturelle et Pollt. da Koyanme da 



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206 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Tyrants by creecl, and torturers by text, 
Make tJiis life hell, in honor of the next! 
Tour R — desd — les, P — re — v — Is, — 

great, glorious Heaven, [given, 
If I'm presumptuous, be my tongue for- 
When here I swear, by my soul's hope 

of rest, [blest 

I'd rather have been bom, ere man was 

versy between Protestants and Catholics, is the 
mutual exposure which their criminations and 
recriminations have produced. In vain do tlie 
Protestants charge the Papists with closinirthe 
door of salvation upon others, while many of 
their own writings and articles broatlie the 
same unchiiritable spirit. Xo canon of Con- 
stance or Lateran ever damned heretics more 
efiFectually than the eighth of the Thirty-nine 
Articles consigns to perdition every single mem- 
ber of the Greek church ; and I doubt whether 
a more swecpinir clause of damnation was ever 
proposed in the most bigoted council, tliau that 
whicli the Calvinistie theory of predestination 
in the seventeenth of these Articles exhibits. 
It is true that no liberal Protestant avows such 
exclusive opinions; that every honest clergy- 
man must feel a pang while he suliscribes to 
them; that some even assert the Athanasian 
Creed to be the forgery of one Vigilius Tapsen- 
eis, in the beginning of the sixth century, and 
that eminent divines, like Jortin, have nothesi- 
tated to say, " There are propositions contained 
in our Liturgy and Articles which no man of 
«ommon sense amongst us believes."* But 
■while all this is freely conceded to Protestants; 
while nobody doubts their sincerity, when they 
declare that their articles are not essentials of 
faith, but a collection of opinions which have 
been promulgated hj fallible men, and from 
many of which they teel themselves justified in 
dissenting,— while so much liberty of retracta- 
tion is allowed to Protestants upon their own 
declared and subscribed Articles of religion, is 
it not strange that a similar indulgence sliould 
be so obstinately refused to the Catholics upon 
tenets which their church has uniformly re- 
sisted and condemned, in every country where 
it has independently tlourished ? Whcu the 
Catholics say, " The Decree of the Council of 
Lateran, which you object to us, has no claim 
whatever upon cither our faitn or our reason ; 
it did not even profess to contain any doctrinal 
decision, but was merely a judicial proceeding 
of that assembly; and it would be as fair for us 
to impute a 2vife-killing doctriue to the Protes- 
tants, because their first pope, Henry VIII., 
■was sanctioned in an indulgence of that pro- 
pensitv, as for you to conclude that we have in- 
herited a king-deposing taste from the acts of 
the Council of Lateran. or the secular preten- 
sions of our popes. With respect, too, to the 
Decree of the Council of Constance, upon the 
strength of which you accuse us of breaking 
faith with heretics, v.e do not hesitate to pro- 
nounce that Decree a calumnious forgery, a 
forgery, too, so obvious and ill-fabricated, that 
none but our enemies have ever ventured to 
give it the slightest credit for authenticity." 
• Strictures on the Articles, Subscriptions, i«. 



"With the pure dawn of Revelation's 

light, [night. 

Yes, — rather plunge me back in Pagan 

And take my chance with Socrates for 

bliss,* 
Than be the Christian of a faith like this, 
Which builds on heavenly cant its earth- 
ly sway, 

"When the Catholics make these declarations, 
(and they are almost weary with making them,) 
when they show, too, by their conduct, that 
these declarati(uis are sincere, and that their 
faith and morals are no more regulated by the 
absurd decrees of old councils and popes, than 
their science is influenced bv the papal ana- 
thema against that Inshmant who first found 
out the Antipodes,— is it not strange that so 
many still wilfully distrust what every good 
mau is so much interested in believing? That 
so many should prefer the dark-lantern of the 
loth century to the sunshine of intellect which 
has since overspread the world 1 and that every 
dabbler in theology, from Mr. Le Mesurier 
down to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
should dare to oppose the rubbish of Constance 
and Lateran to the biiaht and triumphant 
progress of justice, generos-ity, and truth? 

*iu a singular work, written by one Francis- 
cus Collins, "upon the Souls ot the Pagans,' 
the author discusses, with much coolness and 
erudition, all the probable chances of salvation 
upon which a heathen philosopher might calcu- 
late. Consigning to perdition, witlKuit much 
difficulty, I'lato, Socrates, &e.,the only sngcat 
whose fate he seems to hesitate is Pythagoras, 
ill consideration of his golden thigh, and the 
many miracles which he performed. But, hav- 
ing balanced a little his claims, and finding rea- 
son to f'atlier all these miracles on the devil, he 
at length, in the twenty-fifth chapter, decides 
upon damning him also. (De Animabvs Pa- 
qunorum, lib.iv. cap. 20 and 25.) — The poet 
Dante compromises the matter with the Pa- 
gans, and gives them a neutral territory or lira- 
bo of their own, where their employment, it 
must be owned, is not very enviable. — " Senza 
speme vivemo in desio." — Cant. iv. — Among 
the numerous errors imputed to Origcn, he is 
accused of having denied the eternity of future 
punishment; and, if he never advanced a more 
irrational doctrine, we m.ay venture, I think, to 
forgive him. He went so far, however, as to 
include the devil himself in the general holl- 
delivery ■« hich he supposed would one day or 
other take place, and in this St. Augustin 
thinks him rather too merciful— " Miserecor- 
dior profecto fuit Origenes, qui et ipsum diabo- 
lum,'' &c. (Be Civitat. Dei, lib. xxi. cap. 17.)— 
According to St. Jerom, it was Origeu's opin- 
ion that " the devil himself, after a certain 
time, will be as well off nsthe Angel Gabriel !" 
— " Id ipsum fore Gabrielem quod diabolura.'' 
(See his Epistle to Pammachius.) Put Halloix, 

tVlrcillns, sumamed Solivagus, a native of Ireland, 
who maintained, In the 8th century, the doctrine of 
the Antipodes, and was anathematized accordingly by 
the Pope. John Scotus Erlgena, another Irishman, 
was the first that ever wrote against transubstantlaf 
tlon. 




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rNTOLEEAN-CB ; A SATIKB. 



207 



And in a convert mourns to lose a prey ; 

"WTiich grasping human hearts "nith dou- 
ble hold,— 

Like Danae's lover mixing God and 
gold,*— 

Corrupts both state and church, and 
makes an oath [both ; 

The knave and atheist's passport into 

Which, while it dooms dissenting souls 
to know 

Nor bMss above nor liberty belo-n^, 

in his Defence of Oriccn. denies stroiig-ly that 
his learned father Lad any such misplaced ten- 
derness for the devil. 

*Mr. Fox, in his Speech on the Eepeal of the 
Test Act, (I79IJ,) thus condemns the intermix- 
ture of religion with the political constitution 
of a state:— " What purpose (lie asks) can it 
serve, except the baleful purpose of communi- 
cating and receiving contamination ? Under 
such an alliance corruption must alight upon 
theone, and slavery overwhelm the other." 

I.ocke, too, says of the connection between 
church and state. "The boundaries on both 
sides are fixed and immoveable, lie jumbles 
heaven and earth together; the things most re- 
mote and opposite, who mixes these two soci- 
eties, which are in their original, end, business, 
and in evei-ything, perfectly distinct and infi- 
nitely different from each other."— -First ict- 
ter on Toleration. 

The corruptions introduced into Christianity 
may be dated from the period of its establish- 
ment under Constaiitine, nor could all the 
splendor which it then acquired atone for the 
peace and purity which it lost. 

tThere has been, after all, quite as much 
intolerance among Protestants as among Pa- 
pists. According to the hackneyed quotation — 
Hiacos intra muros pecatnr et extra. 

Even the great champion of the Reforraation, 
Mc'lanchthon, whom Jortin calls " a divine of 
much mildness and good-nature,''' thus express- 
es his approbation on the burning of Serve- 
tus: " Legi (he says to Bullinger) qusB de Ser- 
veti blasphemiis respondistis, et pietatem ac 
judicia vestra probo. Judicio etiam senatum 
Genevensem rect6 fecisse, quod hominem per- 
tinacom et non omissurnm blasphemias sustu- 
lit; ac miratus sum esse qui severitatem illam 
improbent." I have great pleasure in contrast- 
ing with these " niildand good-natured" senti- 
ments the following words of the Paiiist Bal- 
uze, in addressing his friend Conringius : " In- 
terim amemus, mi Conringi, et tametsi diver- 
sas opiuiones tuemur in causa religionis, raori- 
bus tamen diversi non simus, qui eadem litera- 
rum studia sectamur."— JEferman. Conring. 
Epistol. par. secund. p. .56. 

Hume tells us that the Commons, in the be- 
ginning of Charles the First's reign, " attacked 
Montague, one of the King's chaplains, on ac- 
count of a moderate book which ho had lately 
composed, and which, to their great disgust, 
saved virtuous Catholics, as well as other Chris- 



Adds the slave's suffering to the sinner's 

fear, 
And, lest he 'scape hereafter, racks him 

here \\ 
But no — far other faith, far milder beams 
Of heavenly justice warm the Christian's 

dreams ; 
His creed is "writ on Mercy's page 

above, 
By the pure hands of all-atoning Love ; 
He weeps to see abused Religion twine 

tians, from eternal torments." — In the same 
manner a complaint was lodged before the 
Lords of the Council against that excelleut wri- 
ter Hooker, for having, in a Sermon agaiust 
Popery, attempted to save many of his Popish 
ancestors from ignorance. — To these examples 
of Protestant toleration I shall beg leave to op- 
pose the following extract from a letter of old 
Koger Ascham, (the tutor of Queen Elizabeth,) 
which is preserved among the Harrington Pa- 
pers, and was written in 1566, to tlie Earl of 
Leicester, complaining of the Archbishop 
Young, who had taken away his prebend in 
the church of York: ''Master Bourne- did 
never grieve mo half so moche in offering me 
wrong, as Mr. Dudley and the Byshopp of York 
doe, in taking away my right. No byshopp in 
Q.Miry's time would have so dealt with me: 
nor Mr. Bourne hymself, when Winchester 
lived, durst have so dealt with me. For suche 
good estimation in those dayes even the learn- 
edst and wysest men, as Gardener and Cardi- 
nal Pciole, made of my jDoore service, that al- 
tliough they knewe perfectly that in religion, 
both by open wrytiuge and pryvie talke, I 
was contrarye unto them ; yea, when Sir Fran- 
cis Englefield by name did note me speeiallye 
at the Council-board, Gardener would not suf- 
fer me to be called thither, nor touched ells- 
wheare, saiinge suche words of me in a lettre, 
as, though lettres cannot, I blushe to write 
them to your lordshipp. Winchester's good- 
will stoode not in speaking fnire and wishing 
well, but he did in neede that for met whereby 
my wife and childrenshall live the better when I 
am gone." (See Nugce Antiquce, vol. i. pp. 98, 
99.)— If men who acted thus were bigots, what 
shall we call Mr. P — re — v — 1 ? 

In Sutcliffe's "Survey of Popery "there oc- 
curs the following assertion: — 'Papists that 
positively hold the heretical and false doc- 
ta-ines of'the modern church of Rome, cannot 
possibly be saved."— As a contrast to this and 
other specimens of Protestant liberality, which 
it would be much more easy than pleasant to 
collect, I refer my reader to the Declaration of 
LaPere Courayer; — doubting not that, while he 
reads the sentiments of this pious man upon 
toleration, he will feel inclined to exclaim with 
Belsham : " Blush, ye Protestant bigots ! and 
be confounded at the comparison of your own 
wretched and malignant prejudices with tho 
generous and enlarged ideas, the noble and ani- 
mated language of this Popish priest." — Ussays, 
xxvii. p. 86. 




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208 



HOOEE'S WOKKS. 



Round Tyraimy's coarse bro^ her wreath 
diviue ; [raise 

And 7je,Avliile round him sects and nations 
To the one God their varying notes of 
praise, [he, 

Blesses each voice, whatever its tone may 
That serves to swell the general har- 
mony.* 

Such was the spuit, gently, grandly 

blight, [with light ; 

That fill'd, oh Fox ! thy peaceful soul 
"While free and spacious as that ambient 

air [care, 

"Which folds our planet in its circling 
The mighty sphere of thy transparent 

mind [all mankind. 

Embraced the world, and breathed for 
Last of the great, farewell \— jet not the 

last— [thee be past, 

Though Britain's sunshine hour with 
lerue still one ray of gloiy gives, 
And feels but half thy loss while Grat- 

tan lives. 



APPEifDIX. 

To the foregoing Poem, as first pub- 
lished, were subjoined, in the shape of a 
I^Totc, or Appendix, the following re- 
marks on the History and Music of Ire- 
laud. This fragment was originally in- 
tended to form part of a Preface to the 
Irish Melodies ; but afterwards, for some 
reason which I do not now recollect, was 
thrown aside. 

* * * * * 

Our history, for many centuiles past, 
is creditable neither to our neighbors nor 
ourselves, and ought not to be read by 
any Irishman who wishes either to love 
England or to feel proud of Ireland. 
The loss of independence very early de- 
based om- character ; and our feuds and 
rebeUious, though frequent and ferocious, 
but seldom displayed that generous spirit 
of entei-prise with which tlie pride of an 
independent monarchy so long dignified 
the struggles of Scotland. It is true 
this island has given birth to heroes who, 

* "La tolerance est la chose du mondela 
plus propre a rainener le siecle d'or, et a faire 
un concert et une liarmonie de plusieuvs voix et 
instruments de difffirents tons ct notes, aussi 
agr^able pourleraoins que I'unitbrraitfi d'une 
seulo voix. Jiayle, Cormnentaire Philosophique, 
&c., part ii. chap, vi.— Both Baylo aud Locke 



under more favorable circumstances, 
might have left in the hearts of their 
countrymen recollections as dear as 
those of a Brace ora Wallace- but success 
was wanting to consecrate resistance, 
their cause was branded with the dis- 
heartening name of treason, and their 
oppressed countiy was such a blank 
among nations, that, like the adventures 
of those woods which Rinaldo wished to 
explore, the fame of their actions was 
lost in the obscurity of the place where 
they achieved them. 

Errando in quelli boschi 

Trovar potiia strane avventure e molte, 
Ma come i hiofj'hi i t'atti ancor son foschi, 
Che noa se ii' ha notizia le piii volte. 1 

Hence it is that the annals of Ireland, 
through a lapse of six hundred years, 
exhibit not one of those shining names, 
not one of those themes of national 
pride, from which poetry borrows her 
noblest inspu-ation; and that history, 
which ought to be the richest garden of 
the Muse, jields no growth to her in this 
hapless island but cypress and weeds. In 
truth, the poet who would embellish his 
song with allusions to Irish names and 
events, must he contented to seek them in 
those early periods when our character 
was yet unalloyed aud original, before 
the impolitic craft of our conquerors had 
divided, weakened, and disgraced us. 
The sole traits of heroism, indeed, 
which he can venture at this day to 
commemorate, either with safety to him 
self, or honor to his country, are to be 
looked for in those ancient times when 
the native monarchs of Irelaud display- 
ed and fostered vhtues worthy of' a 
better a.ge ; when our Malachies wore 
around their necks collars of gold which 
they had won in single combat from the 
invader, t and our Briens deserved and 
won the warm afi"ections of a people b^^ 
exhibiting all the most estimable quali- 
ties of a king. It may be said that the 
magic of tradition has shed a charm over 
this remote period, to which it is in re- 
ality but little entitled, and that most of 
the pictures, which we dwell on so loud- 

would have treated thesubject ofToleration in a 
manner much more worthy of tljcmsolves and 
of the cause if they had written in an age less 
distracted by religious prejudices, 
t Ariosto, canto iv. 



t Sfie Warner's History of Ireland, Tol. i. 
book ix. 




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mTOLEEAN"CE : A SATIEE. 



209 



ly, of (lays when this island was distin- 
guished amidst the gloom of Europe, by 
the sanctity of her morals, the si)irit of 
her knighthood, and the polish of her 
schools, are little more than the inven- 
tions of national partiality, — that bright 
but spurious offspring which vanity en- 
genders upon ignorance, and with which 
the first records of every people abound. 
But the skeptic is scarcely to be envied 
who would pause for stronger proofs 
than we already possess of the early 
glories of Ireland ; and were even the 
veracity of all these proofs surrendered, 
yet who would not fly to such flattering 
fictions from the sad degrading traths 
which the history of later times presents 
tons? 

The language of sorrow, however, is, 
in general, best suited to our Music, and 
with themes of this nature the poet may 
be amply supplied. There is scarcely a 
page of our annals that wiU not furnish 
him a subject, and while the national 
Muse of other countries adorns her tem- 
ple proudly with trophies of the past, in 
Ireland her melancholy altar, like the 
shrine of Pity at Athens, is to be known 
only by the tears that are shed upon it ; 
" lacrijmis altaria sudant."* 

There is a well-known story, related 
of the Antiochiaus under the reign of 
Theodosius, which is not only honorable 
to the powers of music in general, but 
which appUes so pecidiarly to the mourn- 
fiU melodies oflreland, that I cannot resist 
the temptation of introducing it here. — 
The piety of Theodosius would have been 
admirable, had it not been stained with 

* Statins, Thebaid. Uh. xii. 

t "A sort of civil excommunication, (says 
Gibbon,) wliich separateil them from their fel- 
low-citizens by a peculiar brand of infamy ; and 
this declaration of the supreme magistrate 
tended to justify, or at least to excuse, the in- 
sults of a fanatic populace. The sectaries 
were gradually disqualitied for the possession 
of honorable or lucrative iraployments, and 
Theodosius was satisfied with his own justice 
■when he decreed, that, as the Eunoraians dis- 
tinfruished the nature of the Sou from tliat of 
tlie Fiitlier, they should be incapable of making 
their \\ ills, or of receivinjj nuy advantage from 
testameutoxy liooaJAixofi.' 



intolerance ; but under his reign was, I 
believe, first set the example of a disquali- 
fying penal code enacted by Christians 
against Christians, t Whether his inter- 
ference with the religion of the Antioch- 
ians had any share in the alienation of 
their loyalty is not expressly ascertained 
by historans ; Ijut several edicts, heavy 
taxation, and the rapacity and insolence 
of the men whom he sent to govern 
them, sufficiently account for the dis- 
contents of a warm and susceptible peo- 
ple. Eepentance soon followed the 
crimes into which their impatience had 
hurried them ; but the vengeance of the 
Emperor was implacable, and punish- 
ments of the most dreadful nature hung 
over the city of Antioch, whose devoted 
inhabitants, totally resigned to despond- 
ence, wandered through the streets acd 
public assemblies, giving utterance to 
their grief in dirges of the most touching 
lamentation. I At length Flavianus, their 
bishop, whom they had sent to inter- 
cede with Theodosius, finding all his 
entreaties coldly rejected, adopted the 
expedient of teaching these songs of 
soiTow which he had heard from the 
lips of his imfortunate countrymen to 
the minstrels who performed for the 
Emperor at table. The heart of Theo- 
dosius could not resist this appeal ; tears 
fell fast into his cup wliile he listened, 
and the Antiochians were forgiven. — > 
Surely, if music ever spoke the mislbr- 
tunes of a people, or could ever concili- 
ate forgiveness of their errors, the mu- 
sic of Ireland ought to possess those 
powers. 

} MeXr) Tira o\o<j>vpnov n\ripri Kat <rv iXTraBeiai 
O'ucSe/u.ei'oi, rats ^eAuj6iais eTrrjiou. — NicephoTy 

lib. xii. cap. 43. This story is told also iu So-< 
zomen, lib. vii. cap.iS; but unfortunately ChryJ 
sostom says nothint; whatever aliout it, and ho 
not only had the best opportunities of inlorma- 
tion, but was too fond of music, as appears by 
his praises of psalmody, (Exposit. in Psalm 
x!i.,) to omit such a flattering illustration of its 
powers. He imputes their reconciliation to the 
interference of tlie Antiochian solitaries, while 
Zoziraus attributes it to the reinonstranecs of 
the soplnst Lilianius.— Gibbon. I think, does not 
even iUude to this story of the musicians. 



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MOORE'S WORKS. 



THE SKEPTIC; 

A PHILOSOPHICAL SATIRE; 
1808. 



No/uov rravTiiiv ^ao'iAea. 

PiNDAK, ap. Herodot. lib. iii. 



PREFACE. 

The Skeptical Philosophy of the An- 
cients has been no less misrepresented 
than the Epicurean. Pyrrho may per- 
haps have carried it to rather an irra- 
tional excess ;— but we must not believe, 
■with Beattie, all the absurdities imputed 
to this philosopher; and it appears to 
me that the doctrines of the school, as 
explained by Sextus Empiricus,' are 
far more suited to the wants and infirmi- 
ties of human reason, as well as more 
conducive to the mild virtues of humihty 
and patience, than any of those systems 
of philosophy which preceded the intro- 
duction of Christianity. The Skeptics 
may be said to have held a middle path 
between the Dogmatists and Academi- 
cians ; the former of whom boasted that 
they had attained the truth, while the 
latter denied that any attainable truth 
existed. The Skeptics, however, with- 
out either asserting or denying its exist- 
ence, professed to be modestly and anx- 
iously in search of it ; or, as St. Augus- 
tine expresses it, in his liberal tract 
against the Manichseans, "nemo nostram 
dicat jam se invenisse veritatem; sic 
earn queeramus quasi ab utrisque nesci- 
atur.t" From this habit of impartial 
investigation, and the necessity which 
it imposed upon them, of studying not 

*Pyrrh. Hvpoth.— The reader may find a 
tolerably clear abstract of this work of Sextus 
Empiricus in La Verit6 des.Sciences, by Mer- 
eenne, liv. i., chap, ii., &c. 



only every system of philosophy, but 
every art and science which professed 
to lay its basis in truth, they necessarily 
took a wider range of erudition, and 
were far more travelled in the regions of 
philosophy than those whom conviction 
or bigotry had domesticated in any par- 
ticular system. It required all the 
learning of dogmatism to overthrow the 
dogmatism of learning ; and the Skep- 
tics may be said to resemble, in this re- 
spect, that ancient incendiary who stole 
from the altar the fire with which he de- 
stroyed the temple. This advantage 
over all the other sects is allowed to 
thein even by Lipsius, whose treatise on 
the miracles of the Virgo Hallensis will 
sufficiently save him from aU suspicion 
of skepticism. "Lahore, ingeuio, me- 
moria," he says, " supra oiunes pene 
philosophos fuisse. — Quid nonne omnia 
aliorum secta teuere debuerunt et inqui- 
rere, si poterunt refellere ? res dicit. 
Nonne orationes varias, raras, subtiles 
invemi-i ad tarn receptas, claras, certas 
(ur videbatur) senteutias evertendas 'i " 
&c. &c.\ — Manuduct. ad Philosoph. Sto- 
ic. Dissert. 4. 

Between the skepticism of the ancients 
and the modems the great difl'erence is, 
that the former doubted for the purpose 
of investigating, as may be exemplified 
by the third book of Aristotle's Meta- 

1 Lib. contra Epist. Manichsei quam vocant 
Fundamenti, Op. Paris, torn. vi. 

\ See Martin, Schoockins de Scepticismo, who 
endeavors, — weakly, I think, — to refute tliis 
opinion of .* ' 



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^"^^•fi&'iv. 



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THE SKEPTIC; A SATIRE. 



211 



physics,* -while the latter investigate for 
the purpose of doubting, as may be seen 
through most of the philosophical works 
of Hume, t lutleed, the Pyrrhonism of 
latter days is not ouly more subtle than 
that of antiquity, but, it must be cou- 
fessed, more dangerous in its tendency. 
The happiness of a Christian depends so 
essentially upon his belief, that it is but 
uatiu"al that he should feel alarm at the 
progress of doubt, lest it should steal by 
degrees into that region from which ho 
is most interested in excluding it, and 
poison at last the very spring of his con- 
solation and hope. Still, however, the 
abuses of doubting ought not to deter a 
philosophical mind from indulging mild- 
ly and rationally in its use ; and there 
is nothing, surely, more consistent with 
the meek spirit of Christianity, than that 
humble skepticism which professes not 
to extend its distrust beyond the circle 
of human pursuits, and the pretensions 
of humau knowledge. A foUowc-of this 
school may be among the readiest to ad- 
mit the claims of a superintending In- 
telligence upon his faith and adoration : 
it is only to the wisdom of this weak 
world that he refuses, or at least delaj's, 
his assent; — it is only in passing through 
the shadow of earth that his mind un- 
dergoes the eclipse of skepticism. No 
follower of Pyrrho has ever spoken 
more strongly against the dogmatists 
than St. Paul himself, in the First Epis- 
tle to the Corinthians; and there are 
passages in Ecclesiastes and other parts 
of Scripture, which justify our utmost 
diffidence in aU that human reason 
originates. Even the Skeptics of an- 
tiquity refrained carefully from the mys- 
teries of theology, and, in entering the 
temples of rehgion, laid aside their phi- 
losophy at the porch. Sextus Empiri- 

*Eo-Ti Se TOts €UTropr]<ra; PouAofiei'Ois Jrpoi'pyou 
TO 6io7rooT)(rai KaAujs. — Melaphys. lib. iii., cap. I. 

t Noitlier Hume, however, nor Berkeley, nre 
tobejudned by tiie misrepresentatious ot'Jieat- 
tie, whose book, however amiably intended, 
puts forth a most unphilosophical appeal to 
popular feelings and prejudices, and is a con- 
tinued petitio principii throughout. 

1 Lib. iii. cap. 1. 

§ " The particular bulk, number, fifrnre, and 
motion of the parts of fire or snow arc really iu 
them, whether any one perceive them or not, 
and therefore they may be called real qualities, 
because they really ex'ist in those bodies ; but 
light, heat, whiteness, or coldness, are no more 



cus thus declares the acquiescence of 
his sect in the general belief of a (iivine 
and fore-knowing Power : Tu. ij.ev piw kot- 

aKo\ovdovvT€<; aSo^aarto? <f>afxei' €ti'at ^eou;, Kai 
ae^o/JLiv ^fov; Kai jrpoi'oeii' avTov^ :j>afjiei\\ 

In short, it appears to me, that this ra- 
tional and well regulated skepticism is 
the only daughter of the Schools that 
can safely be selected as a handmaid 
forPietj. He who distntsts the light 
of reason, will be the first to foiiow a 
more luminous guide ; and if, with an 
ardent love for truth, he has sought her 
in vain through the ways of this life, he 
will but turn with the more hope to that 
better world, where all is simple, true, 
and everlasting: for there is no paral- 
lax at the zenith ; — it is only near our 
troubled horizon that objects deceive us 
into vague and erroneous calculations. 



THE SKEPTIC. 

As the gay tint, that decks the vernal 

rose,$ 
iSTot in the flower, bntin our vision glows : 
As the ripe flavor of Falernian tides 
Not in the wine, but in (uir taste resides 
So when, with heartfelt tribute, we de- 
clare [fair, 
That Marco's honest and that Susan's 
'Tis in our minds, and not in Susan's eyes 
Or Marco's life, the worth or beanty lies : 
For she, in fiat-nosed China, would ap- 
pear 
As plain a thing as Lady Anne is here ; 
And one light joke at rich Loretto's domo 
Would rank good Marco with the damn'd 
at Rome 
There's no deformity so vile, so base, 
That 'tis not somewhere thought a 
charm, a grace ; [beam 
No foul reproach, that may not steal a 

really in them than sickness or pain is in man- 
na. 'Take away the sensation of them ; letnot 
the eye see lipht or colors, nor the ears hea» 
sounds; lot the palato uot ta.vte, nor the nose 
smell, and all colors, tastes, oiiors, and sounds, 
as they are such particular ideas, vanish and 
cease. "—io(-A-«, book ii., chap. 8. 

Bishop Berkeley, it is well known, extended 
this doctrine even to primary qnalitii's, and 
supposed that matter itself has Imt lui ideal 
existence. But, liow nre we to apply his tlic- 
ory to that period which preeedcd tlie forma- 
tion of man, when our system of sensible things 
was produced, and the sun slione, and tlio wa, 
ters llowed, without any sentient being to 



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212 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



From other suns, to bleach it to esteem.* 
Ask, who is wise ? — ^you'll find the self- 
same man 
A sage in France, a madman in Japan ; 
And Jier-e some head beneath a mitre 
swells, [bells : 

"Which there had tingled to a cap and 
Ifay, there may yet some monstrous re- 
gion be, [free. 
Unknown to Cook, and from jSTapoleon 
"Where C — stl— r — gh would for a pat- 
riot pass, [an ass. 
And mouthing M ve scarce be deem'd 

"List not to resaon, (Epicurus cries,) 
" But trust the senses, there conviction 

lies :— "t 
Alas ! they judge not by a pm-er light, 
l^Tor keep their fountains more uutiuged 

and bright : [swain 

Habit so mars them, that the Russian 

witness them ? The spectator, whom 'Whiston 
supplies, will scnrcelj' solve the ditticully : " To 
speak ray miud freely," sajs he, •■ I believe that 
the Messias was there actually present." — See 
Whiston, of the llosaic Creation. 

*Boetius employs this argument of the Skep- 
tics among his consolatory reflections upon the 
emptiness of fame. " Quid quod diversarum 
gentium mores inter se atque iustituta discord- 
ant, ut quod apnd alios laude, apud alios sup- 
plicio dignura jiidicetur?" — Lib. ii. prosa 7. 
Many amusing instances of diversity, in the 
tastes, manners, and morals of different na- 
tions, may be found throughout the works of 
that amusing Skeptic, Le Mothe le Vayer. — 
See bis Opuscule Scepticiue, his Treatise " De 
la Secte Sceptique," and, above all, those Dia- 
logues, not to be found in his works, which he 
published under the uauieof HoratiusTuberc— 
The chief objectiou to tlicse writings of Le 
Vayer, (and it is a blemish -which may be felt 
also in the Kspi-it dcs Loix.) is the suspicious 
obscurity of the sources from whence he fre- 
quently draws his instances, and the indiscrim- 
inate use made by him of the lowest populace 
of the library,— those lying travellers and won- 
der-mongers" of whom Shaftesbury, in his Ad- 
vice to an Author, complains, as having tend- 
ed in his own time to the diffusion of a very 
shallow and vicious sort of skepticism. — Vol. i. 
p. 352. The Pyi'i'houisra of Le Vayer. how- 
ever, is of tlio liiost innocent and playful kind; 
and Villeraandy, the author of Scepticismus 
Debellatus, exempts him specially in the decla- 
ration of war which he denounces against the 
other armed neutrals of the sect, in considera- 
tion of the orthodox limits within which he 
confines his incredulity. 

t This was the creed also of those modern 
Epicureans, whom Kinou de I'Enclos collected 
around her in the Rue des Tournelles, and 
whose object seems to have been to decry the 
faculty of reason, as tending only to embarrass 
our wholesome use of pleasures, without eua. 



"WiU sigh for train-oil, while he sips 

champagne ; 
And health so rules them, that a fever's 

heat [water sweet. 

Would make even Sh— r — d— n think 

Just as the mind the erring sensed be- 
lieves, [ceives ; 
The erring mind, in turn, the sense de- 
And cold disgust can find but wiinkles 
there, [and fair. 
"Where passion fancies all that's smooth 
P * * * *, who sees, upon his piUow laid, 
A face for which ten thousand pounds 

were paid. 
Can tell, how quick before a jiiry flies 
The spell that mock'd the warm sedu- 
cer's eyes. 

Self is the medium through which 

Judgment's ray [astray. 

Can seldom pass without being tmu'd 

bling us, in any degree, to avoid their abuse. 
Madame des l[oulieres, the fair pupil of Des 
Barreaux in the arts of poetry and gallantry, 
has devoted most other verses to this laudable 
purpose, and is even sucli a determined foe tc 
reason, that, in one of her pastorals, she con- 
gratulates her sheep on the want of it. St. 
Evremout speaks tlius upou the subject :— 
" Tin mf'lange hicertain d'esprit et de matiere 
Kous fait -vivre a.-ec trop ou trop peu do lu 
mi6re. 

Nature, 616ve-nous a la clnrt6 des anges, 

Ou nous abaisse au sens des simples auimaui." 

Which may bo thus paraphrased : — 

Had man been made, at nature's bii'th. 

Of only flame oroidy eirth, 

Had he been formed a perfect whole 
Of purely that, or grns^ly thi.<t. 

Then sense would ne'er have clouded soul. 
Nor sold restrain'd the si use's liliss;. 

Oh happy, had his liglit been strong. 
Or had he never sluued a lii;!it, 

"Which shines enough U> show he's wrong. 
But not enough to lead him right. 

I See, among the fragments of Petronins, 
those verses beginning "FalUmt nos oculi," 
&c. The most skeptical of the ancient poets 
was Euripides; and it would, I think, puzzle 
the wliole school of Pyrrho to produce a doubt 
more startling than the following . — 

Ti5 S' oiSei/ €1 ^riv tov6' 6 /ccicATjTai ^aveiv, 

To ^7)1/ Se ^vrjcrKeiv eaTi. 
See Laert. in Pyrrh. 

Socrates and Plato were the grand sources of 
ancient skepticism. According to Cicero, (de 
Orator, lib. iii.,) they supplied Arcesilas with the 
doctrines of the Middle Academy; and how 
closely these resembled the tenets of the Skep- 
tics, liaybe seecsveninSextus Empirious, (lib. 
i. cap. 3;i,) who, with all his distinctions, can 
scarcely prove any diflference. It appears strange 



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THE SKEPTIC ; A SATIRE. 



213 



The smith of Ephesus* thought Dian's 

shriue, [divine ; 

By which his craft most throve, the most 
And ev'n the true faith seems nut half 

so tnie, \two. 

■Whenlink'd with one good living as with 
Had W— Ic — t first been pensioned by 

the throne, 
Kings would have suffer'd by his praise 

alone ; 
And P — ine perhaps, for something snug 

perann., [Rights of Man. 

Had laugh'd, like W— 11— slcy, at all 

But 'tis not only individual minds,— 
Whole nations, too, the same delusion 

blinds. 
Thus England, hot from Denmark's smok- 
ing meads, 
Tm-ns up her eyes at Gallia's guilty 
deeds ; [honoring chain 

Thus, self-pleased still, the same dis- 
She binds in Ireland, she would break 
in Spain ; [forbid, 

While praised at distance, but at home 
Eebels in Cork are patriots at Madiid. 

IfGrotiusbe thy guide, shut, shut the 
book, — 

In force alone for Laws of Xationslook. 

Let shipless Danes and whining Yankees 
dwell [tel. 

On naval rights, with Grotius and Vat- 

WbUe C — bb — t's pirate code alone ap- 
pears [giers. 

Sound moral sense to England and Al- 

tliat Epicnnis shdnlil liave been adogmatist; and 
liis ii.itural temper winild most probably have 
li'dliim to llicvepose of skeptieisra, had not the 
Stoics, bv tlieir violent opjiosition to his doc- 
trines, compelled him to bo as obstinate as 
themselves. Plutarch, indeed, in reporting 
some of his opinions, represents hitn as hav- 
ing delivered them with corsiderable hesi- 
tation. — EiriKoupo? ovhiv airoyivuxTKei Tovrtov, 
fXOIJ^evo<; Tov evSexoiJ^fvov — Del'lacit. Philosoph. 
lib. ii. cap. 13. See also tlie21stand2'2deliapter8. 
But that the leading characteristics of the sect 
were selfsufHciency .and dogmatism, appears 
fi'om what Cicero says of Velleius, De Natur. 
Dear.—" Turn Velleius, fidenter san6, ut solent 
isti, nihil tam vereus quam ae dubitare aliqua 
de iR videretur." 

*Acts. chap. xix. "For a certain man 
named Demetrius, a silversmith, which made 
silver shrines for Diana, brought no small 
gain uiito the, craftsmen." 

f'These two thieves," says Ralph, "between 
whom the nation is crucified."- Vneand Abuse 
of ParliawenU. 

\ The agitation of the ship is one of the 
chief difficulties which impede the discovery of 



"Wo to the Skeptic, in these party days. 
Who wafts to neither shrine his puffs of 
praise ! [fruits. 

For him no pension pours its annual 
N"o fertile sinecure spontaneous shoots ; 
iSTot Ms the meed that crown'd Don H — k- 
h — m's rhyme, [time, 

N"or sees he e'er, in dreams of future 
Those shadowy forms of sleek rever- 
sions rise, [eyes. 
So dear to Scotchmen's second-sighted 
Yet who, that looks to History's damn- 
ing leaf, [to thief. 
Where Whig and Tory, thief opposed 
On either side m lofty shame are seen,t 
While Freedom's form hangs crucified 
between — [can see. 
Who, B — rd— tt, who such rival rogues 
But flies from both to Honesty and thee ? 

If, weary of the world's bewild'ring 
maze,t ['^'fiys. 

Hopeless of finding, through its weedy 
One flower of truth, the busy crowd we 
shun, ■ [run, 

And to the shades of tranquil learning 
How many a doubt pm-sucs!§ how oft 
we sigh, [histories lie I 

When histories chaKur, to think that 
That all are grave romances, at the best, 
And M — sgr— ve',s|| but more clumsy 
than the rest. [guiled. 

By Tory Hume's seductive page be- 
We fancy Charles was just, and Straf- 
ford mild jH [draws 
And Fox himself, with party pencil, 

the longitude at sea; and tlie tnmtilt and hurry 
oflife are equallyuiif'nvorable to that calm leveV 
of mind which isnecessai'y to an iiitiuircr after 
truth. 

In the mean time, our modest .Skeptic, in the 
absence of truth, contents himself with proba- 
bilities, resembling in this respect those suitors 
of Penelope, who. on finding that they could 
not possess the mistress herself, very wisely re- 
solved to put up with her maids ; rrj U-qvi^ovri 

■IT \r\(Tia^ei.v /nrj 6vvaixevoi, Tacs TauTi)? iixiyvvvTO 
^epairaLvai^. — Plutaich, Uepi tlaiBdov Ayoiyqi;. 

§See a curious work, entitled " Reflections 
upon Learning," written on the plan of Agrip- 
pa's "De Vanitatc Scientiarum." but much 
more honestly and skilfully executed. 
I IITliis historian of the Irish rebellion has out- 
run even his predecessor in the same task. Sir 
John Temple, for whose character w ith respect 
to veracity the reader may consult Carte's 
"Collection of Ormond"s Original Papers," p. 
207. See also Dr. Nalson's account of him, in 
the introduction to the second volume of his 
" Historic Collect." 

H He defends Strafford's conduct as "innocent 
and even laudable." In the same spirit, speak 



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214 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Monmouth a hero "for the good old 
cause !"* [are defeats, 

Then, rights are wrongs, and victories 
As French or English pride the tale re- 
peats; [o'er, 
And, when they tell Corunna's story 
They'U disagree in all, but honoring 

Moore : 
lifay, future pens, to flatter future courts. 
May cite perhaps the Park-guns' gay 
reports, [morn 

To prove that England triumph'd on the 
"Which found her Junot's jest and Eu- 
rope's scorn. 

In Science, too — how many a system, 

raised [blazed 

Like Neva's icy domes, awhile hath 
"With lights of fancy and with forms of 

pride, [livious tide ! 

Then melting, mingled with the ob- 
Now Earth usurps the centre of the sky, 
I^^w Newton puts the paltry planet by ; 
Now whims revive beneath Descartes'sf 

pen, [again. 

"Which now, assail'd by Locke's, expire 
And when, perhaps, in pride of chemic 

powers, [ours, 

"We think the keys of Nature's kingdom 

ing of the arbitrary sentences of the Star 
Chamber, he says,— " Tlie severity of the Stur 
Chamber, which was generally ascribed to 
Laud's passionate disposition, was, perhaps, in 
itself, somewhat blameable." 

*That i3exibility of temper and opinion, 
■which the habits of skepticism are so calculated 
to produce, are thus jileaded for by Mr. Fox, in 
the very sketch of Monmouth to which I allude; 
nud tliis part of the picture the historian may 
be tliouirht to havedrawnfrom himself. "One 
of the most conspicuous features in his charac- 
ter seems to have been a remarkable, and, as 
some think, a cidpable degree of flexibility. 
That such a disposition is pieferable to its op- 
posite extreme, will be admitted by all who 
think that modesty, even iu excess, is more 
nearly allied to wisdom than conceit and self 
sufficiency. He who has attentively considered 
the political, or indeed the general concerns of 
life, may possibly go still further, and may rank 
a willingness to be convinced, or, in some 
oases, even without conviction, to concede our 
own opinion to that of other men, among the 
principal ingredients in the composition of 
practical wisdom." — It is right to observe, how- 
ever, that the skeptic's readiness of concession 
arises rather from uncertainty than conviction, 
more from a suspicion that his own opinion may 
be wrong, than from any persuasion that the 
opinion of his adversary is right. " It may be 
so." was the courteous and skeptical formula 
with which the Dutch were accustomed to re- 
ply to the statements of ambassadors. See 



Some Davy's magic touch the dream un- 
settles, 

And turns at once our alkalis to metals. 

Or, should we roam, in metaphysic maze. 

Through fair-built theories of formei 
days, 

Some Dr— mm — dt from the north, 
more ably skill'd, 

Like other Goths, to ruin than to build, 

Tramples triumphant through our fanes 
o'erthrown, [own. 

Nor leaves one grace, one glory of his 

Oh Learning, whatsoe'er thy pomp 

and boast, 
Unlettor'd minds have taught and 

charm'd men most. 
The rude, unread Columbus was our 

guide [had denied ; 

To worlds, which leam'd Lactantius 
And one wild Shakspeare, following 

Nature's lights, [Stagyrites. 

Is worth whole planets fill'd with 

See grave Theology, when once she 

strays [plays ; 

From Revelation's path, what tricks she 

"What various heav'us, — all fit for bards 

to sing,— [down to King !|| 

Have churchmen dream'd, from Papias^ 

Lloyd's State Worthies, art. Sir Thomas 
Wyat. 

t Descartes, who is considered as the parent 
of modern skepticism, says, that tliere is noth- 
ing in the whole range of philosophy which 
does not admit of two opposite opinions, and 
which is not involved in doubt and uncertainty. 
"In Philosophia nihil adhnc reperiii, de quonon 
iu utramque partem disputatur. hoc est, quod 
lion sit incertum et dubium.'' Gassendi is like 
wise to be added to the list of modern Skeptics, 
and WedderkopiF, in his Dissertation " De 
Scepticismo profano et sacro," (Argentorat. 
16U6,) has denounced Erasmus also as a follower 
of Pyrrho, for his opinion s upon the Trinity, and 
some other subjects. To these, if we add the 
names of Bayle, Mallebranche, Dry den, Locke, 
&c., &c ,1 think there is no one wlio need be 
ashamed of doubting in such company. 

I See this gentleman's Academic Questions. 
5 Papias lived about the time of the apostles, 

and is supposed tohave given birth to the heresy 
of the Chilliastae, whose heaven was by no 
means of a spiritual nature, but rather an an- 
ticipation of the Prophet of Hera's elysium. 
See Eusebins, Hist. Ecclesiast. lib. iii. cap. 33, 
and Hieronym. de Script or. Ecclesiast. From 
all I can And in these authors concerning 
Papias, it seems hardly fair to impute to him 
those gross imaginations in which tlie believers 
of the sensual millennium indulged 

II King, iu his Morsels of Criticism, vol i., sup- 
poses the sun to be the receptacle of blesse*' 
spirits 



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TWOPEISTST POST-BAG. 



2J5 



While hell itself, in India naught but 

smoke,* [joke 

In Spain's a furnace, and in France — a 

Hail, modest Ignorance, thou goal 

and prize, [wise ! 

Thou last, best knowledge of the simply 
HaQ, humble Doubt, when error's waves 

are past, 
How sweet to reach thy shelter'd portt 

at last, 
And, there, by changing skies nor lured 

nor awed, [abroad. 

Smile at the battling winds that roar 
There gentle Charity, who knows how 

frail [gale, 

The bark of Virtue, even in summer's 



Sits by the nightly fii-e, whose beacor 
glows 

For all who wander, whether friends o* 
foes; 

There Faith retires, and keeps her 
white saU furl'd, 

Till call'd to spread it for a better world ; 

"While Patience, watching on the weedy 
shore, 

And mutely waiting till the stormbe o'er, 

Oft tui-ns to Hope, who still directs her 
eye [sky ! 

To some blue spot, just breaking in the 
Such are the mild, the bless'd asso- 
ciates given [naught but Heaven ! 

To him who doubts,— and trusts in 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 

BY THOMAS BROWN-, THE YOUNGEE. 
1814. 



Elapsae manibus cecidfire tabellae. OVTO, 



TO STEPHEN" WOOLRICHE, ESQ. 
My dear Woolriche, 

It IS now about seven years since I 
promised (and I grieve to think it is al- 
most as long since we met) to dedicate 
to you the very first Book, of whatever 
size or kind, I should publish. Who 
could have thought that so many years 
would elapse, without my giving the 
least signs of life upon the subject of 
this important promise? Who could 
have imagined that a volume of doggerel, 
after all, would l:)e the first offering that 
Gratitude would lay upon the shrine of 
Friendship ? 

* The Indians cal! hell "thcHonsR ofSmoko." 
See Picart npon the Reli^^ion of the Banians. 
Tlie reader who is cnrious about infernal m.at- 
tcrs, may be edified by consulting ]lusca de In- 
ferno, particularly lib. ii. cap. f, 8, where he 
will find the precise sort of fire ascertained in 



If you continue, however, to be as 
much interested about me and my pur- 
suits as formerly, you will be huppy to 
heir that doggerel is not my oh/// occu- 
pation ; but that I am preparing to 
throw my name to the Swans of the 
Temple of Immortality,}: leaving it, of 
course, to the said Swaus to determine, 
whether they ever will take the trouble 
of picking it from the stream. 

In the mean time, my dear Wool- 
riche, like an orthodox Lutheran, you 
must judge me rather by my faith than 
my works; and however trifling the trib- 
ute which I here offer, never doubt tho 

which wicked spirits are to be burned here- 
after. 

f '• Chero Sceptiquc, douce patnre de tlou 
nrae, et I'nnique portde salut h une esprit qu' 
aime le repos '."—La Mothe le Vayer. 

X Ariosto, canto 35. 




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216 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



fidelity with which I am, and always 
shall be, 

Tour sincere and attached Friend, 
March 4, 1813. THE AUTHOR. 

PREFACE. 

The Bag, fi-om which the following 
Letters are selected, was dropped by a 
Twopenny Postman about two mouths 
since, and picked up by an emissary of 
the Society for the Suppression of Vice, 
who, supposing it might materially as- 
sist the private researches of that Insti- 
tution, immediately took it to his em- 
ployers, aud was rewarded handsomely 
for his trouble. Such a treasury of se- 
crets was worth a whole host of inform- 
ers ; and accordingly, like the Cupids of 
the poet (if I may use so profane a sim- 
ile) who " fell at odds about the sweet- 
bag of a bee,"* those venerable Suppres- 
sors almost fought with each other for 
the honor aud delight of first ransacking 
the Post-Bag. Unluckily, however, it 
turned out, upon examination, that the 
discoveries of profligacy which it ena- 
l»led them to make, lay chiefly in those 
"apper regions of society, which their 
well-bred regulations forbid them to mo- 
lest or meddle with. — In consequence, 
they gained but very few victims by 
their prize, and, after "lyiiig fci' » '^'eek or 
two under Mr. Hatchard's counter, the 
Bag, with its violated contents, was sold 
for a trifle to a friend of mine. 

It happened that I had been just then 
seized with an ambition (having never 
tried the strength of my wing but in a 
Newspaper) to publish something or 
other in the shape of a Book ; and it 
occurred to me that, the present being 
such a letter-writing era, a few of these 
Twopenny-post Epistles, tm-ned into 
easy verse, would be as light and popu- 
lar "a task as I could possibly select for 
a commencement. I did not, however, 
think it prudent to give too many Let- 
ters at first, aud accordingly, have been 
obliged (in order to eke out a suflacient 
number of pages) to reprint some of 
those trifles which had already appeared 
in the public journals. As in the bat- 
tles of ancient times, the shades of the 
departed were sometimes seen among 
the combatants, so I thought I might 

• Herrick. 



manage to remedy the thinness of my 
ranks by conjuring up a few dead and 
forgotten ephemerons to fill them. 

Such are the motives and accidents 
that led to the present pubhcation ; and 
as this is the first time my Muse has 
ever ventured out of the go-cart of a 
Newspaper, though I feel all a parent's 
dehght at seeing little Miss go alone, I 
am also not without a parent's anxiety, 
lest an unlucky fall should be the conse- 
quence of the experiment ; and I need 
not point how many living instances 
might be found, of Muses that have suf- 
fered very severely in their heads, from 
taking rather too early and rashly to 
theh- feet. Besides, a Book is so very 
difl"eren t a thing from a Newspaper ! — 
in the former, your doggerel, without 
either company or shelter, must stand 
shivering in the middle of a bleak iiage 
by itself; whereas, in the latter, it is 
comfortably backed by advertisements, 
and has sometimes even a speech of Mr. 
St— ph— n's, or something equally wann, 
for a chaiiffL-pie — so that, in general, 
the very reverse of " laudatiu- et alget " 
is its destiny. 

Ambition, however, must ran some 
risks, and I shall be very well satisfied 
if the reception of these few Letters 
should have the effect of sending me to 
the Post- Bag for more. 



PREFACE TO THE FOURTEENTH 
EDITION. 

BY A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. 

In the absence of Mr, Brown, who is 

at present on a tour through , 

I feel myself called upon, as his friend, 
to notice certain misconceptions and 
misrepresentations, to which this little 
volume of Trifles has given rise. 

In the first place, it is not true that 
Mr. Brown has had any accomplices in 
the work. A note, indeed, which has 
hitherto accompanied his Preface, may 
very natm-ally have been the origin of 
such a supposition ; but that note, 
which was merely the coquetry of an 
author, I have, in the present editicr- 
taken upon myself to remove, and Mr. 
Brown must therefore be considered 
riike the mother of that unique produo 



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•s^'^ |lllllllllinilllMlllllllill!l!lHIIIHlll!llllllllllllillliiiiiiillllllllllIlllllllllllliyilHllllllllllllilllllUIIIIIIU^ 

TWOPEN"lfY POST-BAG. 



217 



tion, the Centaur, loioca koi (jlovov' ) as alone 
Tesponsible for the whole contents of the 
volume. 

In the next place it has been said, 
that in consequence of this graceless 
httle book, a certain distinguished Per- 
sonage prevailed upon another distin- 
guished Personage to vrithdraw from the 
author that notice and kindness with 
which he had so long and so liberally 
honored him. In this story there is not 
one syllable of truth. For the magna- 
nimity of the /orwer of these persons I 
would, indeed, in no case answer too 
rashly : but of the conduct of the latter 
towards my friend, I have a proup grat- 
ification in declaring, that it has never 
ceased to be such as he must remember 
with indelible gratitude;— a gratitude 
the more cheerfully and warmly paid, 
from its not being a debt incurred solely 
on his own account, but for kindness 
shared with those nearest and dearest to 
him . 

To the charge of being an Irishman, 
poor Mr. Brown pleads guilty ; and I 
believe it must also be acknowledged 
that he comes of a Roman Catholic 
family: an avowal which I am aware is 
decisive of his utter reprobation, in the 
eyes of those exclusive patentees of 
Chris'danity, so worthy to have been the 
followers of a certain enhghtened Bi- 
shop, Donatus,t who held "that God is 
in Africa and not elsewhere." But from 
all this it does not necessarily follow 
that Mr. Brown is a Papist ; and, indeed, 
I have the strongest reasons for suspect- 
ing that they, who say so, are somewhat 
mistaken. Not that I presume to have 
ascertained his opinions upon such sub- 
jects. All Iprofess to know of his or- 
thodoxy is, that he has a Protestant wife 
and two or three little Protestant chil- 
dren, and that he has been seen at 
i'hurch every Sunday, for a whole year 
together, listening to the sermons of his 
truly reverend and amiable friend, 
Dr. , and behaving there as 

* Pindar, Pjtb. 2— My friend certainly can- 

not add ovt' eu avBpaai XepaLaiJjQpov. 

i Bishop of Casa3 Kigrie, in tlic fourth cen- 
tury. 

; A new reading has been sugijested in the 
original of the Ode of Ilorace, freely translated 
bv Lord Eld— n, page U>6. In the line "Sivo 
per Syrteisiter SBstuosas," it is proposed, by a 
very trifling alteration, to read " Surtees," ia- 



well and as orderly as most peo- 
ple. 

There are yet a few other mistakes 
and falsehoods about Mr. Brown, to 
which I had intended, with all becom- 
ing gravity, to advert ; but I begin to 
thinli the task is quite as useless as it is 
tiresome. Misrepresentations and cal- 
umnies of this sort are, like the argu- 
ments and statements of Dr. Duigenan, 
— not at all the less vivacious or less 
serviceable to their fabricators, for hav- 
ing been refuted and disproved a thou- 
sand times over. They are l^ronght for- 
ward again, as good as new, whenever 
malice or stupidity may be in want of 
them ; and are quite as useful as the old 
broken lantern, in Fielding's Amelia, 
which the watchman always keeps ready 
by him, to produce, in proof of riotous 
conduct, against his victims. I shall 
therefore give up the fruitless toil of vin- 
dication, and would even di'aw my pen 
over what I have already written, had 
I not promised to furnish my publisher 
with a Preface, and know not how else 
I could contrive to eke it out. 

I have added two or three more tri- 
fles to this edition, which I found in the 
Morning Chronicle, and knew to be from 
the pen of my friend. The rest of the 
volume remainst in its original state. 

April 20, 1814. 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS, 

&G. 

LETTER I, 
FROM THE PR— NC — SS CH — Rl— E OF 
W — L — S TO THE LADY B — RB — A 
ASHL — Y.$ 

My dear Lady Bab, you'll be shock' d, 
I'm afraid, [Ponies have made ; 

"When you hear the sad nimpus your 

Since the time of horse consuls, (now 
long out of date, ) [state. 

N^o nags ever made such a stir in the 

stead of " Syrtnis," which brings the Ode, it is 
said, more home to tlie nnblo traii-slator, and 
gives a peculiar force and aptness to tlie epi- 
thet "festuosas." 1 merely throw out this 
emendation for the learned, oeing unable my- 
self to decide upon its merits. 

§Thi3 young Lady, who is a Eomnn Catholic, 
had lately made a present of some beautiful 
^oaies to the Pr— no— ss. 




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..^■i^a-^ 



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218 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Lord Eld — n first heard — and as instant- 
ly pray'd he [young Lady 
To " God and his Kmg" — that a Popish 
(For though you've bright eyes and 

twelve thousand a year, 
It is still but too trae you're a Papist, 

my dear,) 

Had insidiously sent, by a tall Irish 

groom, [from Rome, 

Two priest-ridden Ponies, just landed 

And so full, little rogues, of pontifical 

/ tricks, [safe from their kicks. 

'That the dome of St. Paul's was scarce 

03' at once to Papa, m a flurry he 

flies — [men advise, 

For Papa always does what these states- 

On condition that they'll be, in turn, so 

pohte \_nght~ 

As in no case whate'er to advise him too 

" Pretty doings are here. Sir, (he angrily 

cries, [strives to look wise) — 

"WTiile by dmt of dark eyebrows he 

" 'Tis a scheme of the Romanists, eo 

help me God ! 
"To ride over your most Royal High- 
ness rough-shod — 
"Excuse, Sh, my tears— they're from 

loyalty's som-ce — 
"Bad enough 'twas for Troy to be 
sack'd by a Horse _ [worse !" 

'' But for us to be ruin'd by Ponies still 
Quick a Council is call'd — the whole Cab- 
inet sits — [of their wits. 
The Archbishops declare, frighten'd out 
That if once Popish Ponies should eat at 
my manger, [in danger ! 
From that awful moment the Church is 
As, give them but stabling, aud shortly 
no stalls [at St. Paul's. 
"Will suit their proud stomachs but those 

The Doctor,* and he, the devout man 

of Leather, t [heads together, 

Y — ns — tt — t, now laying their Saiat- 

Declare that these skittish young «-bom- 

inations [tions — 

Ax& clearly foretold in Chap. vi. Revela- 

jNay, they verily think they could point 

' out the one [canter upon. 

Which the Doctor's friend Death was to 

Lord H— rr— by, hoping that no one 

imputes [brutes. 

To the Court any fancy to persecute 

* Mr. Addington, so nicknamed. 
t Allnding to a tax lately laid upon leather. 
JThe question whether a Veto was to bo al- 
lowed to the Crown in the ^appointment of 



Protests, on the word of himself and his 

cronies, [Asses, not Ponies, 

That had these said creatures been 
The Coiut would have started no sort of 

objection, [protection. 

As Asses were, there, always sure of 

"If the Pr — nc — ss wi?Z keep them, 

(says Lord C — stl — r — gh,) 
" To make them quite harmless, the 

only true way [their wives) 

"Is (as certain Chief Justices do with 
'" To flog them within half an inch of 

their lives. [about, 

" If they've any bad Irish blood lurking 
" This (he knew by experience) would 

soon draw it out. " [ship proposes 
Should this be thought cruel, his Lord- 
" The new Veto snaffle j: to bind down 

their noses — [chains, 

" A pretty contrivance, made out of old 
"Which appears to indulge, while it 

doubly restrains ; 
"Which, however high-mettled, their 

gamesomeness checks 
' (Adds his Lordship humanely,) or else 

breaks their necks !" 

This proposal received pretty general 
applause [neck-breaking clause 
From the statesmen around— and the 
Had a vigor about it which soon recon- 
ciled [mild. 
Even Eld— n himself to a measure so 
So the snaffles, my dear, were agreed to, 
mem. con., [often shone 
And my Lord C— stl— r— gh, having so 
In the fettering line, is to buckle them 
on. 
I shall drive to your door in these 
Vetos some day, [away 
But, at present, adieu !— I must hurry 
To go see my Mamma, as I'm wiffor'd 
to meet her [best repeater. 
For just half an hour by the Qu— n's 
Ch— RL— TTE. 



LETTER II. 

FROM COLONEL M'M — H — N TO G — LD 
FR— NC— S L — CKIE, ESQ. 

Dear Sir, I've just had time to look 
into your very learned Book,§ 

Irish Catholic Bishops was, at this time, very 
generally and actively agitated. 

§Fornn account of this extraordinary work of 
Mr, Leckie, see the ' Edinburgh Review, ' vol. xx. 




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INTEECEPTED LETTERS. 



219 



"Wherein — as plain as man can speak, 
Whose English is half modern Greek — 
You prove that we can ne'er intrench 
Our happy isles against the French, 
Till Royalty in England's made 
A much more independent trade ; — 
In short, until the House of Guelph 
Lays Lords and Commons on the shelf, 
And boldly sets up for itself. 

AU, that can well be understood 
In this said Book, is vastly good ; 
A.nd, as to what's incomprehensible, 
I dare be sworn 'tis full as sensible. 

But, to your work's immortal credit. 
The Pr-n— e, good Sir, the Pr— n— e 

has read it 
(The only Book, himself remarks, 
Which he has read since Mrs. Clarke's.) 
Last levee-morn he look'd it through. 
During that awful hour of two 
Of grave tonsorial preparation, 
■Which, to a fond, admiring nation, 
Sends forth, announced by trump and 

drum, [dom. 

The best wigg'd Pr— n— e in Chnsten- 

He thinks with you, th' imagination 
{jipartnerslnp in legislation 
Could only enter in the noddles 
Of dull and ledger-keeping twaddles, 
Whose heads on firms are running so. 
They ev'n must have a King and Co., 
And hence, most eloquently show forth 
On checks and balances, and so forth. 

But now, he trusts, we're coming' 

near a 
Far more royal, loyal era; 
"When England's monarch need but say, 
""Whip me those scoundrels, C— stl— 

r— gh !" 
Or, "Hang me up those Papists, Eld— n," 
And 'twill be done, ay faith, and well 

done. 

"With view to which, I've his com- 
mand 
To beg, Sir, from your travell'd hand, 
|Round which the foreign graces 

swarm*) 
4. Plan of radical Reform ; 

* '• The tnith indeed seems to be, that hav- 
ing: lived so tong abroad as evidently to have 
lost, in a great degree, ihe use of Lis native 
language, Mr. Lecuie has gradually come not 
only to speak, but to feel, like a foreigner." 
Edin.bur(jh Rfvifin. 

t The learned Colonel must allude here to a 



Compiled and chosen as best you can. 
In Tm-key or at Ispahan, 
And quite upturning, In-anch and root. 
Lords, Commons, and Burdett to boot. 

But, pray, whate'er you may impart. 

write [wr — ght : 

Somewhat more brief than Major C rt- 
Else, though the Pr co be long in 

rigging, [giQg»— 

'Twould take, at least, a fortnight's wig-, 
Two wigs to every paragraph — 
Before he well could get through halt 

Tou'll send it also speedily— 
As, truth to say, 'twixt 3'ou and me. 
His Highness, heated by your work, 
Already thinks himself Grand Turk ! 
And you'd have laugh' d, had you seen 

how 
He scared the Ch— nc— 11— r just now, 
When (on his Lordship's entering puli'd) 

he ["Mufti I" 

Slapp'd his back and caU'd him 

The tailors too have got commands. 
To put directly into hands 
All sorts of Dulimans and Pouches, 
With Sashes, Turbans and Paboutches, 
(While Y — rm— th's sketching out a 

plan 
Of new Motistaclies a VOttomanc,) 
And all things fitting and expedient 
To turUfy our gracious R — g— nt ! 

You, therefore, have no time to 
waste — 
So, send your System.— 

Yours, in hastt. 

POSTSCRIPT. 
Before I send this scrawl away, 
I seize a moment^ just to say, 
There's some parts of the Turkish system 
So vulgar, 'twere as well you miss'd 'em. 
For instance — in Seraglio matters— 
Your Turk', whom girhsh fondness flat- 
ters, 
Would fill his Harem (tasteless fool !) 
With tittering, red-cheek'd things from 

school. 
But here (as in thai fairy laud, [hand;t 
Where Love and Age went hand in 

description of the Mysterious Isle, in the Hi» 
tory of Abdalla, son of Hanif, where such in- 
versions of the order of nature arc said to have 
taken place — "A score of old women and tha 
»ame number of old men played here and thee 
in the court, some at chuck-farthing, others at 
iip-cat or at cockles."— And again, " There it 



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220 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Where lips, till sixty, shed no honey, 
And Graudams were worth any money,) 
Otir Sultan has much riper notions— 
So, let your list of s/^e-promotions 
Include those only, plump and sage. 
Who've reach'd the irgulation-age ; 
That is, (as near as one can fix 
From Peerage dates,) full fifty-six. 

This rule's for fav'rites—rxotlniig 
more^ 
For, as to loives, a Grand Signor, 
Though not decidedly without them, 
ifeed never care one cm'se about them. 



LETTER III. 

FROM G — GE PR — CE R— G— T TO THE 

E OF T TU.* 

We miss'd you last night at the " hoary 

old sinner's," [good dinners ; 

Who gave us, as usual, the cream of 
His soups scientific — his fishes quite 

prime — • [subhme ! 

His pates superb — and his cutlets 
In short, 'twas the snug sort of dinner 

to stir a [gh. 

Stomachic orgasm in my Lord El— b - 
Who set to, to be sure, with miraculous 

force, [ife-Cook of course ! — 
And exclaimed, between mouthfuls, " a 
" While you live — (what's there under 

that cover? pray look)— 
"While you live— (I'll just taste it) 

ne'er keep a She-Cook. 
*"Tis a sound Sahc Law— (a small bit 

of that toast)— 
"Which ordains that a female shall 

ne'er rule the roast ; 
" For Cookery's a secret— (this turtle's 

uncommon) — [woman \" 

" Like Masonry, never found out by a 

The diimer, you know, was in gay 

celebration [condemnation ; 

Of my brilliant triumph and H — nt's 
A compliment, too, to his Lordship the 

Judge [^rho M'ould grudge 

For his Speech to the Jury— and zounds ! 
Tm'tle soup, though it came to five 

guineas a bowl, [soul ? 

To reward such a loyal and complaisant 

nothing, bplinve me, more enpafrinp than those * This letter, ns the reader will perceive, waa 
lovely wrinkles," &c., &c.~^oo Tales of the -nTittcn the dnv after a dinner gi/^L „y tha 
Ead, vol. uL pp. 607, 606. M— rq— 8 of ii— d— t. 



We were all in high gig— Roman Punch 
and Tokay [ju,,t the same way 

Travell'd round, till our heads travell'd 

And we cared not for Juries or Libels — 
no— damme ! nor [aminer ! 

Ev'n for the threats of last Sunday's Ex- 
More good things were eaten than 
said— but Tom T — rrh — t 

In quoting Joe Miller, you know, has 
some merit ; 

And, hearing the sturdy Justiciary Chie;- 

Say — sated with turtle—" I'll now tr;- 
the beef"^ 

Tommy whisper'd him (giving his Lord- 
ship a sly hit) [you try it !'' 

"I fear 'twill be hung-heci, my Lord, li 

And C — md — n was there, who, that 

morning, had gone 
To fit his new Marquis's coronet on; 
And the dish set before him— oh dish 

well-devised ! — 
Was, what old Mother Glasse calls, " a 

calPs head sm-prised !" 
The brains were near Sh— ry, and once 

had been fine, |_ii^g in wine, 

But, of late, they had lam so long soak- 
That though we, from courtesy, still 

chose to call [brains at all. 

These brains very fine, they were Hj 

When the dinner was over, we drank 
every one [Grim. Con.;" 

In a bimipcr, "the venial delights ol 
At which H — df— t with warm reminis- 
cences gloated, [quoted. 
And E— b'r— h chuckled to hear himseli 

Our next round of toasts was a fancy 

quite new, [benevolent too — 

For we drank — and you'll 0A\n 'twas 
To those well-meaning husbands, cits, 

parsons, or peers. 
Whom we've, any time, honor'd by 

com'ting their dears: 
This museum of wittols was comical 

rather ; [gave yom- f— th— r. 

Old H— df— t gave M— ss— y, and i 

In short, not a soul till this morning 

would budge— [the J e 

We were all fun and frolic,— and even 

Laid aside, for the time, his juridical 

fashion, lonce in a passion! 

And through the whole nij'it wasn't 



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IN-TERCEPTED LETTEES. 



221 



I vrrite thin in bed, -while my whiskers 

are airing, [paring 

And M — c* has a sly dose of jalap pre- 

For poor T — mmy T — rr — t at breakfast 

to quaff — [a laugh. 

As I feel I want something to give me 

And there's nothing so good as old 

T — mmy, kept close [dose. 

To his Cornwall accounts, after taking a 



LETTER lY. 

FROM THE RIGHT HON. P — TR— CK 
D— GEN — N TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR 
J— HN N— CH — L. 

Dublin, i 

Last week, dear N" — ch— 1, making 
At dinner with our Secretary, [merry 
When all were drunk, or pretty near, 
(The time for doing business here,) 
Says he to me, " Sweet Bully Bottom ! 
"These Papist dogs— hiccup — 'od rot 

'em ! — 
" Deserve to be bespatter'd — hiccup — 
" With all the dirt ev'n you can pick up. 
" But, as the Pr— ce (here's to him — 

fill- 
" nip, hip, h'lrrah!) — is trying still 
"To humbug them with kind profes- 
sions, [sions — 
" And, as you deal in strong expres- 
" ' Rogue' — ' traitor'— hiccup — and all 

that— 
" You must be muzzled, Doctor Pat ! — 
"You must indeed — hiccup — that's flat." 

Yes — "muzzled" was the word. Sir 
John — 
These fools have clapp'd a muzzle on 
The boldest mouth that e'er ran o'er 
"\\ ith slaver of the times of yore ! — { 
Was it for this that back I went 
As far as Lateran and Trent, 
To prove that they, who damn'd us then. 
Ought now, in turn, be damn'd again ? — 
T'.ie silent victim still to sit 
Of Gr— tt— n's fire and C— nn— g's wit, 

* Colonel M'Mahon. 

t This letter, which contained some very 
heavy enclosures, seems to have been sent to 
London by a private hand, and then put into 
tlio Twopenny Post-Oflice, to save trouble. See 
t'lc Appendix. 

t In sendinpr this sheet to the Press, however, 
I learn that the " muzzle" has been taken off, 
and the Eight Hon. Doctor again let loose I 



To hear ev'n noisy M— th — w gabble on. 
For mention once the W — e of Babylon! 
Oh ! 'tis too much — who now will be 
The Nightman of No- Popery? 
What Courtier, Saint, or even Bishop, 
Such learned filth will ever fish up? 
If there among our ranks be one 
To take my place, 'tis thou, Sir John ; 
Thou, who, like me, art dubb'd Right 

Hon., 
Like, me, too, art a Lawyer Civil, 
That wishes Papists at the devil. 

To whom then but to thee, my friend. 
Should Patrick§ his Port-folio send ? 
Take it — 'tis thine— his leam'd Port-foho, 
With all nis theologic oho 
Of Bulls, half Irish and half Roman — 
Of Doctrines, now believed b^' no man— 
Of CouncUs, held for men's salvation, 
Yet always ending in damnation — 
(Which shows that, since the world's 
creation, [.shamming. 

Your Priests, whate'er their gentle 
Have always had a taste for damning,) 
And many more such pious scraps, 
To prove, (what we've'loug proved, per- 
haps,) 
That, mad as Christians used to be 
About the Thirteenth Century, 
There still are Christians to be had 
In this, the Nineteenth, just as mad ! 

Farewell — I send with this, dear 
N— ch— 1, 
A rod or two I've had in pickle [et.— 
Wherewith to trim old Gr— tt — n's jack- 
The rest shall go by Monday's packet. 
P. D. 

Among the Enclosures in the foregoing 
Letter was the following " Unanswer- 
ahle Argument against the Fapists." 
» * * * 

We're told the ancient Roman nation 
Made use of spittle in lustration ;|| 
( Vide Lactantium ap. Gallseum — f 
i. c. you need not read but -^ee 'em ;) 
Now, Irish Papists, fact si:rprising. 
Make use of spittle in baptizing; 

S A bad name for poetry; but T> — ge.i — n is 
still worse. — As Prudeutius says upon a very 
different subject— 

Torquetur Apollo 
Nomine percussus. 

II Lustralibus ant6 salivis 

Espiat. Pei:s. sat. 2. 

HI have taken the trouble of examining th« 
Doctor's reference here, and find him, for once, 



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222 



MOOKE'S WOEKS 



WMch proves them all, O'Finns, O'Fa- 
gans, [gans. 

Connors, and Tooles, all downright Pa- 
This fact's enough ; — let no one tell us 
To free such sad, salivous fellows.— 
No, no— the man, baptized with spittle, 
Hath no truth in him— not a tittle ! 



LETTER T. 

FROM THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF 
C— RK TO LADY . 

^Y dear Lady ! I've been just 

sending out [little Eout — 

About five hundred cards for a snug 
^By the by, you've seen Eokeby ?— this 
moment got mine — [fine;) 

The Mail-Coach Edition* — prodigiously 
But I can't conceive how, in this very 
cold weather, [gether; 

I'm ever to bring my five huncbed to- 
As, unless the thermometer's near boil- 
ing heat, [to meet. 
One can never get halfof one's hundreds 
(Apropos — you'd have laugh'd to see 
Townsend last night, [poHte, 
Escort to their chairs, with his staff, so 
The "three maiden Miseries," all in a 
fright ; [two posts, 
Poor Townsend, like Mercury, tilling 
Supervisor of thieves, and chief-usher of 
- /) 

-, can't you 



But, my dear Lady 



hit on some notion, [motion ? 
At least for one night to set London in 
As to having the E— g — nt, tJtat show 
is gone by — [you and I) 

Besides, I've remark'd that (between 
The Marchesa and Tie, inconvenient in 
more ways, [in doorways ; 

Have taken much lately to whispenng 
"Which— consid'ring, you know, dear, 

the size of the two — 
Makes a block that one's company can- 
not get through ; [ways so small, 
And a house such as mine is, with door- 
Has no room for such cumbersome love- 
work at all. — [heard it, I hope, 
(Apropos, though, of love-work— you've 

correct. The followiiip: are the words of his 
iiidig-nant referee, Gallaius: — " Asserere Don 
veremur sacrum baptismum a Papistis profa- 
nari, et sputi usura in peccatorum expiatione a 
Pa^aais nou a Cliristianis wandsge." 



That Napoleon's old mother's to many 
the Pope,— [my hout, 

What a comical pair !) — but, to stick to 
'Twill be hard if some novelty can't be 
struck out. [arrived? 

Is there no Algerinc, no Kamchatkau 
No Plenipo Pacha, three-tail'd and ten- 
wived ? [name 
No Eussian, whose dissonant consonant 
Almost rattles to fi'agments the trumpet 
of fame ? 

I remember the time, three or four 

winters back, [cently black- 
When — provided their wigs were but de- 
A few Patriot monsters, from Spain, 

were a sight [night after night. 
That would people one's house for one. 
But — whether the Mmisters paw'd them 

too much — [ever they touch) 
(And you know how they spoil whatso- 
Or, -nhether Lord G— rge (the young 

man about town) [them down, 
Has, by dint of bad poetry, written 
One has certainly lost one's peninsular 

rage, [age 

And the only stray Patriot seen for an 
Has been at such places (think, how the 

fit cools !) [L— V— rp— I's. 

As old Mrs. Y— gh— n's or Lord 

But, in short, my dear, names like 

Wintztschitstopschinzondhoff 
Are the only things now make an ev'n- 

iug go smooth off; 
So, get me a Eussian — till death I'm 

your debtor— 
If he brings the whole Alphabet, so 

much the better. [acter, sup 

And — Lord ! if he would but, in char- 
OS his fish-oil and caudles, he'd quite 

set me up ! 

Au revoir, my sweet girl — I must 
leave you in haste — 
Little Gunter has brought me the 
Liqueurs to taste. 

POSTSCEIPT. 

By the by, have you found any friend 

that can construe [Monster ?t 

That Latin account, t'other day, of a 

* See Mr. Murray's Adyertisement about the 
Mail-Coach copies of Rokeby. 

t Alluding, I suppose, to the Latin Advertise- 
ment of a Lusus Naturse in the Newspapers 

lately. 



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INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



223 



If we can't get a Russian, and that thing 

in Latin [that in. 

Be not too improper, I think I'il bring 

LETTER VL 

FROM ABDALLAH,* IN LONDON, TO 
MOHASSAN, IN ISPAHAN. 

"Whilst thou, Mohassan (happy thou !) 
Dost daily bend thy loyal brow 
Before our King — our A.sia's treasure ! 
Kutmeg of Comfort ; Rose of Pleasure ! — 
And bear'st as many kicks and bruises 
As the said Rose and ISTutmeg chooses ; 
Thy head stiU near the bowstring's bor- 
ders, 
And but left on till further orders — 
Through London streets with turban 

fair, 
And caftan, floating to the air, 
I saunter on, the admiration 
Of this short-coated population — 
This sew'd up race — this button'd na- 
tion — 
Who, while they boast theiv laws so free. 
Leave not one limb at liberty, 
But live, with aU their lordly speeches, 
The slaves of buttons and tight breeches. 

Yet, though they thus their knee-pans 
fetter 
(They're Christians, and they know no 

better!) 
In some things they're a thinking na- 
tion; 
And, on Religious Toleration, 
I own I like their notions quite, 
They are so Persian and so right: [dogs, 
Tou know our Sunnites,t— hateful 

*I hare made many inqnirios about this Per- 
sian gentleman, but cannot satisfactorily ascer- 
tain who he is. From his notions of Religious 
Liberty, however, I conclude that ho is an im- 
portatiou of Ministers; and he has arrived just 

111 time to assist the P c and Mr. L— ck— c 

in tlieir new Oriental Plan of Reform.— See the 
second of these Letters. How Alidallah's 
epistle to Ispahan found its way into the Two- 
penny Post-Bag- is more than I can pi-etend to 
account for. 

t"C'est un honnfite bomme," said a Turkish 
governor of DeRuyter; "c'est grand dommago 
qu'il soit Chretien." 

^Suimites and Shiites are the two leading 
sects into which the Maliomctan world is 
divided; and tliey have pone on cursing and 
persecuting each otlier, without any intermis- 
sion, for about eleven hundred years. Tlie 
Sunni is the established sect in Tui'key, and 
the Shia in Persia ; and the differences between 
them turn chiefly upon those important points, 



Whom every pious Shiite flogs 
Or longs to flogij — tis true, they pray 
To God, but in an ill-bred way ; 
With neither arms, nor legs, nor faces 
Stuck in their right, canonic places. || 
'Tis true, they worship Ali's name— IT 
Tlieir heaven and ours are just the 

same — 
(A Persian's Heav'n is easily made, 
'Tis but black eyes and lemonade.) 
Yet, though we've tried for centuries 

back — 
We can't persuade this stubborn pack, 
By bastinadoes, screws, or nippers. 
To wear th' establish'd nea-green slip- 
pers.* * 
Then, only think, the libertines ! 
They wash their toes— they comb their 

chins, tt 
With many more such deadly sins ; 
And what's the worst, (though last I 

rank it, ) 
Believe the Chapter of the Blanket ! 

Yet, spite of tenets so flagitious, 
(Which must, at bottom, be sedi- 
tious ; 
Since no man living would refuse 
Green slippers, but from treasonous 

views ; 
Nor wash his toes, but with intent 
To overturn the government,) — 
.Such is our mild and tolerant way. 
We only curse them twice a day 
(According to a foiTU that's set,) 
And, far from torturing, only let 
All orthodox believers beat 'em, 
And twitch their beards, where'er they 
meet 'em. 

which our pions friend Abdallah, in the true 
spirit of Shiite Ascendency, reprobates in this 
Letter. 

§"Les Sunnites, qui etoient commelcsCatho- 
liques de Musu\ui&msme."— D'Merbelot. 

II "In contradistinction to the Souuis, who in 
their prayers cross their hands on tlie lower 
part of their breast, the Schiabs drop their arms 
in straight lines ; and as the Sounis. at certain 
periods of the prayer, press tlieir foreheads on 
the ground or carpet, the Schiahs," <S;c., &c.— 
Forster's Voyage. 

t' ' Les Turcs ne d^testent pas Ali reciproque- 
ment ; au contraire, lis lo reconnoissent, " <kc., 
&,c.—Chardin. 

**" The Shiites wear green slippers, which the 
Sunnites consider as a great abomination."— 
Mariti. 

ttFor these points of difference, as well as 
for the Chapter of the Blanket, I must refer 
the reader (not having tlie book by me) to 
Picart'B Account of the Mahometan Sects, 




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224 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



As to the rest, they're free to do 
Whate'er their fancy prompts them to, 
Provided they make nottung of it 
Tow'rds ranli or honor, power or profit ; 
Which things, we nat'rally expect. 
Belong to us, the Estabhsh'd sect, 
Who disljeUeve (the Lord be thanked !) 
Th' aforesaid Chapter of the Blanket. 
The same mild views of Toleration 
Inspire, I find, this button'd nation. 
Whose Papists (full as given to rogue. 
And only Sunnites with a brogue) 
Fare just as well, with all their fuss, 
As rascal Sunnites do with us. 

The tender Gaze! I enclose 
Is for my love, my Syrian Rose — 
Take it when night begins to fall, 
And throw it o'er her mother's wall. 

GAZEL. 

Remejiberest thou the hour we 

pass'd, — 
That horn- the happiest and the last ? 
Oh ! not so sweet the Siha thorn 
To summer bees, at break of mom, 
Not half so sweet, through dale and dell. 
To Camels' ears the tinkling bell, 
As is the soothing memory 
Of that one precious hour to me. 

How can we live, so far apart ? 
Oh ! why not rather heart to heart. 

United live and die — 
Like those sweet birds, that fly together, 
With feather always touching feather, 

Link'd by a book and eye !* 



LETTER YII. 

FROM MESSRS. L— CK— GT- 

TO , I 



-N Am) CO. 
iSQ.t 

Per Post, Sir, we send your MS.— look'd 
it thro' — ['twouldn't do. 

Very soiTy — but can't undertake — 

Clever work. Sir ! — would get up pro- 
digiously well — 

Its only defect is — it never would sell. 

*This will appear stranpe to an English 
reader, but it is literally translated from Abdal- 
lah's Persian, and the curious bird to which he 
alludes is the Jnftak, of m hich I find the follow- 
ing account in Kichardson :—" A sort of bird, 
that is said to have but one wing ; on the oppo- 
site side to which the male has a hook and the 
female a rintr, so that, when they fly, they are 
fastened together." 

IJTrom motives of delicacy, and, indeed, oifel- 



And though Statesmen may glory in 

being unhouyht, [thought. 

In an Author 'tis not so desirable 

Hard times. Sir,— most books are too 

dear to be read — 
Though the gold of Good-sense and Wit's 

small change are fled, 
Yet the paper we Publishers pass, in 

their stead, [to think it) 

Rises higher each day, and ('tis frightful 
Not even such names as F— tzg— r— d's 

can sink it ! 

However, Sir — ^if you're for trying 
again, 
And at somewhat that's vendible — wo 
are your men. 

Since the Chevalier C — rrt took to 

marrying lately, [greatly — 

The Trade is in want of a Traveller 

No job, Sir, more easy — ^your Country 

once plann'd, [on land 

A month aboard ship and a fortnight 

Puts your Quarto of Travels, Sir, clean 

out of hand. 

An East-India pamphlet's a thing 
that would tell— [well. 

And a lick at the Papists is sure to sell 
Or — supposing you've nothing original 
in you— [will win ycu, 

Write Parodies, Sir, and such fame it 
You'll get to the blue-stocktug Bouts o{ 

Albinia !^ 
(Mind— not to her dinners— a second- 
hand Muse [the Blues.) 
Mustn't think of aspiring to mess with 
Or — in case nothing else in this world 
you can do— [review ! 
The deuce is iu't, Sir, if you cannot 

Should you feel any touch of poetical 

glow, [you must know, 

We've a Scheme to suggest — Mr. Sc— tt, 

(Who, we're sorry to say it, now works 

for the Itoic,\\) [renown. 

Having quitted the Borders, to seek new 

loiu-feeling. T suppress the name of the Author 
whose rejected manuscript was enclosed in this 
letter.— f>ee the Appendix. 

tSirJolm Carr, the author of " Tours in Ire- 
land. Holland, Sweden," &c., &c. 

§Tliis alludes, I believe, to a curious corre- 
spondence which is said to have passed 
lately between Alb — n— a, Countess of B— ck- 
— gh— ms— e, and a certain ingenious Parodist 

II Paternoster Kow. 




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INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



225 



Is coming, by long Quarto stages, to 
Town ; [sure to pay) 

And beginning with Rokeby (the job's 

Means to do all the Gentlemen's Seats 
on the way. 

Kow, the Scheme is (though none of 
our hackneys can beat him) 

To start a fresh Poet through Highgate 
to mcei him ; 

Who, by means of quick proofs — no re- 
vises — long coaches — 

May do a few Villas, before Sc— tt ap- 
proaches, [shabljy, 

Indeed, if our Pegasus be not cm-st 

He'll reach, without found'ring, at least 
"Wobum Abbey. [the freak, 

Such, S'r, is our plan— if you're up to 

Tis a match ! and we'll put you in 
training next week. [Letter, a 

At present, no more — in reply to this 

Line will oblige very much 

Tours, et cetera. 
Temple of the Muses. 



LETTER VIII. 



jpROM COLONEL TH — M— S TO — — 
SK— FF — NGT— N, ESQ. 

Come to our Pete,* and bring with thee 
Thy newest, best embroidery. 
Come to our Fete, and show again 
That pea-green coat, thou pink of men, 
Which charm'd all eyes that last sur- 

vey'd it ; [made it ?"— 

When Br— mm — I's self inqmred "who 
When Cits came wond'ring, from the 

East, 
And thought thee Poet Pye at least! 

Oh ! come, (if haply 'tis thy week 
For looking pale,) with paly cheek; 
Though more we love thy roseate days, 
W hen the rich rouge-pot pours its blaze 
Full o'er thy face, and, amply spread. 
Tips even thy whisker-tops with red — 

♦This Letter enclosed a Card for the Grand 
Fete on the 5th of February, 
t An amateur actor of much risible renown. 
\ Quera tu. Melpomene, semel 

IJascentem placido lumine, videris. &c. 

xTORAT. 

The Man, upon whom thou'st deign'd to look 
funny. 
Oh Tratredy's Muse ! at thehour of his birth- 
Let them say what they will, that'sthe Man foi 
Wily money, [mirth! 

Give others thy tears, but let we have thy 
§ The crest of Mr. C — tea, the very amusing 



Like the last tints of dying Day 
That o'er some darkling grove delay. 

Bring thy best lace, thou gay Philan- 
der 
(That lace, like H— rry Al— x— nd— r. 
Too precious to be wash'd,)— thy rings. 
Thy seals — in short, thy prettiest things ! 
Put all thy wardrobe's glories on, 
And yield in frogs and fringe, to none 
But the great R— g— t's self alone ; 
Who — by particular desire — 
For that night only, means to hire 
A dress fi-om Romeo C — tes, Esquire.t 
Hail, first of Actors It best of R — g — ts ! 
Born for each other's fond allegiance ! 
Both gay Lotharios— both good dress- 
ers — [ors — 
Of serious Farce both learn'd Profess- 
Both circled round, for use or show, 
With cock's combs, wheresoe'er they 
go!§ 

Thou know'st the time, thou man of 

lore ! 
It takes to chalk a baU-room floor — 
Thoii know'st the time, too, weU-a-dayl 
It takes to dance that chalk away.|| 
The Ball-room opens— far and nigh 
Comets aud suns beneath us he ; [walk, 
O'er snow-white moons aud stars we 
And the floor seems one sky of chalk! 
But soon shall fade that bright deceit. 
When many a maid, with busy feet 
That sparkle in the lustre's ray, 
O'er the white path shall bound and 

play 
Like nymphs along the Milky Way :— 
With every step a star hath fled, 
And suns grow dim beneath their tread ! 
So passeth life — (thus Sc — tt would 

write, 
And spinsters read him with delight, ) — 
Hours are not feet, yet hours trip on, 
Time is not chalk, yet time's soon 

gone III 

amateur tragedian here alluded to, was a cock; 
and most profusely were his liveries, harness, 
&c., covered with this ornament. 

II To those, who neither f;o to balls nor read 
the Morning Post, it may be necessary to men- 
tion, that the floors of ball-rooms, in general, 
are chalked, for safety and for ornament, with 
various fanciful devices. 

TJ Hearts are not flint, yet flints are rent. 

Hearts are not steel, yet steel is bent. 

After all, however, Mr. Sc— tt may well say to 

the Colonel, (and, indeed, to much better wags 

than the Colonel./ paoy /[iio/icicrdat ij fiifj-eiirOai.. 



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'<J26 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



But, hang this long digressive flight ! — 
I meant to say, thou'lt see, that night, 
What falsehood rankles in their hearts, 

Who say the Pr e neglects the arts— 

Yegiects the arts ? — no, Str— hi— g,* no; 
Thy Gupids answer " 'tis not so ;" 
And every floor, that night, shall teU 
liow quick thou daubest, and how well. 
Shine as thou may'st in French vermilion, 
Thou'rt best, beneath a French cotiihon; 
And still com'st off', whate'er thy faults. 
With fiymg colors in a Waltz. [date 
Iv^or need'st thou mourn the transient 
To thy best works assign'd by fate. 
While some chef-d'oeuvres Hve to weary 

one, 
27;w'e boast a short life and a merry one; 
Their hour of glory past and gone 
With ' Molly put the kettle on !"t 

But, bless my soul ! I've scarce a leaf 
Of paper left — so, must be brief. 

This festive Fete, in fact, wiU he 
The former Felix's fac-simiJe ;\ 
The same long Masquerade of Rooms, 
All trick "d up in such odd costumes, 
(These, P— rt— r,§ are thy g.orious 
works !) [Turks, 

You'd swear Egyptians, Moors, and 
Bearing Good-Taste some deadly mahce. 
Had clubb'd to raise a Pic-Nie Palace ; 
And each to make the olio pleasant 
Had sent a State-Room as a present. 
The same fauteuils and girandoles — 
The same gold Asses, || pretty souls ! 
That, in this rich and classic dome, 
Appear so perfectly at home. 
The same bright river 'mong the dishes, 
ButMO^— ah ! not the same dear fishes^ 
Late hours and claret kill'dtheold ones — 
So 'stead of silver and of gold ones, 
(It being rather hard to raise 
Fish of tliat specie now-a-days, ) 
Some sprats have been by Y— rm— th's 
Promoted into Silver Fish, [wish. 

And Gudgeons (so V — ns — tt — t told 
The R — g — t) are as good as Gold ! 

So, prithee, come — our Fete will be 
Bat half a Fete if wanting thee. 

* A foreign artist mueli patronized by the 
Prince Regent. 

t The name of a popular country-dance. 

;* "C— rlt— n H e will exhibit a complete 

facsimile, in respect to interior ornament, to 
what it did at the last Fete. The same splen- 
did draperies, " &c. (fee. — Morning Post. 

§ Mr. Walsh Porter, to whoso taste was left 
^be furnishing of the rooms of Carlton House. 



APPENDIX. 



LETTER IV. PAGE 221. 

Among the papers enclosed in Dr. 
D — g— n — n's Letter was found an He- 
roic Epistle in Latin verse, from Pope 
Joan to her Lover, of which, as it is 
rather a curious document, I shall ven- 
ture to give some aecotmt. This female 
Pontifl" was a native of England, (or, 
according to others, of Germany,) who, 
at an early age, disguised herself in 
male attire, and followed her lover, a 
young ecclesiastic, to Athens, where 
she studied with such efi'ect, that upon 
her arrival at Rome she was thought 
worthy of being raised to the Pontificate. 
This Epistle is addressed to her Lover 
(whom she had elevated to the dignity 
of Cardinal) soon after the fatal accouche- 
ment, by which her Fallibihty was be- 
trayed. 

She begins by reminding him tender 
ly of the time, when they were togethei 
at Athens — when, as she says, 

■ "by Ilissus' stream 

"We whisp'ring walk'd along, and 
leam'd to speak [Greek ;— 

"The tenderest feelings in the purest 
"Ah, then how httle did we think or 
hope, [Pope !1F 

" Dearest of men, that I should e'er be 
" That I; the humble Joan, whose house- 
wife art [and heart, 
" Seem'd just enough to keep thy house 
"(And those, alas, atsixes and at sevens,) 
" Should soon keep all the keys of all 
the heavens !" 

Still less (she continues to say) could 
they have foreseen, that such a catastro- 
phe as had happened in Council would 
befall them— that she 

"Should thus surprise the Conclave's 

grave decorum, ['em— 

"And let & little Pope pop out before 

II The salt-cellars on the Pr e's own ta- 
ble were in the form of an Ass with panniers. 

TI Spanheim attributes the unanimity with 
which JoiiST-'PS elected, to that innate ai>d irre- 
sistible charm by which her sex, though latent, 
operated upon the instinct of the Cardinals — 
■' Non vi aliqua, sed concorditer, omnium in se 
converso desiderio, qufe sunt blandientis sexus 
artes, latentes in hac quauquam 1" 




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rN"TERCEPTED LETTERS. 



227 



" Pope Innocent I alas, the only one 
" That name could e'er be justly fix'd 
upon." 

She then very pathetically laments the 
downfall of her greatness, and enumer- 
ates the various treasures to which she 
is doomed to bid farewell forever :^ 

" Eut oh, more dear, more precious ten 
times over — [Lover! 

" Farewell my Lord, my Cardinal, my 

"■' I made ^/ite Cardinal — thou mad'st me 
— ah ! [Mamma ! " 

''Thou mad'st the Papa of the world 

I have nottime at present to translate 
any more of this Epistle ; but I presume 
th') argument which the Right Hon. 
Doctor and his friends mean to deduce 
from it, is (in their usual convincing 
strain) that Romanists must be unwor- 
thy of Emancipation noiu, because they 
had a Petticoat Pope in the N"inth Cen- 
tury. iSrothing can be more logically 
clear, and I find that Horace had ex- 
actly the same views upon the subject. 

Romanun (eheu poster! negabitis !) 

Emuncipatus JTcEMlNiB 
Fert vallum ! 



LETTER YIL page 224. 

The Manuscript found enclosed in the 
Booksellei-'s Letter, turas out to be a 
Melo-Drama, in two Acts, entitled " The 
Book,"* of which the Theatres, of course, 
had had the refusal, before it was present- 
ed to Messrs. L — ck — ugfc— n and Co. 
This rejected Drama, however, possesses 
considerable merit, and I sha)l take the 
liberty of laying a sketch of it before 
my Readers. 

The first Act opens In a very_ awftd 
manner— J^/?«e, three o'clock in the 
moraing— Scene, the Bourbon Chambert 

in C— rlt— n House — Enter the P e 

R- g— t solus— After a few broken sen- 
tences, he thus exclaims :— 

*There was, in like manner, a mysterious 
Cook, in the 16th Century, which employed all 
the anxious curiosity of the Learned of that 
time. Every one spoke of it; many wrote 
against it ; though it doc^s not appear that any- 
body had ever seen it; andGmlius is of opinion 
that no such Book ever existed. It was entitled 
'• Liber de tribus inipostoribus." (See Morhof 
Cap. de Libris damnutis.)— Our more modern 
mystery of ' ' the Book " resembles this iu many 



Away — Away— 
Thou haunt'st my fancy so, thou devil- 
ish Book, [look. 
I meet thee — trace thee, wheresoe'er 1 
I see thy damned inkm Eld — n's brows — 
I see thy foolscaj) on my H— rtf— d's 
Spouse— [case, 
Y — ns — tt — t's head recalls thy leathern 
And all thy black-leaves stare from 

R— d— r's face ! 
While turning here, {laying his hand on 
his heart,) I find, ah wretched elf, 
Thy List of dire Errata in myself. 

( Walks the stage in considerable 
agitation.) 
Oh Roman Punch ! oh potent Cura9oa ! 
Oh Mareschino ! Mareschiuo oh ! 
Delicious drams! why have you no* 
the art [heart f 

To kill this gnawing Book-worm in my 

He is here interrapted in his Soliloquy 
by perceiving on the gi'ound some scrib- 
bled fragments of paper, which he in- 
stantly collects, and '' l)y the light of 
two magnificent candelal)ras " discovers 
the followingunconnected words, '* Wife 
neglected"— " the Book" — " Wrong 
Measures " — " the Queen" — "Mr. Lam- 
bert"— " the U—g—t." 

Ha! treason in my house ! — Curst words, 

that wither 
My princely soul, {shaking the papers 

violently,) what Demon brought 

you hither ? 
"My Wife;"— "the Book" too!^ 

stay -a nearer look — 
{holding the fragments closer to *M 

Candelabras) 
Alas ! too plain, B, double 0, K, Book- 
Death and destruction ! 

He here rings all the bells, and a 
whole legion of valets enter. A scene 
of cursing and swearing (very much in 
the German style) ensues, in the course 
of which messengers are dispatched in 
different directions, for the L— rd Ch— n- 

particulars ; and, if the number of Lawyers em- 
ployed in drawing it up be stated correctly, a 
slight alteration of the title into "d tribus im- 
postoribus " would produce a coincidence alto- 
gether very remarkable. 

IThe same Chamber, doubtless, that was pre- 
pared for tlie reception of the Boiu'bons at t he 
first Grand Fete, and which was ornamented 
(all "for the Deliverance of Europe") with 
Jieurs-de-lys. 



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MOORE'S "WORKS 



c— 11— r, the D— e of C— b— 1— d, &c., 
&c. The intermediate time is filled up 
by another Soliloquy, at the conclusion 
uf which the aforesaid Personages rush 
on alaru)ed ; the D — ke with Ids stays 
0"lv half-laced, and the Ch — nc — U— r 
witn iiis wig thi"own hastily over an old 
red nig'it-cap, "to maintain the be- 
coming splendor of his office."* The 
R— g— 1; produces the appalling frag- 
ments, upon which the Ch— nc— 11— r 
break? out into exclamations of loyalty 
and tf nderness, and relates the following 
portoLtous dream : 

'Tis scarcely two hours since 
I bad a fearful dream of thee, my 

P e!— [crowd, 

Metaought I heard thee, midst a courtly 
Say fi'om thy throne of gold, in man- 
date loud, 
** TTorship my whiskers I" — {weeps) not 

a knee was there [Pair, 

Put bent and worshipped the Illustrious 
Which curl'd in conscious majesty ! 

(pulls out his liandkerchief) — 

while cries [echoing skies.^ 

Of "Whiskers, whiskers!" shook the 
Just in that glorious hour, methought 

there came, [Dame, 

With looks of injured Pride, a Princely 
And a yoimg maiden, clinging by her 

side, 
As if she fear'd some tyrant would divide 
Two hearts that nature and affection 

tied ! [hand glow'd 

The Matron came— within her right 
A radiant torch ; while from her left a 

load [lected in her veil — 

Of Papers hung — {tcipes his eyes) col- 
The venal evidence, the slanderous tale, 
The wounding hint, the current lies that 

pass [mass ; 

From Fost to Courier, form'd the motley 
Which, witli disdain, before the Throne 

she throws. 
And lights the pile beneath thy princely 

nose. ( Weeps. ) 

Heav'ns, how it blazed!— I'd ask no 

liveher fire 
{With animation) To roast a Papist by, 

my gracioas Sire !^ 
But, ah ! the Evidence— (tceeps again) 

I mouru'd to see — 

« ' To enable the individual, who holds the of- 
fice ofClmncelUir, to maintain it in becoming 
splendor." (A loud laugh.)— Lor<i Cabilb- 



Cast, as itbum'd, a deadly light on thee; 
And Tahs and Hints their random 

sparkls flung, [maid's tongue; 
And hiss'd and crackled, like an old 
While Pos^ pud Courier, faithful to their 

fame, [flame. 

Made up in s*^^ink for what they lack'd in 
When, lo, ye Oods! the fire ai^duding 

brisker, [whi ker. 

N"ow singes one, now lights the other 
Ah I where was ihan the Sylphid, that 

unfurls 
Her fairy standard in defence of curls ? 
Throne,' Whiskers, Wig, soon vanish'd 

into smoke, [I awoke. 

The watchman cried 'Fast One," and — 
Here his Lordship wpcps more pro- 
fusely than ever, and the E — g — t (who 
has been very much agitated during the 
recital of the Dream) by a movement as 
characteristic as that of Charles XII. 
when ho was shot, claps bis hands to his 
whiskers to feel if aU be really safe, A 
Privy Council is held — aU the Servant*, 
&c., are examined, and it appears thar a 
Tailor, who had come to measure ihe 
R -g — t for a Dress, (which takes throo 
whole pages of the best superfine cliii- 
gi/rM(iin describing,) was the oulyperson 
who had been in the Bourbon Cnamber 
during the day. It is, accordingly, de- 
termined to seize the Tailor, and the 
Council breaks up with a unanimous 
resolution to be vigorous. 

The commencement of the Second 
Act turns chiefly upon the Trial and Im- 
prisonment of two Brothers! — but as 
this forms the under plot of the Drama, 
I shall content myself with extracting 
from it the following speech, which is 
addressed to the two Brothers, as they 
"exeunt severally" to Prison: — 

Go to your prison — though the air of 
Spring "[shall bring ; 

No mountam coolness to your cheeks 
Though Summer flowers shall pass un- 
seen away. 
And all your portion of the glorious day 
May be some solitary beam that falls, 
At mom oreve, upon your dreary wails- 
Some beam that enters, trembling as if 
awed, [abroad ! 

To tell how gay the young wcrid laughs 

ueagh's Speech upon the Vice-Chancellor' t 
BUI. 

♦ Mr. Leigh Hunt and his brother, 



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mTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



229 



y °.t go — for thoughts as blessed as the 

air [there ; 

Of Spring or Summer flowers await you 
Thoughts, such as He, who feasts his 

courtly crew 
In rich conservatories, never knew; 
Pure self-esteem — the smiles that light 

within — 
The Zeal, whose circling charities begin 
With the few loved ones Heaven has 

placed it near, [sphere ; 

And spread, tQl all Mankind are in its 
The Pride, that suffers without vaunt or 

plea, [free, 

And the fresh Spirit, that can warble 
Through prison-bars, its hymn to 

Liberty ! 

The Scene next changes to a Tailor's 
"Workshop, and a fancifully arranged 
gi-oup of these Artists is discovered upon 
the Shopboard— Their task evidently of 
a roi/al uature, from the profusion of 
gold-lace, frogs, &c., that lie about— 
They all lise and come forward, while 
one of them sings the following Stanzas 
to the tune of " Derry Down." 

My brave brother Tailors, come, 
straighten your knees, [at ease, 

For a moment, like gentlemen, staudup 

"While I sing of our P e, (and a fig 

for his railers), [of Tailors ! 

The Shopboard's delight ! the Mfccenas 
Deny down, down, down derry down. 

Some monarchs take roundabout ways 
into note, [cut of his coat ; 

While His short cut to fame is — the 

Philip's Son thought the Worid was too 
small for his Soul, [button-hole. 

But our K — g — t's finds room in a laced 
Derry down, <fec. 

Look through all Europe's Kings— 
those, at least, who go loose — 

Xot a King of them all's such a friend to 
the Goose, 



So, God keep him increasing in size and 
renown, [about town ! 

Still the fattest and best fitted P e 

Derry down, &c. 

During the " Derry down" of this last 
verse, a messenger from the S — c — t— y 

of S e's Office rushes on, and the 

singer (who, luckily for the effect of the 
scene, is the very Tailor suspected of 
the mysterious fragments) is interrupted 
in themidst of his laudatory exertions, 
and hurried away, to the no small sur- 
prise and consternation of his comrades. 
The Plot now hastens rapidly in its de- 
velopment -the management of the Tai- 
lor's examination is highly skilful, and 
the alarm, which he is made to betray, 
is natural without being ludicrous. 
The explanation, too, which he finally 
gives, IS not more simple than satisfac- 
tory. It appears that the said fragments 
formed part of a self-exculpatory note, 
which he had intended to send to Colo- 
nel M'M n upon subjects purely pro- 
fessional, and the corresponding bits 
(which still V-i luckily in his pocket) 
being produced, and skilfully laid beside 
the others,the following billet-doux is the 
satisfactory result of their juxtaposition. 

Eonored Colonel — my Wife, who's the 

Queen of all slatterns, [Patterns. 
Neglected to put up the Book of new 
She sent the wrong Measures too — 

shamef lly wrong— 
They're the same used for poor Mr. 

Lambert, when young ; 
But, bless you ! they wouldn't go hali 

round the R— g— t- - 
So, hope you'll excuse yours till death, 

most obedient. 

This fully explains the whole mystery 
— the R— g~t resumes his wonted 
smiles, and the Drama terminates aa 
usual, to the satisfaction of all iw^rtioa- 




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230 MOORE'S WORKS. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS, 



2XOAAZONT02 A2X0AIA. 



THE IITSURRECTIOJr OP THE 
PAPERS. 

A DREAM. 

" It ■would lie impossible for his Eoyal High- 
ness to disengafre his poi'son from tlie accumu- 
lating pile of piipers that encom|iassed it," — 
Lord Castleueagh's Speech upon Colonel 
M'Mahon's Appointment, April 14, 1G12. 

Last night I toss'd and turn'd in bed, 
But could not sleep— at length I sair], 
"I'll think of Viscount C— stl— r— gh, 
" And of his speeches — that's the way." 
And so it was, for instantly 
I slept as sound as sound could be. 
And then I dream'd— so dread a dream ! 
Fuseli has no such theme ; 
Lewis never wrote or borrow'd 
Any horror half so horrid ! 

Methought the P e, in whisker'd 

state, 
Before me at his breakfast sate ; 
On one side lay unread Petitions, 
On t'other, Hints from iivc Physicians ; 
Here tradesmen's bills, — official papers, 
Notes from my Lady, drams for vapors — 
There plans of saddles, tea and toast. 
Death-warrants and the Morning Post. 

"When lo ! the Papers, one and all, 
As if at some magician's call, 
Began to flutter of themselves 
From desk and table, floor and shelves, 
A.nd, cutting each some different capers, 
Advanced, oh Jacobinic papers! 
As though they said, " Our sole design is 
"To suflbcate his Royal Highness !" 
The Leader of this vile sedition 
Was a huge Catholic Petition, 
With grievances so lull and heavy, 
It threateu'd worst of all the bevy. 
Then Common-HaU Addresses came 
In swaggering sheets, and took their 
aim 



Right at the R — g— t's well-dresa'd head, 
As if determined to be read. 
Next Tradesmen's Bills began to fly, 
And Tradesmen's Bills, we know, mount 
high ; [best 

Nay, ev'n Death-warrants thought they'd 
Be lively, too, and join the rest. 

But oh, the basest of defections ! 
His letter about " predilections," — 
His own dear Letter, void of grace, 
Now flew up in its parent's face ! 
Sho k'd with his breach of filial duty. 
He just could murmur " et Tu Brute!" 
Th 'ii sunk, subdued upon the floor 
At Fox's bust, to rise no more ! 

I waked— and pray'd, with lifted hand, 
"Oh! never may this Dream prove 
true ; 

" Though paper overwhelm the land, 
" Let it not crush the Sovereign too !" 



PARODY 

OF A CELEBRATED LETTER.* 

At length, dearest Freddy, the moment 

is nigh. 
When, with P— re— v— I's leave, I may 

throw my chains by ; 
And, as time now is precious, the first 

thing I do, [you. 

Is to sit down and write a wise letter to 



I meant before now to have sent you 

this Letter, ['twould be better 

But Y— rm— th and I thought perhaps 

* Letter from HisRoval Highness the Prince 
Eegent to the Duke of York, Feb. 13, 1812. 




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SATIEICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



231 



To wait till the Irish, affairs were de- 
cided — [divided, 
(That is, till both Houses had prosed and 
With all due appearance of thought and 

digestion,)— 

For, though H — rtf — rd House had long 

settled the question, [you, 

I thought it but decent, between me and 

That the two other Houses should settle 

it too. 

I need not remind you how cursedly 
bad [went mad :"* 

Our affairs were all looking, when Father 

A straight waistcoat on him and restric- 
tions on mc, [be. 

A more limited Monarchy could not weil 

I was call'd upon then, in that moment 
of puzzle. 

To choose my own Minister— just as they 
muzzle 

A playful young bear, and then mock 
his disaster, 

By bidding him choose out his own 
dancing-master. 

I thought the best way, as a dutiful 

son, [have doue.t 

Was to do as Old Royalty's self would 

So I sent word to say, I would keep the 

whole batch in, 
The same chest of tools, without cleans- 
ing or patching ; [sconce,t 
For tools of this kind, like Martiuus's 
Would lose all their beauty, if purified 
once ; [should find, 
And think — only think — if our Father 
Upon graciously coming again to his 
mind,§ [ite adviser — 
That improvement had spoil'd any favor- 
That R— se was grown honest, or W — st- 

m — rel — nd wiser— 
That R — d— r was, ev'n by one twinkle, 
the brighter — [pound lighter — 
Or L — V — rp— I's speeches but half a 
What a shock to his old royal heart it 
would be ! [ment from mc ! 

tSTo \ — I'ar were such dreams of improve- 

* "I tliiuk it hardly necessary to call your re- 
collection to tlie recent cireuinstaiices under 
vhieh I assumed the authority delegated to lue 
by Parlianient." — Prince'^ Letter. 

1 "My sense of duty to our Royal father 
solely decided that choice." — Ibid. 

t The antique shield of Martinus Scriblerus, 
which, upon scouring, turned out to bo only an 
old sconce. 

§"I waiTed any personal gratification, in 
order that his Mujesty might resume, on his 



And it pleased me to find, at the House, 

where, you know,|| 
There's such good mutton cutlets, and 

strong cura<;oa,1[ [ous old boy, 
That the Marchioness call'd me a dute- 
And my T— rm — th's red whiskers grew 

redder for joy. 

Tou know, my dear Freddy, how oft,, 
if I would, [done good. 

By the law of last Sessions I might have 
I might have withheld these pohtical 
noodles [Yankee Doodles ; 

From knocking their heads against hot 
I might have told Ireland I pitied her 
lot, [you know I did not. 

Might have sooth'd her with hope— but 
And my wish is, in truth, that the best 
of old fellows [ to be jealous. 

Should not, on recovering, have cause 
But find that, while he has been laid on 
the shelf, [himself. 

We've been all of us nearly as mad as 
Tou smile at my hopes — but the Doc- 
tors and I [ever will die.** 
Are the last that can think the K— ng 

Anew era's aiTived,tt — though you'd 

hardly believe it — [receive it. 

And all things, of course, must be new to 

New villas, new fetes, (which ev'n 

Waithman attends,)— 
New saddles, new helmets, and — why 
not new friends f 



I repeat it, "NewFriends"— for I cannot 

describe [c — v — 1 tribe. 

The dehght I am in with this P — r- 
Such capering !— Such vapoiiug !— Such 

rigor ! — Such vigor — 
North, South, East, and West, they 

have cut such a figure, 
That soon they will bring the whole 

world round our ears, 
And leave us no friends— but Old Nick 

and Algiers. 

restoration to health, every power and preroga- 
tive," Slq.— Prince >< Letter. 

II " And I have tlie satisfaction of knowing 
that such was the opinion of persons for whose 
judgment," <fcc., &c. — Ibid. 

X The letter-writer's favorite luncheon. 

** " I certainly am the last person in the king- 
dom to whom it can be permitted to despair of 
our royal father's recovei^." — Prince's Letter. 

If " A new era is now arrived, and I cauuol 
out reflect with satisfaction," &c — Ibid. 



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232 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



"WTien I think of the glory they've 

beam'd on my chains, [brains. 

'Tis enough quite to turn my illustrious 

It IS true we are bankrupts in commerce 

and riches, [breeches! 

But thmk how we find our Allies in new 

We've lost the warm hearts of the Irish, 

'tis granted, [wanted, 

But then we've got Java, an island much 

To put the last lingering few who remain 

Of the Walchereu warriors, out of their 

pain. [squabbles his brother ! 

Then how Wellington fights ! and how 

For Papists the one, and with Papists 

the other ; 
One crashing Napoleon by taking a City, 
While t'other lays waste a whole Cath- 
'lic Committee. [flinch. 

Oh deeds of renown ! —shall I boggle or 
With such prospects before me ? by Jove, 
not an inch. [they will, 

1^0 — let England'? affairs go to rack, if 
We'll look after th' affairs of the Conti- 
nent still ; [and not. 
And, with nothing at home but staiTation 
Find Lisbon m bread, and keep Sicily 
quiet. 

I am proud to declare I have no pre- 
dilections,* [ter'd affections 
My heart is a sieve, where some scat- 
Are just danced about for a moment or 
two, [run through : 
And the finer they are, the more sure to 
Neither feel I resentments, nor wish 

there should come ill 
To mortal— except (now I think on't) 
Beau Br — mm — 1, [passion, 

Who threaten'd last year, in a superfine 
To cut me, and bring the old K — ng mto 
fashion. [present ; 

This is all I can lay to my conscience at 
When such is my temper, so neutral, so 
pleasant, [ings. 

So royally free from all troublesome feel- 
So little encumber'd by faith in my 
dealings, [allow, 

(And that I'm consistent the world will 
What I was at Newmarket the same I am 
now. ) [hate cracking. 

When such are my merits, (you know I 

*" I have no preclilectioiis to indulge, — ^no 
resentments to gratii'y."— Ibid. 

t " I cannot conchule without esprossing the 
gratification I should feel if some of those" per- 
sons with whom the early liahits of my public 
life were formed would strengthen my hands, 
and constitute a part of my government.^'— JWd. 



I hope, like the Tender of Best Patent 

Blacking, [approbation 

"To meet with the gen'rous and kind 

" Of a candid, enlighten'd, and libera! 

nation." 

By the by, ere I close this magnificent 

Letter, [you a better,) 

(No man, except Pole, could have writ 
'Twould please me if those, whom I've 

humbugg'd so longt 
With the notion (good men!) that I 

knew right from wrong, 
Would a few of them join me — mind, 

only a few — [would do ; 

To let too much light in on me never 
But even Grey's brightness shan't make 

me afraid, [fly to for shade; 

While I've C— md— n and Eld— n to 
Nor will Holland's clear intellect do us 

much harm. 
While there's W — stm — rel — nd neai 

him to weaken the charm. 
As for Moira's high spirit, if anght can 

subdue it, [m — th will do it ' 

Sure joining with H — rtf— rd and T — r- 
Between U — d-r and Wh— rt — n lei 

Sheridan sit, [dan's wit : 

And the fogs will soon quench even Sheri- 
And against all the pure public feeling 

that glows [m G— rge R— se ! 
E'vn m Whitbread himself we've a Host 
So, m short, if they wish to have Places, 

they may, [ters to Grey,i 

And I'll thank you to tell all these mat- 
Who, I doubt not, will write (as there's 

no time to lose) [the news ; 

By the twopenny post to tell Grenville 
And now, dearest Fred, (though I've no 

predilection. ) [fection. 

Believe me yours always, with truest af- 

P. S. A copy of this is to P— re - 1 

going :§ [with his crowing ! 

Good Lord, how St. Stephen's will ring 

ANACREONTIC. 

TO A PLTTMASSIER. 

Fine and feathery artisan. 
Best of Plumists'^(if you can 
With your art so far presume) 

I " Tou are authorized to communicate these 
sentiments to Lord Grey, who, I have no doubt, 
will make them known to Lord Grenville."— 
Ibid. 

§ ■' I shall send a copy of this letter immedi- 
ately to Mr. Perceval.'— Prince's ie«fer. 



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Mm 




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SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



233 



Make for me a Pr — ce's Plume — 
Feathers soft and feathers rare, 
Such as suits a Pr— ce to wear. 

First, thou downiest of men, 
Seek me out a fine Pea-hen ; 
Such a Hen, so tall and grand. 
As by Juno's side might stand. 
If there were no cocks at hand. 
Seek her feathers, soft as down, 
Fit to shine on Pr — ce's crown : 
If thou cau'st not find them, stupid ! 
Ask the way of Prioi-'s Cupid. * 

Ranging these in order due. 
Pluck me next an old Cuckoo ; 
Emblem of the happy fates 
Of easy, kind, cornuted mates. 
Pluck him well — be sure you do— 
Who wouldn't be an old Cuckoo, 
Thus to have his plumage bless'd, 
Beaming on a R — y — 1 crest ? 

Bravo, Plumist ! — now what bird 
Shall we find for Plume the third ? 
You must get a learued Owl, 
Bleakest of black-letter fowl.— 
Bigot bird, that hates the light, t 
Foe to all that's fair and bright. 
Seize his quills, (so form'd to pen 
Books,t that shun the search of men; 
Books, that, far from every eye, 
In "swelter'd venom sleeping" lie,) 
Stick them in between the two. 
Proud Pea-hen and old Cuckoo. 
Now you have the triple feather, 
Bind the kindred stems together 
With a silken tie, whose hue 
Once was biiiliant. Buff and Blue ; 
Sullied now — alas, how much ! 
Only fit for Y— rm — th's touch. 

There —enough — thy task is done ; 

Present, worthy G ge's Son; 

Now, beneath, in letters neat, 
Write "I SERVK," andall's complete. 



EXTRACTS 
FROM THE DIARY OF A POLITICIAN. 
Wednesday. 

Through M— nch— st — r Square took a 
canter just now — 

• See Prior's poem, entitled ' The Dove." 

t P— re— v-1. 

Jin allusion to "the Book " which created 
such a sensation at that period. 

§ The liicoi/. vehicle of the Pr— ce. 

(I Baron Geramb, rival of his R. H. in whiskers. 

TTEngland is not the only countiy where 
merit of this kind is noticed and rewarded. '• I 



Met the old yellow chariot,^ and made a 

low bow. 
This I did, of course, thinking 'twas 

loyal and civil, [the devil ! 

But got such a look — oh 'twas black as 
How unlucky l^incog. he was trav'Iing 

about,"^ [out. 

And I, like a noodle, must go find him 
Mem. — when next by the old yellow 

chariot I ride, [insid*. 

To remember there is nothing princely 
Thursday. 

At Levee to-day made another sad 
blunder — [wonder ? 

"What can be come over me lately, I 

The Pr — ce was as cheerful, as if, all his 
life, [or a Wife — 

He hadueverbeen troubled with Friends 

"Fine weather," says he — to which I, 
who must prate, 

Answer'd, " Yes, Sir, but changeable 
rather, of late." 

He took it, 1 fear, for he look'd some- 
what gruff, [so rough. 

And handled his new pair of whiskers 

That l)efore all the courtiers I fear'd 
they'd come off. 

And then. Lord, how GerambH would 
triumphantly scoff ! 

Mem. — to buy for son Dicky some un- 
guent or lotion [promotion 111 
To nomish his whiskers— sure road to 

Saturday. 
Last night a Concert— vastly gay — 
Given by Lady C— stl — r— gh. 
My Lord loves music, and, we know. 
Has " two strings always to his bow."** 
In choosing songs the K -g — t named 
'•■ Had I a heart for falsehood framed." 
While gentle K— rtf— dbegg'd and pray'd 
For " I'oung I am, and sore afraid." 



EPIGRAM. 
What news to-day?— Oh 1 worse and 

worse— 
" Mactt is the Pr— ce's Privy Purse !"— 
The Pr— ce's Purse ! no, no, you fool, 
You mean the Pr — ce's Bidicide. 

remember," says Tavernier, " to have Been 
one of the King of rer.«ia's porters, whose 
moustaches were so long that he conld tio tlii-m 
beliind his neck, for which reason he had a dou- 
ble pension." 

*' A rhetorical figure used by Lord C— s- 
tl— r — Jill, in one of his speeches. 

t1 Colonel M— cm— h— u. 




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234 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Ki:^G CRACK* AND HIS IDOLS. TTHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE? 



WRITTEN AFTER THE LATE NEGOTIATION 
FOR A NEW M — N— STRT. 

King Crack was the best of all possible 

Kings, [to you gladly,) 

(At least so his Courtiers would swear 

But Crack now and then would do het'r- 

odox things, {ages sadly. 

And at last took to worshipping Im- 

Some broken-down Idols, that long had 

been placed [so much. 

In his father's old Cabinet, pleased him 

That he knelt down and worshipp'd, 

though — such was his taste — 

They were monstrous to look at, and 

rotten to touch. 

And these were the beautiful Gods of 

King Crack ! — [such things, 

But his l^eople, disdaining to worship 

Cried aloud, one and all, " Come, your 

Godships must pack — 

'♦You'll not do for us, though you 

may do for Kings." 

Then, trampling these images under 

their feet, [" Great Caesar! 

They sent Crack a petition, beguining 

" We're willing to worship ; but only 

entreat 

" That you'll find us some decenter 

Godheads than these are." 

" I'll try," says King Crack — so they 
furoish'd him models 
Of better shaped Gods, but he sent 
them all back ; 
Some were chisell'd too fine, some had 
heads 'stead of noddles. 
In short, they were all much too god- 
like for Crack. 

So he took to his darling old Idols again. 
And, just mending their legs and new 
bronzing their faces. 
In open defiance of Gods and of man, 
Set the monsters up grimiing once 
more in their places. 

* One of those antediluvian Princes with whom 
Manetho and Whiston seem so intimately ac- 
quainted. If we had the Memoirs of Thoth, 
from which Manetho compiled liis History, we 
should find, I dare say, that Crack was only a 
Regent, and that he, perhaps, succeeded Ty- 
phon, who (as Whiston says) was the lastKiug 
of th« Antediluvian Dynasty. 



Quest. "Why is a Pump like Y— so — nt 

C— stl— r— gh ? [wood, 

Answ. Because it is a slender thing of 

That up and down its awkward arm 

doth sway, [away. 

And coolly spout and spout and spout 

In one weak, washy, everlasting flood ! 

EPIGRAM. 

dialogue between a catholic DEli'^- 
GATE AND HIS R— Y— L H — GHN — SS 
THE D— E OF C— B— L— D. 

Said his Highness to Xed,t with that 

grim face of nis, [he Neddy?" 

" Why refuse us the Veto, dear Catho- 

" Because, sir," said Ned, looking full in 

his phiz, [science, already ! " 

" You're forbidding enough,in all con- 

WREATHS FOR THE MINISTERS. 

AN ANACREONTIC. 

Hither, Flora, Queen of Flowers ! 
Haste thee from Old Brompton's bow. 
Or, (if sweeter that abode,) [ers— 

From the King's well-odor'd Road, 
Where each little nursery bud 
Breathes the dust and quafl's the mud. 
Hither come and gayly twine 
Brightest herbs and flowers of thine 
Into wreaths for those who mle us, 
Those, who rule and (some say) fool us — 
Flora, sure, will love to please 
England's Household Deities If 

First you must then, willy-niEy, 
Fetch me many an orange lily — 
Orange of the darkest dye 
Irish G— flf— rd can supply ; 
Choose me out the longest sprig, 
And stick it in old Eld — n's wig. 

Find me nest a Poppy posy. 
Type of his harangues so dozy, 
Garland gaudy, dull and cool, 
To crown the head of L — v — i^p — 1. 
'Twill console his brilliant brows 
For that loss of laurel boughs, 

tEdward Byrne, the head of the Delegates of 
the Irish Catholics. 

^*The ancients, in like manner, crowned their 
Lares, or Household Gods. See Juvenal, Sat. 
9. iv. i:?8.— Plutarch, too, tells us that House- 
hold Gods were then, as they are now, " much 
given to War and Penal Statutes."'— ep'-fi-vux 
0€(9 Kat. Trot-vt/Jiov^ daifioya^. 




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SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



235 



Which they suffer'd (what a pity !) 
On the road to Pans City. 

Next, our C— stl— r — gh to crown, 
Bring me from the County Down, 
Withefd Shamrocks, which have been 
Gilded o'er, to hide the green — 
(Such as H—df'—t brought away 
From Pall-Mali last Patrick's day) — * 
Stitch the garland through and through 
"With shabby threads of every hue ; — 
And as. Goddess ! — cntre nous — 
His lordship loves (though best of men) 
A little torture, now and then, 
Crimp the leaves, thou first of Syrens, 
Crimp them with thy curling-irons. 

That's enough— away, away — 
Had I leism-e, I could say 
How the oldest rose that grows 
Must be pluck'd to deck Old Rose — t 
How the Doctor's brow should smile 
Crown'd with wreaths of chamomile. 
But time presses— to thy taste 
I leave the rest, so, prithee, haste I 

EPIGRAM. 

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A DOWAGER AND 
HER MAID ON THE NIGHT OF LORD 
Y — RM— TH'S fete. 

" I WANT the Court Guide," said my la- 
dy, "to look 30, or20,"— 
" If the House, Seymour Place, be at 
""We've lost the Court Guide, Ma'am, 
but here's the Red Book, 
" "Where you'll find, I dare say, Sey- 
mour Places m plenty ! " 

HORACE, ODE XI. LIB. II. 
freely translated by the PR— ce 

R— G — T.t 

$ Come, T — rm — th, my boy, never 
trouble your brains, 

♦Certain tinsel imitations of the Shamrock 
which are distributed bj[ the Servants of 

C n House every Patrick's Day. 

IThe sobriquet given to Lord Sidmonth. 
JThis and tbe following are extracted from a 
"Work which may, some time or other, meet the 
eye of the Public, entitled "Odes of Horace, 
done into English by several persons of fashion." 
§Quid bellicosns Cantaber, et Scythes, 
Hirpine Quincti, cogitet Hadria 
Divisus objecto, remittas 



I Nee trepides in usnm 

Poecentis sevi pauca. 



About what your old crony. 
The Emperor Boney, 
Is doingorbrewmgon Muscovy's plains; 

Nor tremble, my lad, at the state of our 
granaries :1| 
Should there come famine. 
Still plenty to cram in 
You always shall have, my dear Lord of 
the Stannaries. 

Brisk let us revel, while revel we may ; 
For the gay bloom of fifty soon passes 
away, IT 
And then people get fat. 
And infirm, and — all that. 
And a wig (I confess it) so clumsily sits,** 
That it frightens the little Loves out of 
their wits ; 

Thy whiskers, too, T— rm— th! alas, 
even they,tt 
Though so rosy they bum, 
Too quickly must turn 
(What a heart-breaking change for thy 
whiskers !) to Grey. 

Then why, my Lord "Warden, oh ! why 

should you fidget [understand f|t 

Tour mind about matters you don't 

Or why should you write yourself down 

for an idiot, [pe?i in your hand!"^ § 

Because *' you," forsooth, " have the 

Think, think how much better 
Than scribbling a letter, 
("Which both you and I 
Should avoid, by the by,) 
How much pleasanter 'tis to sit under 
the bust [drink like a new one ; 
Of old Charley.llll my friend here, and 
"While Charley looks sulky and frowns at 
me, just 
As the Ghost in the Pantomime frowns 
at Don Juan. 
To crown us. Lord "Warden.UU 

% Fugit retro 

Levis juventas et decor. 
** Pellente lascivos amores 

Canitie. 
tt NequennoLunarMftmsnitot 

Vultu. 
♦J Quid fflternia rninorem 

Consiliis animum fatigas ? 
§§Cur non sub alta vel platano, vel hao 

Pinu jacentes sic temere. 
III! Charles Fox. 
nil Rosa 

Canos odorati capillos, 

Dum licet, Assyriaque naxdo 
Potamus uncti. 





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236 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



In C— mb — rl — nd's garden 
Grows plenty of monk's hood in venom- 
ous sprigs, 

While Otto of Roses 

Refreshing all noses [and wigs. 
Shall sweetly exhale from our whiskers 

What youth of the Household will cool 
our Noyau" 

In that streamlet delicious. 

That down 'midst the dishes, 

All full of gold fishes. 

Romantic doth flow ? — 

Or who will repair! 

Unto M ch r Sq — -e, 

And see if the gentle Marcliesa he there? 

Go— bid her haste hither, 

And let her bring with hert 
The newest No-Popery Sermon that's 
going — [flowing, § 

Oh ! let her come, with her dark tresses 
All gentle and juvenile, curly and gay, 
In the manner of— Ackermann's Dresses 
for May ! 



HORACE, ODE XXII. LIB. I. 

FREELY TRANSLATED BY LORD EID— N. 

The man who keeps a conscience 
pure, II 
(If not his own, at least his Prince's,) 

* Quis piier ociiis 

EestinfTuet ardeutis Falerni 
I'ocula prcetercunte ly inphaf 

t Qnis eliciet domo 

Lyden ? 
J Eburna, die age, cum lyra (qu. liar-a) 

Maturet. 
§ Incomtam Lacsense 

More comam rcliiLrata node. 
II Integer vitfe sccleri.sque piirus. 
T[ Non eget Mnuri jaculis, neque arcu, 
Nee venenatis gravida sagittis, 
Fusee, pharetra. 
Sive per Syrtea iter ajstuosas, 
Sive fueturus per iiiliospitalem 
Caucasum, vel qiuB loea ffibulosus 
Lainbit Hydaspes. 
^'he 5^'oble Translator had, at first, laid the 
scene of these imagined dangers of his Man of 
Conscience among the Papists of Spain, and 
had translated the words "qnse loca fabxdosus 
lambit Uydaspes" thus— "The fabling Span- 
iard licka the French ;" but, recollecting that 
it is our interest just now to be respectful to 
Spanish Catholics (though there is certainly 
no earthly reason for our being even uncom- 
monly civil to Irish ones,) he altered the pas- 
sage as it stands at present. 

tINamque me silvft lupus in Sabina., 
Dum meam canto Lulagen, et ultra 



Through toil and danger walks secure, 
Looks big and black, and nevei 
winces. 

No want has he of sword or dagger, H 
Cock'd hat or ringlets of Geramb ; 

Though Peers may laugh, and Papists 
swagger, 
He doesn't care one single d-mn. 

Whether midst Irish chairmen going,** 
Or through St. Giles's alleys dim, 

-'Mid drunken Sheelahs, blasting, blow- 
ing. 
No matter, 'tis all one to him. 

For instance, I, one evening late,tt 

Upon a gay vacation sally, 
Singing the praise of Church and Stat-e, 

Got (God knows how) to Cranbounae 
Alley. 

When lo ! an Irish Papist darted 
Across my path, gaunt, grim, and big — 

I did but frown, and off he started, 
Scared at me, even without my wig. 

Yet a more fierce and raw-boned dogff 
Goes not to mass in Dublin City, 

Nor shakes his brogue o'er Allen's Bog, 
Nor spouts in Catholic Committee. 

Oh! place me midst O'Rom-kes, 
0'Tooles,§§ 
The ragged royal-blood of Tara ; 

Terminum curis yagor expeditis, 
Fugit inermem. 
I cannot help calling the render's attention 
to the peenliiir ingenuity with which these 
lines are paraphrased. Not to mention the 
happy conversion of the Wolf into a Papist, 
(seeing that Romulus was suckled by a wolf, 
that Rome was founded by Romnlus, and thiit 
the Pope has always reigned at Rome,) there is 
something particularly neat in supposing •' vl- 
tra fcrH(nium"to mean Tacation-time: and 
then the modest consciousness with which the 
Noble and Learned Translator has avoided 
touching upon the words "curis expedUis," (or, 
as it has been otherwise read, "causis ■}xj>edi- 
Us") and the felicitous idea of his being " iner- 
mis" when •' without his wig," are altogether 
the most delectable specimens of paraphrase inj 
our language. 

X\ Quale portentum neque militaris 
Daunias latis alit sesculetis, 
Nee Jubse tellus generat leonum 
Arida nutrix. 
§§Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis 
Arbor iEsiiva recreatur aura : 
Quod latus mundi, nebulae, malnsque 
Jupiter urget. 
I must here remark, that the said Dick M— r- 
t — n being a very good fellow, it was not at 
all fair to make t " 3ia!u8 Jupiter '■ of him. 



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SATIKICAL AND HUMOKOUS POEMS. 



237 



Or place me where Dick M — rt— n rules 
The houtieIe«s wilds of Connemara ; 

Of Church and State I'll warble still,* 

Though ev'n Dick M— rt— n's self 

should grumble ; [ JiU, 

Sweet Church and State, like Jack and 

So lovingly upon a hill— t [ble ! 

Ah ! ne'er like Jack and Jill to tum- 



THBNEW COSTUME OF THE MI:N"- 
ISTERS. 

Nova monstra creavit. 

Ovid. Metaniorph. 1. i. v. 437. 

Having sent off the troops of brave Ma- 
jor Camac [orous back, 
"With a swinging uorse-tail at each val- 
And such helmets, God bless us! as 
never decked any [vanni — 
Male creature before, except Signor Gio- 
" Let's see," said the R— g-t, (like Ti- 
tus perplex'd 
"With the dutie? of empire,) "whom 
shall I dres,.-, next t" 

He looks in thi glass — but perfection 

is there, [to a hair ;t 

Wig, whiskers, and chin-tufts all right 
iTot a single ea;-curl on his forehead he 

places — [the case is. 

For curls are like Ministers, strange as 
The falser they are, the more firm m 

their places, [who could doubt ? 
His coat he next views — but the coat 
For his Y -rm— th's own Frenchified 

hand cut it out; [ters of state, 
Every pucker and seam were made mat- 
And a grand Household Council was 

held on each plait. 

Then whom shall he dress ? shall he 
new-rig his brother. 

Great C— mb— rl— d's Duke, with some 
kickshaw or other? 

And kindly invent him more Christian- 
like shapes [lory capes. 

For his feather-bed neckcloths and pil- 

♦Dulce ridentein Lalngen awabo, 
Dulce loquentem. 
f There cannot be imagined a more happy 
illustration of the inseparability of Church and 
State, and their (what is called) '• standing and 
falling together," than this ancient apologue of 
Jack and Jill. Jack, of course, represents the 
State ia this ingenious little Allegory. 
Jack fell down, 
And broke his Crown, 
And Jill came tumbling after. 
{ That model of Priiici'.s, the Emperor Com- 
modus, was particularly luxurious in the dress- 



Ah ! no— here his ardor would meet 
with delays, [in new Stays, 

For the Duke had been lately pack'd up 

So complete for the winter, he saw very 
plain [him again. 

'T would be devilish hard work to i(«pack 

So, what's to be done ? — there's the 

ministers, bless 'em ! — 
As he viacle the puppets, why shouldn't 

he dress 'em '/ [ — be nimble— 
" An excellent thought ! — call the tailors 
" Let Cum bring his sjiy-glass, and 

H— rtf— dher thlm.jie; 
""While Y — rm— th shall give us, in 

spite of all quizzers, [scissors." 
" The last Paris cut with his true Gallic 

So saying, he calls C— stl— r— gh, and 
the rest [and be dress'd. 

Of his heaven-born statesmen, to come 
While Y— rm— th, with snip-like and 
brisk expedition, [tition 

Cuts up, all at once, a large Cath'lic Pe- 
In long tailors' measm-es, (the P — e 

crying " Well-done!") 
And first puts in hand my Lord Chan- 
cellor Eld— n. 



CORRESPONDEN-CE BET"WEE17 A 
LADY AXD GENTLEMA:N" 

UPON THE ADVANTAGE OF (WHAT IS 
CALLED) "HAVING LAW^ ON one's SIDE." 

The Gentleman's Proposal. 

" Legge aiirea, 
S'ei place, ei lice." 

Come, fly to these arms, nor let beau- 
ties so bloomy 
To one frigid owner be tied; 
Your prudes may revile, and your old 
ones look gloomy. 
But, dearest, we've Law on our side. 

Ing and ornamenting of his hair. His con- 
science, however, would not suffer him to trust 
himself with a barber, and he used, according 
ly, to burn off his beard—" tiraoro tonsoris, ' 
says Lampridius, (Hist. August. Scn'ptor.) 
The dissolute .^lius Verus, too. was equally 
attentive to the decoration of his wig. (See 
Jul. Capitolin.)— Indeed, this was not the 
onh/ princely trait in the character of Verus, 
as he had likewise a most hearty and dignified 
contempt for his Wife.— See his insulting an- 
swer to her in Spartianus. 
^ lu allusion to Lord EU-^ilj — gh. 




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238 



MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



Oh ! think the delight of two lovers con- 
genial, 
"WTiom no dull decorums divide ; 
Their error how sweet, and their rap- 
tui-e how venial, [side. 

"When once they've got Law on their 
'Tis a thing, that in every King's reign 
has been done, too ; 
Then why should it now be decried ? 
If the Father has done it, why shouldn't 
the Son, too ? 
For so argues Law on our side. 

And, ev'n should our sweet violation of 
duty 
By cold-blooded jurors be tried. 
They can hut bring itin " a misfortune," 
my beauty, 
As long as we've Law on our side. 

The Lady's Answer. 

Hold, hold, my good sh, go a little 

more slowly ; 

For, grant me so faithless a bride, 

Such sinuers as we, are a little too lowly, 

To hope to have Law on oiur side. 

Had you been a great Prince, to whose 
star shining o'er 'em 
The people should look for their guide, 
Then your Highness (and welcome !) 
might kick down decorum^ 
You'd always have Law on your side. 
Were you ev'n an old Marquis, in mis- 
chief grown hoary, 
Whose heart, though it long ago died 
To the pleasures of vice, is alive to its 
glory- 
Yon still would have Law on your side. 
But for you, Sir, Grim. Con. is a path 
full of troubles ; 
By my advice therefore abide, 
A-vd leave the pursuit to those Princes 
and Nobles 
Who have such a Law on their side. 



OCCASION"AL ADDRESS FOR THE 
OPENING OF THE NEW THEA- 
TRE OF ST. ST— PH— N, 

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY 
THE PROPRIETOR IN FULL COSTUME, 
ON THE iJ4TH OF NOVEMBER, 1812. 

This day a New House, for your edifi- 
cation, [headed nation ! 
We open, most thinking and right- 
*Lord C— stl— r— gh. 



Excuse the materials — though rotten 
and bad, [now could be had ; 

They're the best that for money just 

And, if echo the charm of such houses 
should be [a T. 

You wiU find it shall echo my speech to 

As for actors, we've got the old Com- 
pany yet. 
The same motley, odd, tragi-comical set; 
And consid'iing they were all but clerks 
t'other day, [play- 

It is tnily surprising how well they can 
Our Manager,* (he, who in Ulster was 
nursed, [first. 

And sun^ Eriii go Brah for the galleries 
But, on finding Pi/Mnterest a much bet- 
ter thing, [save the King,) 
Changed his note of a sudden, to God 
StiU wise as he's blooming, and fat as 
he's clever, [ever. 
Himself and his speeches as lengthy as 
Here offers you still the full use of his 
breath, [death, 
Your devoted and long-winded proser till 

You remember last season, when 
things went perverse on. 
We had to engage (as a block to re- 
hearse on) [person, 
One Mr. V— ns — tt— t, a good sort ot 
Who's also employ'd for this season to 
play, [to Pay."t 
In '' Raising the Wind," and the "Devil's 
We expect too — at least we've been 

plotting and planning — 
To get that great actor from Liverpool, 
C— nn— g ; [attracts 

And, as at the Circus there's nothing 
Like a good single combat brought in 
'twixt the acts, [Sir P — ph — m. 
If the Manager should, with the help of 
Get up new diversions, and C — nn — g 

should stop 'em, 
Who knows but we'll have to announce 
in the papers, [tional capers." 
"Grand fight — second time — with addi- 

Be your taste for the ludicrous, hum- 
drum, or sad, [be had. 
There is plenty of each in this house to 
Where our Manager ruleth, there weep- 
ing wiU be, [he ; 
For a dead hand at tragedy alwavs was 
And there never was dealer in dagger 
and cup, 

tHe had recently been appointed Chaacellor 
of the Exchequer. 



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SATIRICAL AJfD HUMOROUS POEMS. 



239 



"Who so smilingly got all his tragedies up. 
His powers poor Ireland will never for- 
get, [o'er them yet. 
And the widows of Walcheren weep 

So much for the actors; — for secret 

machinery, [scenery, 

Traps, and deceptions, and shiftina; of 

Y — rm — th and Cum are the best we can 

find, [behind. 

To transact all that trickery business 

The former's employ'd to teach us French 

jigs, [the wigs. 

Keep the whiskers in curl, and look after 

In taking my leave now, I've only to 

say, [sold away, 

A few Seats in the House, not as yet 

May be had of the Manager, Pat 

C— stl — r— gh. 



THE SALE OP THE TOOLS, 
lustrumenta regni. — Tacitus. 

Here's a choice set of Tools for you, 

Ge'mmen and Ladies, 
They'll fit you quite handy, whatever 

your trade is ; [doubt, 

(Except it be Cabinet-making; — no 
In that delicate service they're rather 

worn out ; 
Though their owner, bright youth ! if 

he'd had his own will, 
"Would have bungled away with them 

joyously still.) 
You can see they've been pretty well 

Jiack'd—and alack I [hack ? 

What tool is there job after job will not 
Their edge is but dullish, it must be 

confess 'd. 
And their temper, like E n- 

b'r b's, none of the best; 

But you'll find them good hard-working 

Tools, upon trying, 
Wer't but for their brass, they are well 

worth the buying ; 
They're famous for making blinds, 

sliders, and screens, 
A.nd are, some of them, excellent turn- 
ing machines. 

The first Tool I'll put up (they call it a 

Chancellor), [seller. 

Heavy concern to both purchaser and 

*An allusion to Lord Eld— n's lachrymose 
tendencies. 
1 " Of the taxes proposed by Mr. Vansittart, 



Though made of pig iron, yet worthy of 

note 'tis, [notice.* 

'Tis ready to melt at a half minute's 
"Who bids? Gentle buyer! 'twill turn 

as thou shapest ; 
'Twill make a good thumb-screw to 

torture a Papist; 
Or else a cramp-iron, to stick in the wall 
Of some church that old women are 

fearful will fall ; 
Or better, perhaps, (for I'm guessing at 

random,) 
A heavy drag-chain for some Lawyer's 

old Tandem. [sure. Sir— 

"Will nobody bid? It is cheap, I am 
Once, twice, — going, going, — thrice, 

gone !— it is yours. Sir. 
To pay ready money you sha'n't be 

distress'd, [best. 

As a bill at long date suits the Chancellor 

Come, Where's the next Tool?— Oh! 

'tis here in a trice — [a Vice; 

This implement, Ge'mmen, at first was 
(A tenacious and close sort of tool, that 

will let to get;) 

Nothing out of its grasp it once happen* 
But it since has received a new coating 

of Tin, 
Bright enough for a Prince to behold 

himself in. 
Come, what shall we say for it? briskly! 

bid on, [quite gone. 

"We'll the sooner get rid of it — going — 
God be with it, such tools, if not quick- 
ly knock'd down. 
Might at last cost their owner — how 

much ? why, a Crown ! 

The next Tool I'll set up has hardly 
had handsel or 
Trial as yet, and is also a Chancellor — 
Such dull things as these should be sold 
by the gross ; \_close, 

Yet, dull as it is, 'twill be found to shave 
And like other close shavers, some cour- 
age to gather, \leathir.\ 
This blade first began by a flom-ish on 
You shall have it for nothing — then, 
marvel with me [be, 
At the terrible tinkering work there must 
"Where a Tool such as this is (I'll leave 
you to judge it) [Budget ! 
Is placed by ill luck at the top of the 

thnt principally opposed in Parliament was 
the additional duty on leather."— .Inn. Begi» 
ter. 




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240 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



LITTLE MAN" AND LITTLE SOUL. 

A BALLAD. 

To the tune of " There was a little man, and he 
woo'd a little maid." 

DEDICATED TO THE RT. HON. CH— KL— S ABB— T. 



Arcades ambo 
Et cant-are pares. 



1813. 



There was a little Man, and he had a 

little Soul, [try. 

And he yaid, '' Little Soul, let us try, try, 

" Whether it's within our reach 

" To make up a little Speech, [I, 

•' Just between little you and little I, I, 

"Just between little you and little 

Then said his little Soul, 
Peeping from her Uttle hole, 
"I protest, little Man, you are stout, 
stout, stout, 
" But, if it's not uncivil, 
" Pray tell me what the devil 
Must our little, little speech be about, 
bout, bout, [about?" 

"Must our little, little speech be 

The little Man look'd big 
With th' assistance of his wig. 
And he call'd his little Soul to order, or- 
der, order, 
Till she fear'd he'd make her jog in 
To jail, like Thomas Croggan, 
(As she wasn't Duke or Earl) to reward 
her, ward her, ward her, [her. 
As she wasn't Duke or Earl, to reward 

The little Man then spoke, 
" Little Soul, it is no joke, 
" For as sure as J — cky P — 11 — r loves a 
sup, sup, sup, 
" I will tell the Prince and People 
" What I think of Church and 
Steeple, [up, up, up, 

" And my Uttle patent plan to prop them 
' ' And my little patent plan to prop 
them up." 

Away then, cheek by jowl, 
Little Man and little Soul 
Went and spoke their little speech to a 
tittle, tittle, tittle. 
And all the world declare 
That this priggish little pair 
Kever yet in all their lives look'd sj lit- 
tle, little, little, [tie ! 
Never yet in all their lives look'd so lit- 



EEINFORCEMENTS FOR LORD 
WELLINGTON. 

Snosque tibi coinmendat Troja Penates 
Ho8 cape tatorum comites. Vniou-. 

1813. 

As recniits in these times are not easily 

got, L^hy should we not, 

And the Marshal must have them— pray, 
As the last, and, I grant it, the worst of 

our loans to him. 
Ship ofi' the Ministry, body and bones to 

him? 
There's not in all England, I'd venture 

to swear, [spare ; 

Any men we could half so conveniently 
And, though they've been helping the 

French fur years past, 
We may thus make them useful to Eng. 

land at last. 
C — stl— r— gh in our sieges might save 

some disgraces. 
Being used to the taking and keeping of 

places ; [joining, 

And Volunteer C— nn— g, still ready for 
Might show off his talent for sly under- 
mining. 
Could the Household but spare us its 

glory and pride, 
Old H— df t at Aonj-worA-s again might 

be tried, 
And the Ch — f J — st — e make a told 

charge at his side : 
While Y— ns— tt — t could victual the 

troops upon tick, [and sick. 

And the Doctor look after the baggage 

N'ay, I do not see why the great 
R— g— t himself 

Should, in times such as these, stay at 
home on the shelf: 

Though through nan-ow defiles he's not 
fitted to pass, \en masse f 

Yet who could resist, if he bore down 

And though oft, of an evening, perhaps 
he might prove. 

Like our Spanish confed'rates, " unable 
to move,"* 

Yet there's one thing in war ot advan- 
tage unboimded \he surrounded. 

Which is, that he couM not with ease 

In my next I shall sing of their arms 

and equipment ; [the shipment ! 

At present no more, but — good luck to 

*The character given to the Spanish soldier 
in Sir John Murray's memorable dispatch. 



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SATIRICAL A^D HUMOROUS POEMS, 



241 



HORACE, ODE I. LIB. III. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Odi profanura vulirus et arceo : 
Favete Unguis: carminauon priiu 
Audita Musaruni sncerdos 
Virtrinibiis imerisque canto. 
Regum timeiidoruin in pioprios greges, 
£eges iu ipsos irupcrium est Joris. . 

1813. 
I HATE thee, oh, Mob, as my Lady 
hates delf ; [and thy hisses. 

To Sir Francis I'll give up thy claps 
Leave old Magna Charta to shift for it- 
self, [young masters and misses. 
And, like G — dw — n, write books for 
Oh ! it is not high rank that can make 
the heart merry, [from mishap : 
Even monarchs themselves are not free 
Though the Lords of Westphalia must 
quake before Jerry, [fore Nap. 
Poor Jerry himself has to quake be- 



HORACE, ODE XXXVIII. LIB. I. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Persicos odi, pner, adparatus ; 
Displiceiit iipx;e philjiacoronsB; 
Mitle xectari, Kosa quo locorum. 

Sera vioretur. 

TRANSLATED BY A TREASURY CLERK, 
WHILE WAITING DINNER FOR THE 
RIGHT HON. G— RGE R— SE. 

Boy, teli the Cook that I hate all nick- 

nackeries, [gim-crackeries — 

Fricassees, vol-au-vents, puflf's, and 

Six by the Horse-Guards ! — old Georgy 

is late— 

♦The literal closeness of the version here 
cannot but be admired. The Translator has 
added a long, erudite, and flowery note upoa 
Roges. of which I can merely give a specimen 
at present. In the first place, he ransacijs tlie 
Kosaiiuin. Pali ticunivf the Persian PoetSadi, 
Avitli tlic liopo of finding some Political Roses, 
tomattli tlie gentlemt'.n in the test — but in 
vain ; \u'. tlien tells us that Cicero accused Ver- 
res of reposing upon a cushion " Melitensi rosd 
fartum. which, from the odd mixture of 
words, ho supposes to be a kind of Irish Bed of 
Roses, like Lord Castlereagh's. The learned 
Clerk next favors us with some remarks upon a 
well-known punning epitaph onfia.ir Rosamond, 



But come — lay the table-cloth — zounds ! 

do not wait, 
Nor stop to inquii'e, while the dinner is 

staying, [delaying. * 

At which of his places Old R— a is 



IMPROMPTU. 

UPON BEING OBLIGED TO LEAVE A 
PLEASANT PARTY, FROM THE WANT 
OP A PAIR OF BREECHES TO DRESS 
FOR DINNER IN. 

1810. 

Between Adam and me the great dif- 
ference is, [forced to resign. 
Though a paradise each has been 
That he never wore breeches till turu'd 
out of his, [banish'd from mine. 
While, for want of my breeches, I'm 



LORD WELLINGTON AND THE 
MINISTERS. 

1813. 
So gently in peace Alcibiades smiled. 
While in battle he shone forth so ter- 
ribly grand, [seal, was a child 
That the emblem they graved on his 
With a thunderbolt placed in its inno- 
cent hand. 

Oh Wellington, long as such Ministers 

wield [blem will do ; 

Tour magnificent arm, the same em- 

For while thei/'re in the Council smdyoii, 

in the Field, [der in ijou 

We've the babies in them and the thun- 

nnd expresses a most loyal hope, that, if 
"Rosa munda" mean "a Rose with clean 
hands," it may be found applicable to the 
Right Honorable Rose in question. He then 
dwells at some length upon the " Rosa aurea," 
which, though descriptive, iu one sense, of the 
old Treasury Statesman, yet. as being conse- 
crated and worn by the Pope, must, of course, 
not be brought into the same atmosphere with 
him. Lastlir. in reference to the words "old 
Rose," he winds up with the pathetic lamenta- 
tion of the Poet -'cousenuisse Rosas." The 
wliole note, indeed, shows a knowledge ot 
Roses, that is quite edifying. 



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IRISH MELODIES, 



FKOM 1807 TO 1814. 



TO THE MAECHIONESS DOWA- 
GEK OF DONEGAL, 

It is now many years since, in a Let- 
ter prefixed to the Third Number of the 
Irish Melodies, I had the pleasure of in- 
scribing the Poems of that work to your 
Ladyship, as to one whose character re- 
flected honor on the country to which 
they relate, and whose fiiendship had 
long been the pride and happiness of 
their Author. With the same feelings 
of affection and respect, confirmed if 
not increased by the experience of every 
succeeding year, I now place those 
Poems in their present new form under 
your protection, and am, 

With perfect sincerity, 
Youx Ladyship's ever attached Friend, 
THOMAS MOORE. 



PREFACE. 

Though an edition of the Poetry of 
the Iiish Melodies, separate from the 
Music, has long been called for, yet, 
having, for many reasons, a strong ob- 
jection to this sort of divorce, I should 
with difficulty have consented to a dis- 
union of the words from the airs, had it 
depended solely upon me to keep them 
quietly and indissolubly together. But, 
besides the various shapes in which these, 
as well as my other lyrical writings, 
have been published throughout Ameri- 
ca, they are included, of course, in all 
the editions of my works printed on the 
Continent, and have also appeared, in a 
volume full of typographical errors, in 
Dubhn. I have therefore readily acced- 
ed to the wish expressed by the Proprie- 
tor of the Irish Melodies, for a revised 
and complete edition of the poetry of 
the Work, though well aware that my 



verses must lose even more than the 
"animcB dimidium," in being detached 
from the beautiful airs to which it was 
their good fortune to be associated. 

The Advertisements which were pre- 
fixed to the different numbers, the Pre- 
fatory Letter upon Music, &c., will be 
found in an Appendix at the end of the 
Melodies. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE. 

Go where glory waits thee. 
But, while fame elates thee. 

Oh! still remember me. 
When the praise thou meetest 
To thine ear is sweetest, 

Oh ! then remember me. 
Other arms may press thee, 
Dearer friends caress thee. 
All the joys that bless thee. 

Sweeter far may be ; 
But when friends are nearest^ 
And when joys are dearest. 

Oh ! then remember me ! 

When, at eve, thou rovest 
By the star thou lovest. 

Oh ! then remember me. 
Think, when home returning, 
Bright we've seen it burning, 

Oh ! thus remember me. 
Oft as summer closes, 
When thine eye reposes 
On its ling'ring roses. 

Once so loved by thee. 
Think of her who wove them, 
Her who made thee love them, 

Oh ! then remember me. 




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IRISH MELODIES. 



243 



"WTien, around thee (i^ing, 
Autumn leaves are lying, 

Oh ! then remember me. 
And, at night, when gazing 
On the gay hearth blazing, 

Oh ! still remember me. 
Then should music, stealing 
All the soul of feeling, 
To thy heart appealing. 

Draw one tear from thee; 
Then let memory bring thee 
Strains I used to sing thee, — 

Oil 1 then remember me. 



■WAR SONG. 

REMEMBER THE GLORIES OF BEIEN THE 
BRAVE.* 

Remember the glories of Brien the brave, 

Tho' the days of the hero are o'er: 
Tho' lost to MonorLia,t and cold in the 
grave, 

He returns to Kinkorat no more. 
That star of the Held, which bo often 
hath pour'd 

Its beam on the battle, is set ; 
But enough of its glory remains on each 

To hght us to victory yet. [sword, 

Mononia! when Xatm-e embeUish'd the 
tint [fair. 

Of thy fields and thy mountains so 
Did she "ever intend that a tyrant should 
The footstep of slavery there? [print 
Ko ! Freedom, whose smile ws shall 
never resign. 
Go, tell our invaders, the Danes, 
That 'tis sweeter to bleed for an age at 
thy shrine. 
Than to sleep but a moment in chains. 

Forget not our wounded companions, 

who stood § 

In the day of distress by our Bide ; 

While the moss of the valley grew red 

with their blood, [died. 

They sturi-'d not, but conquer'd and 

* Briea Bororabe, the great monarch of Ire- 
land, who Mas killed at the battle of Clontarf, 
m tlie befiiuning of the 11th century, after hav- 
ing defeated the Danes in twenty-five engage- 
ments. 

t Munster. t The fjalace of Brien. 

5 This alludes to an interesting circumstance 
related of the Dalgais, the favorite troops of 
Brien. when they weio interrupted in their re- 
turn from the battle ofClontait, by Fitzpiitrick, 
priuce of Ossoiy. The wounded mcu entreated 



That sun which now blesses our arma 

with his light, 

Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain ;— 

Oh ! let him not blush, when he leaves 

us to-night, 

To find that they fell there in vain. 



ERIN! THE TEAR AND THE 

SMILE m THINE EYES. 
Erin, the tear and the smile in thinf; 
eyes, [thy skies 5 

Blend like the rainbow that hangs ia 
Shining through soitow's stream. 
Saddening through pleasure's beam. 
Thy suns with doubtful gleam, 
Weep while they rise. 

Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease, 
Erin, thy languid smile ne'er shall in- 
crease, 
Till, like the rainbow's light. 
Thy various tints unite. 
And form in heaven's sight 
One arch of peace 1 

OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. 
Oh ! breathe not his name, let it sleep 

in the shade, [laid: 

Where cold and unhonor'd his relics are 
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that 

we shed, [o'er his head. 

As the night-dew that falls on the grass 

But the night-dew that falls, though ia 

silence it weeps. 
Shall brighten with verdure the grave 

where he sleeps ; [secret it r'^lis, 
And the tear that we shed, though in 
Shall long keep his memory green in our 



WHEN HE, WHO ADORES THEE 
When he, who adores thee, has left but 

the name 
Of his fault and his sorrows behind, 
Oh ! say wilt thou weep, when they 

darken the fame 

that they might be allowed to fight with the 
rest.— "ift stakes (they said) he stuck in the 
ground, and suffer each of us, tied to and sup- 
ported by one of thexe stakes, to be placed in his 
rank by the side of a souvd man. " Between 
seven and eight hundred wounded men. (adds 
O'Halloran,) pale, emaciated, and supported 
in this manner, appeared mixed with tho fore- 
most of the troops ;— never was such another 
siglit exhibited. —jffi«to»v cf Ireland, book 
xii. chap. i. 



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244 



MOOKE'S WOEKS. 



Of a life that for thee was resign'd ? 

Yes, woep, aud however my foes may 

condemn, 

Thy tears shall efface their decree ; 

Tor Heaven can witness, though guilty 

to them, 

I have been but too faithful to thee. 

"With thee were the dreams of my earli- 
est love; [thine; 
Every thought of my reason was 
In my last humble prayer to the Spurit 
above. 
Thy name shall be mingled with mine. 
Oh I blest are the lovers and friends 
who shall live 
The days of thy glory to see ; 
But the next dearest blessmg that Hea- 
ven can give 
Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 



THE HARP THAT OJ^"CE THROUGH 
TARA'S HALLS. 

The harp that once through Tara's halls 

The soul of music shed, 
Jo\y bangs as mute on Tara's walls. 

As if that soul were fled.— 
t50 sleeps the pride of former days. 

So glory's thrill is o'er, 
And hearts, that once beat high for 

Kow feel that pulse no more, [praise, 

No more to chiefs aud ladies bright 

The harp of Tara swells : 
The chord alone, that breaks at night, 

Its tale of ruin tells. 
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, 

The only throb she gives, 
Is when some heart indignant breaks. 

To show that still she lives. 

FLY NOT YET. 

Flt not yet, 'tis just the hour. 
When pleasure, like the midnight flower 
That scorns the eye of vulgar light. 
Begins to bloom for sons of night, 

Aud maids who love the moon. 
*Twas but to bless these hoiu's of shade 
That beauty and the moon were made ; 
'Tis then their soft attractions glowing 
Set the tides and goblets flowing. 

Oh ! stay,— Oh ! stay,— ^ 
Joy so seldom weaves a chain 
Like this to-night, that oh ! 'tis pain 

To break its links so soon. 



FI3' not y6t, the fount that plav'd 
In tim.et^ of old through Ammon's shade.' 
Thovgh icy cold by day it ran. 
Tor. a'r.U, like souls of iuirth, began 

To burn when night was near, [looks 
And thus, should woman's heart and 
At noon be cold as winter brooks, 
Nor kindle till the night, returning. 
Brings their genial hour for burning. 

Oh! stay,— Oh! stay,— 
When did morning ever break, 
And find such beaming eyes awake 

As those that sparkle here ? 



OH ! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE 
ALWAYS AS LIGHT. 

On ! think not my spirits are always as; 
light, [to you now ; 

And as free from a pang as they seem 
Nor expect that the heart-beaming 
smile of to-night 
WlU retm-n with to-morrow to bright- 
en my brow. 
No : — life is a waste of wearisome hours, 
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment 
adorns ; 
And the heart that is soonest awake to 
the flowers. 
Is always the first to be touch'd by the 
thorns. [awhile— 

But send round the bowl, and be happy 
May we never meet worse, in our pil- 
grimage here, [with a smile, 
Than the tear that enjoyment may gild 
And the smile that compassion can 
turn to a tear. 

The thread of our life would be dark, 
Heaven knows ! 
If it were not with friendship and love 
intertwined ; 
And 1 care not how soon I may sink to 
repose, [dear to my mind 

When these blessings shall cease to bf 
But they who have loved the fondest, 
tlie purest, [they believed ; 

Too often have wept o'er the dream 
And the heart that has slumber'd in 
friendship securest, 
Is happy indeed if 'twas never de- 
ceived, [oftrath 
But send round the bowl ; while a relio 
Is in man or in woman, this prayer 

shall be mine, — 
* Solis Tons, near the Temple of Ammon. 




KICK AND RARB WBRE THR GBMS SHB WoRS. 

' Sir Knight, I feel not tlie least alarm ! 
No son of Erin will offer me harm ; 
For though they love woman and golden store. 
Sir Knight, they love honour and virtue more. 



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IRISH MELODIES. 



That the sunshine of love may illumine 

our youth, [sole our decline. 

And the moonlight of friendship con- 

THO' THE LAST GLIMPSE OF EEIX 
WITH SORROW I SEE- 

Tho' the last glimpse of Erin with sor- 
row I see, [to me ; 

Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin 

In exile thy bosom shall still be my 
home, [ever we roam. 

And thine eyes make my climate wher- 

To the gloom of some desert or cold 
rocky shore, [us no more, 

Where the eye of the stranger can haunt 
I will fly with my Coulin, and think the 
rough wind [ing behind. 

Less rude than the foes we leave frown- 
And I'U gaze on thy gold hair as grace- 
ful it wreathes, it breathes ; 
And hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly 
Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon 
will tear [from that hair. * 
One chord from that harp, or one lock 



RICH AN"D RARE WERE THE 

GEMS SHE WORE.t 
Rich and rare were the gems she wore. 
And a bright gold ring on her wand she 

bore; 
But oh ! her beauty was far beyond 
Her sparkling gems, or snow-white 

wand. 
" Lady ! dost thou not fear to stray, 
" So lone and lovely through this bleak 

way ? 
"Are Erin's sons so good or so cold, 
"As not to be tempted by womauor gold?" 

*" In the twenty-eighth year of the reif^a of 
Henry Vill., an Act was 'made respectiui^ the 
habits, and dress in general, of the Irish, 
whereby all persons were restrained from being 
shorn or shaven above the f!ars, or from wearing 
(jlibbes, or Coulim, (long locks,) on their heads, 
or hair on their upper lip, called Croinraeal. 
On this occasion a soug was written by one of 
our bards, in which an Irish virgin is mailo to 
pive the preference to her dear Coulin (or the 
youth with the flowing locks) to all strangers, 
(by which the English were meant,) or those 
M'ho wore their habits. Of this song, the air 
alone has reached us, and is universally ad- 
mired."— Walker's Historical Ifeinoirs of Irinh 
Bards, p. VM. Mr. Walker informs us also, 
that, al»ut the same period, there were some 
harsh measnrcs taken against the Irish Miu- 
stri'Is. 

(This ballad is founded upon the following 
anecdote !—" The people were inspired witfi 



" Sir Knight ! I feel not the least alarm, 
" No son of Erin will otier me harm :— 
"For though they love woman and 
golden store, [more !" 

"Sir knight I they love honor and virtue 

On she went, and her maiden smile 
In safety lighted her round the Green 

Lsle: 
And blest forever is she who rehed 
Upon Erin's honor and Erin's pride. 

AS A BEAM O'ER THE FACE OF 

THE WATERS MAY GLOW. 
As a beam o'er the face of the waters 

may glow [uess below, 

WhUe the tide runs m darkness and cold- 
So the cheek may be tinged with a warm 

stmny smile, 
Though the cold heart to ruin rung 

darkly the while. 

One fatal remembrance, one sorrow tha* 
throws [our woes 

Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys an: 

To which life nothing darker or brighter 
can bring, [no sting — 

For which joy has no balm and affliction 

Oh ! this thought in the midst of enjoy- 
ment will stay. 

Like a dead, leafless branch in the sum- 
mer's bright ray; [it in vain, 

The beams of the warm sun play rounc] 

It may smile ia his light, but it blooms 
not again. 



THE MEETING OF THE WATERS4 

There is not in the wide world a valley 

so sweet [ waters meet;§ 

As that vale in whose bosom the bright 

such a spirit of honor, virtue, and religion, by 
the great example otBrien, niul by his excellent 
udministraticin, that, as a proof of it, we are 
informed that a y«mng lady of great beauty, 
adorned with jewels and a cosily dress, under- 
took a journey ulone, from one end of the king- 
dom to the other, with a wandoulyin her hand, 
at the top of which was a ring of exceeding 
great valuej and such an impression had the 
laws and government of this Monarch made on 
the minds of all the people, that no attemnt was 
made upon her honor, nor v as she robbed of 
her clothes or jewels."— TFar»er'» History oj 
Ireland, vol. i., book x. 

;"Tho Meeting of the Waters " forms a part 
of that beautiful scenery which lies between 
IlathUrum and Arklow, in the county of Wick- 
low, and these lines were suggested by a visit 
to this romantic spot, in the summer of the yea/ 
1807. 

^The rivers Avon and Avoca. 




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246 



MOOEE'S "WOEKS. 



Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must 

depart, [from my heart. 

Ere the bloom of that valley shaU fade 

Yet it was not that if ature had shed o'er 
the scene [green ; 

Her purest of crystal and brightest of 

'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or 
hill, [quisite still. 

Ohl no, — it was something more ex- 

Twas that friends, the beloved of my 
bosom, were near, 

Who made every dear scene of enchant- 
ment more dear, 

And who felt how the best charms of 
nature improve, [that we love. 

"WTien we see them reflected from looiis 

Sweet vale of Avoca ! how calm could 
I rest [I love best, 

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends 

Where the storms that we feel in this 
cold world should cease, 

And our hearts, like thy waters, be min- 
gled in peace. 

HOW DEAE TO ME THE HOUE. 

How dear to me the hour when day- 
light dies, [sea ; 
And sunbeams melt along the silent 
For then sweet dreams of other days 
arise, [to thee. 
And memory breathes her vesper sigh 

And, as T watch the line of light, that 

plays [burning west. 

Along the smooth wave tow'rd the 

I long to tread that golden path of rays, 

And think 'twould lead to some bright 

isle of rest. 

TAKE BACK THE VIEGiN PAGE. 

WaiTTEN ON RETURNING A BLANK BOOK. 

Take back the vir^n page. 

White and unwntten still ; 
Some hand, more calm and sage. 

The leaf must fill. 
Thoughts come, as pure as light, 

Pure as even you require : 
But, oh ! each word I write 

Love turns to fire. 

Yet let me keep the book : 

Oft shall my heart renew, 
Wheu on its leaves I look, 

Da&Y thoughts of you. 



Like you, 'tis fair and bright ; 

Like you, too bright and fdr 
To let wild passion m rite 

One wrong wish there. 

Haply, when from those eyes 

Far, far away I roam. 
Should calmer thoughts arise 

Tow'rds you and home ; 
Fancy may trace some line, 

Worthy those eyes to meet, 
Thoughts that not burn, but shin*. 

Pure, calm, and sweet. 

And as, o'er ocean far, 

Seamen their records keep, 
Led by some hidden star 

Through the cold deep ; 
So may the words I write 

Tell thro' what storms I stray — 
Tou still the unseen light, 

Guiding my way. 

THE LEGACY. 

When in death 1 shall calmly recline, 

bear my heart to my mistress dear ; 
Tell her it lived upon smiles and wine 

Of the brightest hue, whUe it liuger'd 
here. 
Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow 

To sully a heart so brilliant and light ; 
But balmy di'ops of the red grape bor- 
row. 

To bathe the rehc from mom till night. 

WTien the light of my song is o'er, 

Then take my hai-p to your ancient 
Hang it up at that friendly door, [hall ; 

Where weary travellers' love to call,* 
Then if some bard, who roams forsaken, 

Eevive its soft note in passing along. 
Oh ! let one thought of its master waken 

Your warmest smile for the child of 
song. 

Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing, 

To grace yom* revel, when I'm at rest ; 
Never, oh ! never its balm bestowing 

On lips that beauty hath seldom 
bless'd. 
But when some warm devoted lover 

To her he adores shall bathe its brim, 
Then, then my spirit around shall hover. 

And hallow each di"op that foams for 
him. 

*"In every house was one or two har|is, free 
to all triivellers, who were the more caressed 
the more they excelled in music." — O Salloran 




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IRISH MELODIia 



247 



HOW OFT HAS THE BEirSHEB 
CRIED. 

How oft has the Benshee cried. 
How oft has death untied 
Bright links that Glory wove, 
Sweet bonds entwined by Love ! 

Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth; 

Best to each faithful eye that weepeth; 
Long may the fair and brave 
Sigh o'er the hero's grave. 

We're fall'n upon gloomy days !* 
Star after star decays, 
Every bright name, that shed 
Light o'er the land, is fled. 
Dark falls the tear of him whomoumeth 
Lost joy, or hope that ne'er returneth ; 
But brightly flows the tear, 
Wept o'er a hero's bier. 

Quench'd are our beacon lights— 
Thou, of the Hundred Fights If 
Thou, on whose bm-ning tongue 
Truth, peace, and freedom hung ?{ 
Both mute, — but long as valor shine th. 
Or mercy's soul at war repineth, 
So long shall Erin's pride 
Tell how they lived and died. 



"WE MAT KOAM THROUGH THIS 
WORLD. 

We may roam through this world, like a 
child at a feast, 
WTio but sips of a sweet, and then flies 
to the rest ; [in the east, 

And, when pleasure begins to grow dull 
We may order our wings, and be ofi" 
to the west ; 
But if hearts that feel and eyesthat smile 
Are the dearest gifts that heaven sup- 
plies, 
We never need leave our own g^'eenisle, 
For sensitive hearts and for sun-bright 
eyes. [is cro^^u'd. 

Then remember, wherever your goblet 
Thro' this world, whether eastward 
or westward you roam, 
When a cup to the smile of dear woman 
goes round, [her at home. 

Oh ! remember the smile which adorns 

* I have endeavored here, ■without losins? 
that Irish character which it is mv object to 
preserve throughout this work, to allude to the 
»ad and ominous fatality, bv which England 
has been deprived of so man^ ^ic.i^ and good 
men, at a moment when she most requires all 
the aids of talent and integrity. 

♦ This designation, which has boea before 



In England, the garden of Beauty is 

kept [call ; 

By a di-agon of prudery placed within 

But so oft this unamiable dragon haa 

slept, [watch'd after alL 

That the garden's but carelessly 

Oh! they went the wild sweet-briery 

fence, ^dwells ; 

Which round the flowers of Erip 

Which warns the touch, while wimimf 

the sense, [pel*, 

Nor charms us least when it most re 

Then remember, wherever your gobletu 

crown'd. 

Thro' this world, whether eastward oi 

westward you roam. 

When a cup to the smile of dear woman 

goes round, [her at home. 

Oh 1 remember the smile that adorna 

In France, when the heart of a woman 

sets saU, [to try, 

On the ocean of wedlock its fortuuc 

Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail. 

But just pilots her ofi", and then bida 

her good-by. [boy, 

While the daughters of Erin l<eep the 

Ever smiling beside his faithful oar, 

Through billows of wo, and beams of joy, 

The same as he look'd when he left 

the shore. [is crow n'd, 

Then remember, wherever your goblet 

Thi"o' this world, whether eastward ol 

westward you roam. 

When a cup to the smile of dear woman 

goes round, [her at home. 

Oh I remember the yxile that adoma 



EYBLEEITS BCWER. 

Oh ! weep for the liowc. 

When to Eveleen's bower 
The Lord of the Valley with false vows 

The moon hid her light [came ; 

From the heavens that night, 
And wept behind her clouds o'er the 
maiden's shame. 

The clouds pass'd soon 
Fr>m the chaste cold moon, 

applied to Lord Nelson, is the title given to a 
celebrated Irish liero, in a Poem by O'Guive, 
the bard of O'Niel, which io quoted in the 
" Philosophical S-m ey of the South of Ireland," 
page 4;J3. " Con, of the Hundred Fi^'it* si"ff 
111 thy grass-grown tnmb, and upvirsifj ot ow 
defeats with thy victores." 
1 Fox, "Homanoi-umultimofr' 




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248 



MOORE'S TTOEES. 



And heaven smiled again with her vestal 



But none will sse the day 
"When the clouds shall pass away, 
Vhich that dark hour left upon Eveleen's 
fame. 

The white snow lay 
On the narrow path-way 
When the Lord of the Valley cross'd 
over the moor ; 
And many a deep print 
On the white snow's tint 
rihow'd the track of his footstep to 
Eveleen's door. 

The nest sun's ray 
Soon melted away 
tvery trace on the path where the false 
Lord came ; 
But there's a light above 
Which alone can remove 
That stain upon the snow of fair Eve- 
leen's fame. 



LET ERIN" REMEMBER THE 
DAYS OF OLD. 

Let Enn remember the days of old, 
Ere her faithless sous betray'd her; 

"When Malachi wore the collar of gold,* 
Which he won from her proud invader. 

When her kings, with standard of green 

imfurl'd, [danger;— t 

Led the Red Branch Knighta to 

* "This brought on an encounter between 
Malaclii (the Muuavcli of Ireland in the tenth 
century) and the Danes, in which Malachi de- 
feated twoof tlieircliampions, whom he encoun- 
tered successively, hand to hand, taking a col- 
lar of gold from the neck of one, ind carrying 
off the sword of the other, as trophies of his 
victory. " — Warner's Mistory of Iieland, vol. i. 
book ix. 

t "Military orders of knights were very early 
established in Ireland: long before the birth of 
Christ we find an hereditary order of Chivalry 
in Ulster, culled Curaidhe na Craiobhe ruadh, 
or the Knights of the Red Branch, fi'om their 
chief seat in Emania, adjoining to the palace 
Df the Ulster kings, called Teagh na Craiobhe 
ruadh. ortlie Academy of the Red Branch ; and 
contiguous to -nhich was a large hospital, 
founded fur the sick knights and soldiers, called 
Bronbhearrr, or the House of the Sorrowful 
{ioU\ei:"—0'IIaUoran'ii Introduction, d-c, part 
i. chap. 5. 

tit was an old tradition, in the time of Gi- 
raldus, that Lough Neagh had been originally a 
fountain, by whose sudden overflowing tlie 
country waa iniuidat«d. and a whole region. 



Ere the emerald gem of the western 
world 
Was set in the crown of a stranger. 

On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisher- 
man strays. 
When the clear cold eve's declining, 
He sees the round towers of other days 

In the wave beneath him shining. 
Thus shall memory often, in dream != sub- 
lime, [over ; 
Catch a glimpse of the days that are 
Thus, sighing, look through the waves 
of time 
For the long-faded glories they cover.t 

THE SONG OF riO:N KUALA. § 

Silent, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy 
water, [repo^<^. 

Break not, ye breezes, your chaiu c . 
Whde, murmuring momnfully, Lir's 
lonely daughter 
Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. 
When shall the swan, her death-note 
singing, 
Sleep with wings in darkness furl'd ? 
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, 
Call my spirit Irom this stormy world f 

Sadly, oh Moyle, to thy winter-wave 

weeping, 

Fate bids me languish long ages away; 

Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie 

sleeping, [delay. 

StiU doth the pure light its dawning 

like the Atlantis of Plato, overwhelmed. He 
says that tlie fishermen, in clear weather, used 
to point out to strangers the tall ecclesiastical 
towers under the water. Piscatore.t aquce iUius 
turres ecclcsiaxticas, qtcce more patrim arctce 
sunt et altce, necnon et rotundce, sub undis 
manifeste sereno tempore conspiciunt, et ex- 
traneis transeuntibus, reique cattsas admiranti- 
bus, frequenter ostendu7it.~To^ogT. Hib. dist. 
2, c. 9. 

§To make this story intelligible in a song 
would require a much greater number of verses 
tlian any one is authorized to inflict up. in an 
audience at once j tlie reader must theri4'orc be 
content to learn, in a note, that Fionnuala, tlio 
daughter of Lir, was, by some supernatural 

Sower, transformed into a swan, and con- 
emned to wander, for many hundred years, 
over certain lakes and rivers in Ireland, till the 
coming of Christianity, when the first sound of 
the mass-bell was to be the signal of her release. 
—I found this fanciful fiction among some 
manuscript tran si onions from the Irish, whid 
were begun unaer the direction of that en 
lightened friend of Ireland, the late Countess of 
Moirs. 




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IRISH MELODIES. 



249 



When Tvill that day-star, mildly spring- 
ing, 

"Warm our isle with peace and love ? 
When will heaven, its sweet bell ruigiug, 

Call my spirit to the fields above If 



COME, SEXD EOUXD THE WINE. 

Come, send round the wine, and leave 

points of belief [fools ; 

To simpleton sages, and reasoning 

This moment's a flower too fair and 

brief, [dust of the schools. 

To be wither'd and stain'd by the 

Tour glass may be purple and mine may 

be blue, [same bright bowl, 

But while they ai-e fill'd from the 

The fool who would quarrel for difl'rence 

of hue [the soul. 

Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er 

Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights 

by my side [agree ? 

In the cause of mankind, if our creeds 

Shall 1 give up the friend I have valued 

and tned, [with me? 

If he kneel not before the same altar 

From the heretic girl of my soul should 

I fly, [dox kiss ? 

To seek somewhere else a more ortho- 

tTo : perish the hearts, and the laws that 

try [like this ! 

Truth, valor, or love, by a standard 



SUBLIME "WAS THE ■WARNING. 

Sublime was the warning that Liberty 
spoke, [Spaniards awoke 

And grand was the moment when 
Into fife and revenge from the con- 
queror's chain. 
Oh, Liberty ! let not this spirit have rest, 
Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves 
of the west — [rowing spot, 

Give the light of your look to each sor- 
Nor, oh, be the shamrock of Erm forgot 
While you add to your garland the 
Olive of Spain ! 

If the fame of our fathers, bequeath'd 
with their rights, [its delights, 

Give to country its charm, and to home 
If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a 
stain, 

Then, ye men of Iberia, our cause is the 
same ! [a name, 

And oh ! may his tomb want a tear and 



Who would ask for a nobler, a holier 
death, [breath. 

Than to turn his last sigh into victory's 
i'or the Shamrock of Erin and Olive 
of Spain ! 

Ye Elakes and O'Donnels, whose fathere 

resigu'd [strangers to find 

The green hills of their youth, among 

That repose which, at home, they had 

sigh'd for in vain, 
Join, join in our hope tdat the flame, 

which you light, [bright, 

May be felt yet in Erin, as calm, and as 
And forgive even Albion while blushing 

she draws, [slighted cause 

Like a tniant, her sword, m the long- 

Of the Shamrock of Erin and OUve of 

Spain ! 

God prosper the cause ! — oh, it cannot 
but thrive, [alive, 

While the pulse of one patriot heart is 
Its devotion to feel, and its rights to 
maintain ; [tyrs will die ! 

Then, how sainted by soitow, its mar- 
Ihe finger of glory shall point where 
they lie ; [or slave. 

While, far from the footstep of coward 
The young spirit of Freedom shall shel- 
ter their grave [of Spain ! 
Beneath Shamrocks of Erin and Olives 



BELIEYE ME, IF ALL THOSE EX- 
DEAEING YOUNG CHARMS. 

Believe me, if aU those endearing 
young charms. 
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, 
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet 
in my arms. 
Like fairy-gifts fading away, 
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this 
moment thou art. 
Let thy lovehuess fade as it will, 
And around the dear ruin each wish of 
my heart 
Would entwine itself verdantly still. 

It is not while beauty and youth are 
thine own. 
And thy cheeks unproraned by a tear, 
That the fervor and faith of a soul can 
be known, [more dear ; 

To which time will but make thea 
No, the heart that has truly loved nevei 
forgets. 
But as truly loves on to the close. 




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r-;^. 




250 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



As the sunflower turns on her god, 

when he sets, [he rose. 

The same look which she tum'd when 



ERIN", OH ERIN". 
Like the bright lamp, that shone in 
Kildare's holy fane,* 
And bum'd thro' long ages of dark- 
ness and storm, [on in vain, 
Is the heart that sorrows have frown'd 
"Whose spirit outlives them, unfading 
and warm. 
Erin, oh Erin, thus bright thro' the tears 
Of a long night of bondage, thy spirit 
appears. 

The nations have fallen, and thou still 
art young, [set ; 

Thy sun is but rising, when others are 
And tho' slavery's cloud o'er thy morn- 
ing hath hung, [round thee yet. 
The full no(ra of freedom shall beam 
Erin, oh Erin, tho' long in the shade. 
Thy star shall shine out when the proud- 
est shall fade. 

tTnchiU'd by the rain, and unwaked by 

the wind, [cold hour, 

The lily lies sleeping thro' winter's 

Tin Spring's light touch her fetters im- 

bind, [young flower, t 

And dayiight and liberty bless the 

Thus Erin, oh Erin, thy winter is past, 

And the hope that lived thro' it shall 

blossom at lasu 



DRmK TO HER. 

Drink to her, who long 
Hath waked the poet's sigh, 

The girl, who gave to song 
What gold could never buy. 

Oh ! woman's heart was made 
For minstrel hands alone ; 

* The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at 
Kildare, which Giraldus mentions: — "Apud 
Kildariam occurrit ignis Sanctse Brigidte, quem 
inextinguibilcm vocant ; non quod extingui 
con possit, sed quod tarn solicite moniales et 
sanctffl muliei-es ignem, suppetente materia, 
fovent et nutriunt, ut a tempore virginis per tot 
annorum cunicula semper mansitinextinctus." 
— Oirald.Camh. deMirabil. Ribern. diat. 2, c. 'M. 

t Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the 
Lily, has applied this image to a still more im- 
portant object. 

; We may suppose this apology to have been 
uttered by one of those wandering bards, whom 
Spenser so severely, and, pernaps, truly, de- 
Bcribes in his State of Ireland, and whose poems, 



By other fingers play'd. 
It yields not half the tone. 

Then here's to her, who long 
Hath waked the poet's sigh. 

The girl, who gave to song 
What gold could never buy. 

At Beauty's door of glass, 

When Wealth and Wit once stood 
They ask'd her, ' ' which might pass ?' 

She answer'd, " he, who could." 
With golden key Wealth thought 

To pass — but 'twould not do : 
"WTiile Wit a diamond brought. 

Which cut his bright way through 
&(0 here's to her who long 

Hath waked the poet's sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 

The love that seeks a home 

Where wealth or grandeur shines. 
Is like the gloomy gnome. 

That dwells in dark gold mines. 
But oh ! the poet's love 

Can boast a brighter sphere ; 
Its native home's above, 

Tho' woman keeps it here. 
Then drink to her, who long 

Hath waked the poet's sigh 
The girl, who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 



OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD.t 

Oh i blame not the bard, if he fly to the 
bowers, [at Fame ; 

Where Pleasure lies, carelessly smiling 
He was born for much more, and in hap- 
pier hours [lier flame. 
His soul might have bum'd with a ho- 
The string that now languishes loo.?e 
o'er the lyre, [warrior's dart ;§ 
Might have bent a proud bow to the 

he tells us, " were sprinkled with some pretty 
flowers of their natural device, which have 
good grace and comeliness unto them, the 
which it is great pity to see abused to the 
gracmg of wickedness and vice, which, with 
good usage, would serve to adorn and beautify 
virtue." 

§ It is conjectured by Wormins, that tho 
name of Ireland is derived from Tr, the Runic 
for a boic, in the use of which weapon the Irish 
were once very expert. Thisderivation is cer- 
tainly more creditable to us than the following 
•' So that Ireland, called the land of Ire, from, 
the constant broils therein for 400 years, was 
now become the land of concord. '—Lloyd's 
State Worthies, art. The Lord Grandison. 



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lEISH MELODIES. 



261 



Add th<i L'p, -wiiich now breathes but 
the song of dosire, 
Might have pour'd the full tide of a 
patriot's heart. 

But alas for his country ! — her pride is 

gone by, [would bend ; 

And that spirit is broken, -which never 

O'er the niin her children in secret must 

sigh, [to defend. 

For 'tis treason to love her, and death 

Unprized are hersons, till they've leam'd 

to betray ,• [not their sires ; 

Undistinguish'd they live, if they shame 

And the torch, that would light them 

thro' dignity's way. 

Must be caught from the pile, where 

their country expires. 

Then blame not the bard, if in pleasures' 

soft dream, [can heal : 

He should try to forget what he never 

Oh! give but a hope— let a vista but 

gleam [mark how he'll feel ! 

Through the gloom of his country, and 

That instant, his heart at her shrine 

would lay down 

Every passion it nursed, every bliss it 

adored ; [with his crown. 

While the myrtle, now idly entwined 

Like the wreath of Harmodius, should 

cover his sword.* 

But tho' glory be gone, and tho' hope 

fade away, [his songs ; 

Thy name, loved Erin, shall live in 

Not ev'u in the hour, when his heart is 

most gay, [and thy wrougs. 

"WiU he lose the remembrance of thee 

The stranger shaU hear thy lament on 

his plains; [the deep, 

The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er 

Till thy masters themselves, as tbey rivet 

thy chains, [and weep. 

Shall pause at the song of their captive, 

WHILE GAZING OX THE MOON'S 
LIGHT. 

While gazing on the moon's light, 
A moment from her smile I turn'd, 
* See the Hymn, attributed to AIcsbus, Ec 

livprov (cAaSt to $^<t>o^; <^opi)o-a) — "1 will carry 

my sword, hidden in myrtles, like Harmodius, 
and Avistofriton," &c. 

t " Of such celestial bodies as are visible, the 
sun excepted, the single moon, as despicable 
as it is in comparison to most of the others, is 
much more beneficial than they all put togeth- 
er."— TF/iwrto»'s Tlieory, cCc. 



To look at orbs, that, more bright, 
In lone and distant glory bum'd. 
But too far 
Each proud star, 
For me to feel its warming flame ; 
Much more dear 
That mild sphere, 
Which near our planet smiling came ;t 
Thus, Mary, be but thou my own ; 

While bnghter eyes unheeded play, 
I'll love those moonlight looks alone, 
That bless my home and guide my 
way. 

The day had sunk in dim showers. 

But midnight now, with lustre meet, 
riumined all the pale flowers, 
Like hope upon a moumei-'s cheek. 
I said (while 
The moon's smile 
Play'd o'er a stream, in dimpling bhss,) 
" The moon looks 
" On many brooks, 
"Thabrook can see no moon but this;"i 
And thus, I thought, our fortunes run, 

For many a lover looks to thee, 
While oh ! I feel there is but one, 
One Mary in the \?orld for me. 



ILL OMENS. 

Whew daylight was yet sleeping undei 

the billow, [ing shone, 

And stars in the heavens still liuger- 

Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from 

her pillow, [alone. 

The last time she e'er was to press it 

For the youth whom she treasured her 

heart and her soul in, [noon ; 

Had promised to link the last tie before 

And, when once the young heart of a 

maiden is stolen, [soon. 

The maiden herself will steal after it 

As she look'd in the glass, which a wo- 
man ne'er misses, [two, 
Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or 
A butterfly, § fresh from the night-flow- 
er's kisses, [view. 
Flew over the mirror and shaded he/ 

In the Entretievs d' Aricte, amont? other inffe- 
>/ious emblems, we find a starry sky without a 
moon. with these words, Non mille, nuod absrns. 

; This image was suggested by the following 
thought, which occurs somewhere in Sir Wil- 
liam Jones's works : " The moon looks upon 
many night-flowers, the night-flower sees but 
one moon." 

^ An emblem of the soul. 



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252 



MOORE'S WORES. 



Enraged with the insect for hiding her 

graces, [to nse . 

She brash'd him— he fell, alas ! never 

" Ah ! such," said the girl, " is the pride 

of our faces, [often dies. " 

"For which the soul's innocence too 

"While she stole thro' the garden, where 
heart's-ease was gro-p'ing, 
She cuU'd some, and kiss'd off its 
night- *airn dew : 
And a rose, farther on, look'd so tempt- 
ing and glowing, 
That, spite of her haste, she must 
gather it too : [leaning, 

But while o'er the roses too carelessly 
Her zone flew in two, and the hearts- 
ease was lost : 
"Ah! this means," said the girl, (and 
she sigh'd at its meaning,) 
" That love is scarce worth the repose 
It will cost !" 



BEFORE THE BATTLE. 

By the hope within us springing, 

Herald of to-morrow's strife ; 
By that sun, whose light is bringing 

Chains or freedom, death or life — 
Oh ! remember life can be 
No charm for him who lives not free ! 

Like the day-star in the wave. 

Sinks a hero in his grave. 
Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears. 

Happy is he o'er whose decline 
The smiles of home may soothing 
shine, 
And light him down the steep of years:— 
But oh, how blest they sink to rest, 
Who close their eyes on Victory's 
breast ! 

O'er his watch-fire's fading embers 
Now the foeman's cheek turns white, 

When his heart that field remembers, 
Where we tamed his tyrant might. 

Never let him bind again 

A chain, like that we broke from then. 

* '• The Irish Corna was not entirely de- 
voted to miirtial purposes In the heroic flges 
our nncestors qnatfed Meadh out of them, as 
the Banish hunters do their beverages at this 
day."— Walker. 

1 I believe it is Marmf'titel who says, 
" Qiiand on n'a pas ce que Ion aime, il fmit 
aimer ce que Von a."— There are so many mat- 
ter-ot'-fact people, who take such jcux d'esprit 



Hark ! the horn of combat calls — 
Ere the golden evening falls, 

May we pledge that horn in triumph 
round !* 
Many a heart that now beats high. 
In slumber cold at night shall lie, 

Nor waken even at victory's sound : — 
But oh, how blest that hero's sleep, 
O'er whom a wond'ring world shai] 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 

Night closed around the conqueror's 
way. 

And lightnings show'd the distant hill, 
Where those who lost that dreadful day, 

Stood few and faint, but fearless still. 
The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal, 

Forever dimm'd, forever cross'd — 
Oh ! who shall say what heroes feel, 

When all but hie and honor's lost? 

The last sad hour of freedom's dream, 

And valor's task, moved slowly by. 
While mute they watch' d, till morning's 
beam 

Should rise and give them light to die. 
There's yet a world, where souls are free. 

Where tyrants taint not natm-e; 
bliss ;— 
If death that world's bright opening be. 

Oh ! who woidd live a slave in this ? 

'TIS SWEET TO THINK. 

'Tis sweet to think, that, where'er we 

rove, [and dear. 

We are sure to find something blissful 

And that, when we're far from the lips 

we love, [are near.t 

We've but to make love to the lips we 

The heart, like a tendril, accustom'd to 

cling, [ish alone. 

Let it grow where it will, cannot flour-' 

But will lean to the nearest, and loveU- 

est thing, [closely its own. 

It can twine with itself, and make 

Then oh ! what pleasure, where'er we 

rove, 

as this defence of Inconstancy, to be the actual 
and genuine sentiments of him who wiites 
them, that they compel one, in self-defence, to 
be as matter-of-fact as themselves, and to re- 
mind them, that Democritus was not the 
worse phvsiolog-ist, for having playfully con- 
tended tliat snow was black ; nor Erasraua 
in any degree, the less wise, for havfng writ 
ten an ingenious encomium of folly. 



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IKISH MELODIES. 



253 



To be sure to find something, still, ithat 

is dear, 
And to know, when far from the lips we 

love, [are near. 

"We've but to make love to the lips we 

'Twere a shame, when flowers around 
us rise, [isn't there : 

To make light of the rest, if the rose 
And the world's so rich in resplendent 
eyes, [pair. 

Twere a pity to limit one's love to a 
Love's wing and the peacock's are near- 
ly alike, 
They* arc both of them bright, but 
they're changeable too, 
And, wherever a new beam of beauty 
can strike, [different hue. 

It will tincture Love's plume with a 
Then oh ! what pleasm-e, where'er we 
rove, [is dear, 

To be sure to find something, still, that 
And to know, when far from the lips we 
love, [are near. 

"We've but to make love to the lips we 



THE IRISH PEASAI^T TO HIS 
MISTRESS.* 

Through grief and through danger thy 

smile hath cheei-'d my way, 
Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn 

that round me lay ; 
The darker our fortune, the brighter our 

pure love Iram'd, 
Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal 

was tum'd ; [spirit felt free, 

Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my 
And bless'd even the sorrows that made 

me more dear to thee. 

Thy rival was honor'd, while thou wcrt 

wrong'd and scom'd, 
Thy crown was of briers, while gold her 

brows adom'd ; 
She woo'd me to temples, while thou 

lay'st hid in caves. 
Her friends were all masters, while 

thine, alas ! were slaves ; 
Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I 

would rather be. 
Than wed what I loved not, or turn one 

thought from thee, 

* Meaning, allegorically, the ancient Clinrch 
of Ireland. 

t " Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is 
Uberty."~S«. Paul, 2 Cor. iii. 17. 



They slander thee sorely, who say thy 

vows are frail — 
Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek 

had look'd less pale. 
They say, too, so long thou hast worn 

those lingering chains, 
That deep in thy heart they have printed 

their servile stains — 
Oh I foul is the slander, — no chain coul'^ 

that soul subdue — 
"Where shine th thy spiiit, there liberty 

shineth too !t 



ON" MUSIC. 

"When thro' life unblest we rove. 

Losing all that made life dear. 
Should some notes we used to love. 

In days of boyhood, meet our ear, 
Oh ! how welcome breathes the strain ! 

"Wakening thoughts that long have 
Kindling former smiles again [slept; 

In faded eyes that long have wept. 

Lilte the gale, that sighs along 

Beds of oriental flowers, 
Is the grateful breath of song. 

That once was heard in happier hours; 
Fiird with balm, the gale sighs on, 

Though the flowers have sunk in 
death ; 
So, when plcasm-e's dream is gone. 

Its memory lives in Music's breath. 

Music, oh how faint, how weak. 

Language fades before thy spell ! 
Why should Feeling ever speak, [well ? 

"When thou canst breathe her soul so 
Friendship's balmy words may feign. 

Love's are ev'n more false than they ; 
Oh ! 'tis only music's strain 

Can sweetly soothe and not betray. 



IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS 
MOMENT SHED.t 

It is not the tear at this moment shed, 

"When the cold turf has just been laid 

o'er him, [that's fled, 

That can tell how beloved was the friend 

Or how deep in our hearts we deplore 

him. 

♦ These lines were occasioned by the loss of 
a very near and dear relative, who bad died 
lately at Madeira. 



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254 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



'Tis the tear, thro' many a long day wept, 
'Tis life's whole path o'ershaded ; 

'Tis the one remembrance fondly kept, 
When all lighter griefs have faded. 

Thus his memory, like some holy light, 

Kept alive in our hearts, -will improve 

them, [more bright, 

For V7orth shall look fairer, and truth 

When we think how he lived but to 

love them. 

And, as fresher flowers the sod perfume 

Wliere buried saints are lying, 
So our hearts shall borrow a sweet'ning 
bloom 
From the image he left there in dying ! 



THE ORIGIN" OF THE HARP. 

Tis believed that this Harp, which I 

wake now for thee. 
Was a Syren of old, who sung under the 

sea ; [waters roved. 

And who often, at eve, thro' the bright 
To meet, on the green shore, a youth 

whom she loved. 

But she loved him in vain, for he left 
her to weep. 

And in tears, all the night, her gold 
tresses to steep ; [so warm, 

Till heav'n look'd with pity on true love 

And changed to this soft Harp the sea- 
maiden's form. 

Still her bosom rose fair— still her cheeks 

smiled the same — 
While her sea-beauties gracefully form'd 

the light frame ; [arm it fell, 

And her hair, as, let loose, o'er her white 
Was changed to bright chords utt'ring 

melody's spell. 

Hence it came, that this soft Harp so 

long hath been known 
To mingle love's language with sorrow's 

sad tone •, [the fond lay 

Till thou didst divide them, and teach 
To speak Jove when I'm near thee, and 

grief when away. 



LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 

Oh! the days are gone, when Beauty 

bright 
My heart's chain wove ; 
When my dream of life, from mom till 

night. 



Was love, still love. 
N^ew hope may bloom, 
And days may come. 
Of milder, calmer beam. 
But there's nothing half so sweet in life 

As love's young dream : 
No, there's nothing half so sweet in life 
As love's young dream. 

Though the bard to pm-er fame may 
soar, 
When wild youth's past ; 
Though he win the wise, who frown'd 
before, 
To smile at last ; 
He'll never meet 
A joy so sweet. 
In all his noon of fame. 
As when first he sung to woman's ear 

His soul-felt flame. 
And at every close, she blush'd to hear 
The one loved name. 

No, — that haUow'd form is ne'er forgot 

Which first love traced ; 
StiU it lingering haunts the greenest 
spot 
On memory's waste. 
'Twas odor fled 
As soon as shed ; 
'Twas morning's winged dream ; 
'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again 

On life's dull stream ; 
Oh ! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again 
On life's dull stream. 



THE PRmCE'S DAT.* 

Tho' dark are our sorrows, to-day we'U 
forget them. 
And smile through our tears, like a 
sunbeam in showers : 
There never were hearts, if our rulers 
would let them, [than ours. 

More form'd to be grateful and blest 
But just when the chain 
Has ceased to pain. 
And hope has enwreath'd it round 
with flowers. 
There comes a new link 
Our spirits to sink — 
Oh ! the joy that we taste, like the light 
of the poles, [to stay ; 

Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant 

* This song was written for a ffite in honor of 
tho Prince of Wales's birthday, given by my 
friend, Major Bryan, at his seat in the county 
of Kilkenny. 




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C*"^— . — Q) 




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lEISH MELODIES. 



255 



But, though 'twere the last little spark 

in our souls, [Prince's l)ay. 

"We must light it up now, on our 

Contempt on the minion, who calls you 
disloyal ! 
Tho' fierce to your foe, to your friends 
you are true ; [is royal. 

And the tribute most high to a head that 
Is love from a heart that loves liberty 
too. 
"WTiile cowards, who blight 
Your fame, your right, 
"Would shrink from the blaze of the bat- 
tle array, 
The Standard of Green 
In front would be seen, — 
Oh, my life on your faith ! were you 
summon'd this minute. 
You'd cast every bitter remembrance 
away, [in it, 

And show what the arm of old Erin has 
"When roused by the foe, on her 
Prince's Day. 

He loves the Green Isle, and his love is 
recorded [to forget ; 

In hearts which have suffer'd too much 
And hope shall be crown'd, and attach- 
ment rewarded, 
And Erin's gay jubilee shine out yet. 
The gem may be broke 
By many a stroke. 
But nothing can cloud its native ray ; 
Each fragment will cast 
A light to the last,— 
And thus, Erin, my country, tho' broken 
thou art, [will decay; 

There's a lustre within thee, that ne'er 
A spirit, which beams through each suf- 
fering part, [Prince's Day. 
And now smiles at all pain on the 



WEEP ON", "WEEP ON". 

"Weep on, weep on, your hour is past ; 

Your dreams of pride are o'er ; 
The fatal chain is round you cast, 

And you are men no more. 
In vain the hero's heart hath bled ; 

The sage's tongue hath wam'd in vain ; 
Oh, Freedom ! once thy flame hath fled, 

It never lights again. 

"Weep on — perhaps in after days. 
They'll learn to love your name ; 

"When many a deed may wake in praise 
That long hath slept in blame. 



And when they tread the roin'd Isle, 
"Where rest, at length, tLe lord and 
slave. 

They'll won'd'ring ask, how hands so vila 
Could conquer hearts so brave ? 

" 'Twas fate," they'll say, " a wayward 

"Your web of discord wove ; [fate 
" And while your tyrants joiu'd in hate, 

" You never joiu'd in love. 
" But hearts fell ofi", that ought to twine^ 

" And man profaned what God had 

given ; [shrine, 

" TiU some were heard to curse the 

" "Where others knelt to heaven !" 



LESBIA HATH A BEAMIN"G EYE. 
Lesbia hath a beaming eye. 

But no one knows for whom it beam* 
Right and left its arrows fly, [eth ; 

But what they aim at no one dreameth. 
Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon 

My jSTora's lid that seldom rises ; 
Pew its looks, but every one. 
Like unexpected light, surprises 1 

Oh, my JSTora Creiua, dear, 
My gentle, bashful Nora Creina, 
Beauty lies 
In many eyes. 
But Love in yours, my Nora Creina. 
Lesbia wears a robe of gold, [it, 

But aU so close the nymph hath laced 
N"ot a charm of beauty's mould [it. 
Presumes to stay where Nature placed 
Oh ! my Nora's gown for me, [es, 

That floats as wild as mountain breez- 
Leaving every beauty free 
To sink or swell as Heaven pleases. 

Yes, my Nora Creina, dear, 

My simple, graceful Nora Creina, 

Nature's dress 

Is loveliness — 

The dress you wear, my Nora Creina. 

Lesbia hath a wit refined, [round us. 
But, when its points are gleaming 
"Who can tell if they're design'd 

To dazzle merely, or to wound us f 
Pillow'd on my Nora's heart, 

In safer slumber Love reposes — 
Bed of peace ! whose roughest part 
Is but the crumpling of the roses. 

Oh ! my Nora Creina, dear, 
My mild, my artless Nora Creina I 
"Wit, though bright, 
Hath no such light 
As warms your eyes, my Nora Creinev 




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256 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



I SAW THY FORM IN" YOUTHFUL 

PRIME. 
I SAW thy form in youthful prime, 

ISTor thought that pale decay 
"Would steal before the steps of Time, 

And waste its bloom away, Mary! 
Yet still thy features wore that light, 

"Which fleets not with the breath; 
And life ne'er look'd more truly bright 

Than in thy smile of death, Mary ! 

As streams that run o'er golden mines, 

Yet humbly, calmly glide, 
Kor seem to know the wealth that shines 

"Within their gentle tide, Mary ! 
So veil'd beneath the simplest guise, 

Thy radiant genius shone, 
And that, which charm 'd all other eyes, 

Seem'd worthless in thy own, Mary ! 

If souls could always dwell above, 

Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere; 
Or could we keep the souls we love, 

"We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary ! 
Though many a gifted mind we meet, 

Though fairest forms we see, 
To live with them is far less sweet, 

Than to remember thee, Mary !* 

BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY 
SHORE.t 

By that Lake, whose gloomy shore 
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,f 
"Where the cliti' hangs high and steep 
Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep. 
" Here, at least," he calmly said, 
""Woman ne'er shall find my bed." 
Ah ! the good saint little knew 
"What that wily sex can do. 

'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew, — 
Eyes of most uuholy blue ! 
She had loved him well and long, 
"Wisb'd him hers, nor thought it wrong. 
■Whcresoe'er the Saint would fly, 
Still he heard her light foot nigh ; 
East or west, where'er he tum'd, 
Still her eyes before him bum'd. 

On the bold clifl''s bosom cast. 
Tranquil now he sleeps at last ; 
Dreams of heav'n, nor thinks that e'er 

*I have here made a feeble effort to imitate 
that exquisite inscription of Shenstone's, 
" Heu ! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari 
qnara merainisse ! " 

t This ballad is founded upon one of the many 
Btories related of St. Kevin, whose bed in the 



"Woman's smile can haunt him there. 
But nor earth nor heaven is free 
From her power, if fond she be : 
Even now, while calm he sleeps, 
Kathleen o'er him leans and 



Fearless she had track'd his feet 
To this rocky, wild retreat ; 
And when morning met his view, 
Her mild glances met it too. 
Ah, your Saints have cruel hearts I 
Sternly from his bed he starts. 
And with rude repulsive shock. 
Hurls her from the beetling rock. 

Glendalough, thy gloomy wave 
Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave ! 
Soon the Saint, (yet ah! too late,) 
Felt her love and mourn'd her fate. 
"When he said, " Heaven rest her soul l" 
Round the Lake light music stole ; 
And her ghost was seen to glide, 
Smiling o'er the fatal tide. 



SHE IS PAR FROM THE LAKD. 

She is far from the land where her 
young hero sleeps, 
And lovers are round her sighing; 
But coldly she turns from theii- gaze and 



For her heart in his grave is lying. 

She smgs the wild song of her dear 

native plains. 

Every note which he loved awaking; — 

Ah ! little they think who delight in her 

strains, [breaking. 

How the heart of the Minstrel is 

He had lived for his love, for his coun- 
try he died, [twined him ; 
They were all that to life had en- 
N or soon shall the tears of his country 
be dried, 
ISTor long will his love stay behind him. 

Oh! make her a grave where the sun- 
beams rest, 
"When they promise a glorious morrow; 
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile 
from the "West, 
From her ovra loved island of sorrow. 

rock is to be seen at Glendalough, a most 
ploomy and romantic spot in the county of 
Wicklow. 

I There are many other curious traditions 
concerning this Lake, which may be found in 
Giraldus, Colgan, &c. 




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IKISH MELODIES. 



25: 



NAT, TELL MB NOT, DEAR. 

N"at, tell me not, dear, that the goblet 
di-owns 
One charm of feeling, one fond regret; 
Believe me, a few of thy angry fi-owns 
Axe all I have sunk in its bright wave 
Ne'er hath a beam [yet. 

Been lost in the stream 
That ever was shed from thy form or 
The spell of those eyes, [soul ; 
The balm of thy sighs, 
Still float on the surface, and hallow 
my bowl. [steal 

Then fancy not, dearest that wine can 
One blissful dream of the heart from 
me ; [zeal, 

Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's 
The bowl but brightens my love for 
thee. 

They toll us that Love in his fairy bower 
Had two blush-roses, of buth divine ; 
He sprinkled the one with a rainbow's 
shower, [wine. 

But bathed the other with mantling 
Soon did the buds 
That drank of the floods [fade ; 
Distill'd by the rainbow, decline and 
While those which the tide 
Of ruby had dyed 
All blush'd into "beauty, like thee, 
sweet maid ! [steal 

Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can 
One blissful dream of the heart from 
me ; [zeal, 

Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's 
The bowl but brightens my love for 
thee. 

AVENGING AND BRIGHT. 
Avenging and bright fall the swift 
sword of Erin* [betray'd ! — 

On him who the brave sons of Usna 

* The words of this song were suffg-este Jby the 
Very ancient Irish story called " Deirdri. or the 
Lamentable Fate of the Sons of Usnach," which 
has been translated literally from the Gaelic, by 
Mr. O'FIanapfan, (see vol. i. of TranstacHons of 
Vic Gaelic Society of Dublin,) and upon which it 
appears that the "Uarthula of Macpherson" is 
founded. The treacliery of Conor, King of 
CTlster, in putting to death the three sons of 
Usna, was the cause of a desolating war against 
Ulster, which terminated in the destruction of 
Eman. "This story (says Mr. O'Flanagan) has 
been, from time immemorial, held in high re- 
pute as one of the three tragic stories of the 
Irish. These are, ' The death of the eliildren 
of Tonran;' 'The death of the children of 
Lear,' (both regarding Tuatha de Danaus,) and 



For every fond eye he hath waken'd a 
tear in, 
A drop from his heart-wounds shall 
weep o'er her blade. 

By the red cloud that hung over Conor's 

dark dwelling, f 

When Ulad'st three champions lay 

sleeping in gore— [high swelhng. 

By the billows of war, wiiich so often 

Have wafted these heroes to victory'- 

shore — 

We swear to revenge them ! — no joj 

shall be tasted, [unwed, 

The harp shall be silent, the maiden 

Our halls shall be mute, and our fields 

shall lie wasted, [doner's head. 

Till vengeance is wreak'd on the niur- 

Yes, monarch ! tho' sweet are our home 
recollections. 
Though sweet are the tears that from 
tenderness fall ; 
Though sweet are our friendships, om' 
hopes, our aff'ections, 
Revenge on a tyrant is sweetes:; of all S 



WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE 
FLOWERET. 

He. — What the bee is to the flow'ret. 
When he looks for honey-dew. 
Through the leaves that close ejn'" 
boweret it. 
That, my love, I'll be to you. 

She. — What the bank, with verdure glo w- 

la to waves that wander near, 
Whisp'i-ing kisses, while they're 
going, 
That I'll be to you, my dear. 

this, 'The death of the children of Usnach.' 
which is a Milesian story." It will bo recol- 
lected, tl)at, ia the Second Kunioer of tliese 
Melodies, there is a ballad upon tlie story of 
tbochildrenof Lear orLir; '■ Sileut,ohMoyle!" 
&c. 

Whatever may be thought of those sanguine 
claims to antiquity, which Mr. O'i-'lahngan and 
others advance for the literature of Ireland, it 
would bo a lasting reproach upon our national- 
ity, if tlio Gaelic researches of tliis gentleman 
did not meet with all the liberal encourage- 
ment they so well merit 

t " Oil Nasil view thnt cloud that I here see 
in the sky ! I see over Eman-green a chilliiio' 
cloud of blood-tinged red." — Deirdri's Song. 

t Ulster. 




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858 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



She. — But they say the bee's a rover, 

"Who will fly, when sweets are 
gone; 
And, when once the kiss is over, 
Faithless brooks will wander on. 
He.— Nay, if flowers will lose their 
looks. 
If sunny banks will wear away, 
'Tis but right, that bees and 
brooks 
Should sip and kiss them while 
they may. 

LOTE AND THE NOVICE. 
"Here we dwell, in holiest bowers, 
" Where angels of light o'er our ori- 
sons beud; [ings of flowers 
" "VThere sighs of devotion and breath- 
" To heaven in mingled odor ascend. 
" Do not disturb our calm, oh Love I 
" So like is thy form to the cherubs 
above, [ours." 

" It weU might deceive such hearts as 
Love stood near the Novice and listen'd, 
And Love is no novice in taking a 
hint ; [glisten'd ; 

His laughing blue eyes soon with piety 
His rosy wing tum'd to heaven's own 
tint. [chin cries, 

" WTio would have thought," the ur- 
**That Love could so well, so grave- 
ly disguise [eyes ?" 
"His wandering wings and wounding 
Love now warms thee, waking and 
sleeping, [rise. 
Young Novice, to him all thy orisons 
He tinges the heavenly fount with his 
weeping, [his sighs. 
He brightens the censer's flame with 
Love is the Saint enshrined in thy 
breast, [such a guest, 
And angels themselves would admit 
If he came to them clothed in Piety's 
vest. 



THIS LIFE IS ALL CHECKEE'D 

WITH PLBASUEES AND WOES. 
This life is all checker'd with pleasures 
and woes, [the deep, — 

That chase one another like waves of 

* " Proposito florem prfetulit officio." 

PnoPEitT. lib. i. eleg. 20. 

tit is said that St. Fatriclv, wlien preacliins^ 
tlie Trinity to tlie Pngran Irisb, used to illus- 
trate his sulsject bv reference to tliat species of 
trefoil called in Ireland by the name of the 



Each brightly or darkly, as onward it 

flows, [or weep. 

Eeflecting our eyes, as they sparkle 

So closely our whims on our miseries 

tread, [can be dried ; 

That the laugh is awaked ere the tear 

And, as fast as the rain-drop of Pity is 

shed, [it aside. 

The goose-plumage of Folly can turn 

But pledge me the cup — if existence 

would cloy, [ever wise, 

With hearts ever happy, and heads 

Be ours the light Sorrow, half-sister to 

Joy, [flashes and dies. 

And the light, brilliant Folly that 

When Hylas was sent with his urn to 
the foimt. 
Through fields full of light, and with 
heart full of play, 
Light rambled the boy over meadow 
and mount, [on the way.* 

And neglected his task for the flowers 
Thus many, hke me, who in youth 
should have tasted 
The fountain that runs by Philoso- 
phy's shi-ine. 
Their time with the flowers on the 
margin have wasted, [as miue. 
And left then light urns all as empty 
But pledge me the goblet ; — while idle- 
ness weaves [dom but see 
These flow'rets together, sho-ld Wis- 
Oue bright di-op or two that has ^all'u on 
tha leaves, [for me. 
From her fountain divine, 'tis sufficient 



OH THE SHAMEOCK. 

Through Erin's Isle, 

To sport awhile, 
As Love and Valor wander'd, 

With Wit, the sprite, 

Whose quiver bright 
A thousand aiTows squander'd. 

Where'er they pass, 

A triple grassf 
Shoots up, with dew-drops streamings 

As softly green 

As emeralds seen 
Through purest crystal gleaming. 

Shamroclc ; and hence, perhaps, the Island of 
Saints adopted this plant as lier national em- 
blem. Hope, among the anoients, was some- 
times represented as a beautifnl child, standing 
upon tiptoes, and a trefoil of three-colored jp-aas 
in her hand. 




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IRISH MELODIES. 



259 



Oil the Shamrock, the green, immortal 
Shamrock, 
Chosen leaf 
Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Erin's native Shamrock I 

Says Valor, "See, 

" They spring for me, 
•* Those leafy gems of morning !" — 

Says Love, "No, no, 

" For me they grow, 
"M7 fi-agraut path adorning." 

But Wit perceives 

The triple leaves, 
And cries, '' Oh ! do not sever 

"A type that blends 

"Three godlike friends, 
"Love, Yalor, Wit, forever !" 
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal 
Shamrock ! 

Chosen leaf 

Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Ei-iu's native Shamrock I 

So firmly fond 

May last the bond 
They wove that morn together. 

And ne'er may fall 

One drop of gall 
Ou Wit's celestial feather. 

May Love, as twine 

His flowers divine, 
Of thorny falsehood weed 'em ; 

May Valor ne'er 

His standard rear 
Against the cause of Freedom ! 
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal 
Shamrock ! 

Chosen leaf 

Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Erin's native Shamrock ! 



AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT. 
At the mid hour of night, when stars 

are weeping, I fly 
To the lone vale we loved, when life 

shone warm in thine eye; 
And I think oft, if spirits can steal 

from the regions of air. 
To re\'isit past scenes of delight, thou 

wilt come to me there, 
And tell me our love is remember'd, 

even in the sky. 

Then I sing the wild song 'twas once 
such pleasure to hear ! 

When our voices commingling, breath- 
ed, like one, on the ear ; 



And, as Echo far off through the vale 

my sad orison roUs, 
I thiuk, oh my love ! 'tis thy voice 
from the Kingdom of Souls,* 
Faintly answering still the notes thai 
once were so dear. 



ONE BUMPER AT PARTING. 
One bumper at parting '.—though many 

Have circled the board since we met, 
The fullest, the saddest of any, 

Remains to be crown'd by us yet. 
The sweetness that pleasm-e hath in it. 

Is always so slow to come forth. 
That seldom, alas, till the minute 

It dies, do we know half its worth. 
But come, — may ourlife'shappy measure 

Be all of such moments made up ; 
They're bora on the bosom of Pleasm-e, 

They die midst the tears of the cup. 
As onward we journey, how pleasant 

To pause and inhabit awhile 
Those few sunny spots, like the present, 

That mid the duU wilderness smile ! 
But Time, like a pitiless master, 

Cries " Onward !" and spurs the gay 
hours— 
Ah, never doth Time travel faster. 

Than when his way lies among flowers. 
Butcome, — may our life's happy measure 

Be all of such moments made up ; 
They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, 

They die midst the tears of the cup. 
We saw how the sun look'd in sinking. 

The waters beneath him how bright. 
And now, let our farewell of drinkiug 

Resemble that farewell of light. 
Ton saw how he llnish'd, by darting 

His beam o'er a deep billow's brim — 
So, fill up, let's shine at our parting. 

In full liquid glory, like him. 
And oh ! may our life's happy measure 

Of moments like this be made up, 
'Twas born on the bosom of Pleasm-e, 

It dies mid the tears of the cup. 

'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 
'Tis the last rose of summer 

Left blooming alone; 
All her lovely companions 
Are faded and gone ; 
* " Thero are countries," says Montaigne, 
" where they bolievo the souls of the happy 
live in all rannner of liberty, in delipfhtful fields; 
and that it is those souls, "repeating the words 
we utter, which we call Echo." 



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260 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



No flower of her kindred, 

Iv"o rosebud is nigh, 
To rellect back her blushes, 

Or give sigh for sigh. 

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, 

To pine on the stem ; 
Since the lovely are sleeping, 

Go, sleep thou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy leaves o'er the bed, 
"Where thy mates of the garden 

Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may I follow, 

"When friendships decay. 
And from Love's shining circle 

The gems drop away. 
"When true hearts lie wither'd. 

And fond ones are flown, 
Oh ! who would inhabit 

This bleak world alone ? 



THE YOUNG MAT MOOK 

Thb young May moon is beaming, love, 
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming. 
How sweet to rove [love, 

Through Morna's grove,* 
"When the drowsy world is dreaming, 
love ! [my dear, 

Then awake ! — the heavens look bright, 
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear. 
And the best of all ways 
To lengthen our days. 
Is to steal a few hours from the night, 
my dear ! 

S"ow all the world is sleeping, love, 
But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, 
love, 

And I, whose star, 

More glorious far, 

* "Steals silently to Morna's prove."— See, in 
Mr. Biiiitini;'s cuUection, a poem translated 
from the Irish, by the late Juhu Broun, one 
of my earliest college companions and friends, 
whose deatli^vas as singularly melaiiehuly and 
unfortunate as his life had beeu amiable, hon- 
orable, ami exemplary. 

t These stanzas are" founded upon an event of 
most melancholy importance to Ireland ; if, as 
■we are told by our Iiish historians, It pave 
England the first opportunity of profiting by 
our divisions and subduing ns. The following 
are the eiicunistanees. as related by O'Hal- 
loran :— " The King of Leinster had long con- 
ceived a violent "affectiott for Dearbhorgil, 
daughter to the King of Meath. and though 
bhe had been for some time married to O'Ruark, 
Prince of Breifui, yet it could not restrain his 



Is the eye from that casement peeping, 
love. 

Then awake ! — till rise of sun, my dear, 

The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear, 
Or, in watching the flight 
Of bodies of light, [my dear. 

He might happen to take thee for one, 

THE MINSTREL BOY. 

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone, 

In the ranks of death you'll find him ; 
His father's sword he has girded on. 

And his wild hai-^j swung behind him. — 
"Land of song !" said the warrior-bard, 

"Though ail the world betrays thee, 
" One sword, at least, thy rights shall 
guard, 

" One faithfuJ harp shall praise thee !" 

The Minstrel fell !— but the foeman's 
chain 

Could not bring his proud soul under; 
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, 

For he tore its chords asunder ; 
And said, "No chains shall sully thee, 

" Thou soul of love and bravery ! 
" Thy songs were made for the pure and 
free, 

" They shall never sound in slavery." 



THE SONG OF O'RIJARK, 

PRINCE OF BREFFNI.t 

The valley lay smiling before me, 
"Where lately I left her behind ; [me. 

Yet I trembled, and something hung o'ei 
That sadden'd the joy of my mind. 

I look'd for the lamp which, she told me, 
Should shine, when her Pilgrun rc- 
tum'd; 

passion. They carried on a private correspond- 
ence, and she informed him that O'Kuark in- 
tended soon to go on a pilgrimage, (an act <it 
piety frequent in those days,) and conjured him 
to embrace that opportunity of conveying her 
from a husband slie detested to a lover she 
adored Mac Murchad too punctually obeyed 
the summons, and had the lady con veved to his 
capital of rerns." The monarch lloderick. 
espoused the cause of O'Ruark, while Mae 
Murchad fled to England, and obtained the as- 
sistance of Henry II. 

" Such," adds Giraldus Cambrensis, (as I find 
him in an oldtransLition.) "is the variable and 
fickle nature of woman, by whom all mischief 
in the world (for the most part) do happen and 
come as may aiipenr )iy Marcus Antouius anf* 
by the destruction o.*" Troy." 



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IRISH MELODIES. 



261 



But, though darkness began to infold 
me, 
No lamp from the battlements bum'd ! 

I flew to her chamber — 'twas lonely, 
As if the loved tenant lay dead ; — 
Ah, would it were death, and death 
only; 
But no, ttie young false one had fled. 
And there hung the lute that could 
soften 
My very worst pains into bliss ; 
While the hand, that had waked it so 
often, 
Now throbb'd to a proud rival's kiss. 

There loas a time, falsest of women, 
When Breffui's good sword would have 
sought 
That man, thro' a million of foemen. 
Who dared but to wrong thee in 
thought.' 
While now— oh degenerate daughjer 

Of Erin, bow fall'n is thy fame ! 
And through ages of bondage and 
slaughter, [shame. 

Our country shall bleed for thy 

Already, the curse is upon her. 

And strangers her valleys profane; 
They come to divide, to dishonor, 

And tyrants they long will remain. 
But onward !— the gi-een banner rearing, 

Go, flesh every sword to the hilt, 
On our side is Virtue and Erin, 

On theirs is the Saxon and guilt 



OH ! HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LIT- 
TLE ISLE OP OUR OWK 

Oh ! had we some bright little isle of 

our own, 
In a blue summer ocean, far off and 

alone, 
Where a leaf never dies in the still 

blooming bowers. 
And the bee banquets on through a whole 

year of flowers ; 
Where the sun loves to pause 

With so fond a delay. 
That the night only draws 

A thin veil o'er the day ; 
Where simply to feel that we breathe, 

that we live, [can give. 

Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere 



There, with souls ever ardent and pure 

as the clime, [first golden time; 
We should love, as they loved in the 
The glow of the sunshine, the balm of 

the air, [summer there. 

Would steal to our hearts, and make all 
With afl'ection as free 

From decline as the bowers. 
And, with hope, like the bee. 

Living always on flowers, 
Our life should resemble a long day of 

light, [as the night. 

And our death come on, holy and cabn 



FAREWELL !— BUT WHEI^EVER 
YOU WELCOME THE HOUR. 

Farewell !— but whenever you wel- 
come the hour, [in your bower, 
That awakens the night-song of mirth 
Then think of the friend who once wel- 
comed it too, [with you. 
And forgot his own gi-iefs to be happy 
His griefs may return, not a hope may 
remain [pathway of pain. 
Of the few that have brighteu'd his 
But he ne'er will forget the short vision, 
that threw [liug'riug with you. 
Its enchantment around him, while 

And still on that evening, when pleasure 

fills up [and each cup, 

To the highest top sparkle each heart 
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or 

bright, [that night ; 

My soul, happy friends, shall be with you 
Shall join in your revels, your sports, 

and your wiles, [your smiles^ 
And return to me, beaming all o'er with 
Too blest, if it tells me that, mid the 

gay cheer, [wish he were here !" 
Some kind voice had murmur'd, " I 

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics 

of joy, [cannot destroy ; 

Bright di-eams of the past, which she 
Which come in the night-time of son-ow 

and care, [used to wear. 

And bring back the features that joy 
Long, long be my heart with such 

memories fill'd ! [been disti'il'd— 
Like the vase, in which roses hav e once 
You may break, you may shatter the 

vase, if yon will, [it stilL 

But the scent of the roses wiU hang round 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 



OH ! DOUBT MB NOT. 

Oh ! doubt me not — the season 

Is o'er, when Folly made me rove, 
And now the vestal, Reason, [Love. 
Shall watch the fire awaked by 
Although this heart was early blown, 

And fairest hands disturb'd the tree, 
They only shook some blossoms down, 
Its fruit has all been kept for thee. 
Then doubt me not— the season 

Is o'er, when Folly made me rove. 

And now the vestal. Reason, [Love. 

Shall watch the fii-e awaked by 

And though my lute no longer 

May sing 1 if Passion's ardent spell, 
Yet, trust me, all the stronger 
I feel the bliss I do not teD. 
The bee through many a garden roves, 

And hums his lay of courtship o'er. 

But when he finds the flower he loves, 

He settles there and hums no more. 

Then doubt me not — the season 

Is o'er, when Folly kept me free, 

And now the vestal. Reason, [thee. 

Shall guard the flame awaked by 



YOTJ REMEMBER ELLEN.* 

You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride. 

How meekly she bless'd her humble 

lot, [her his bride. 

When the stranger, William, had made 

And love was the light of their lowly 

cot. [rains. 

Together they toil'd through winds and 

Till William, atlength,in sadness said, 

" We must seek our fortunes on other 

plains;"— 

Then, sighing, she left her lowly slied. 

They roam'd a long and a weary way, 
Nor much was the maiden's heart at 
ease, 
When now, at close of one stormy day, 
/ They see a proud castle among the 
trees. [shelter there ; 

"To-night," said the youth, "we'll 
" The wind blows cold, the hour is 
late ." [air, 

So he blew the horn with a chieftain's 
And the Porter bow'd, as they pass'd 
the gate. 

* This ballad was sufrgested by a well-known 
and interestinar story told of a" certain noblo 
family iu England. 



"Now, welcome. Lady," exclaim'd the 
youth, — [woods all !" 

" This castle is thine, and these dark 
She believed him crazed, but his words 
were truth, 
For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall ! 
And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves 
What William, the stranger, woo'd 
and wed ; [groves, 

And the light of bliss, in these lordly 
Shines pm-e as it did in the lowly shed. 



I'D MOURN THE HOPES. 

I'd mourn the hopes that leave me, 

If thy smiles had left me too ; 
I'd weep when friends deceive me. 

If thou wert, like them, untrue. 
But while I've thee before me. 

With hearts so warm and eyes so 
No clouds can linger o'er me, [bright, 

That smile turns them all to light. 

'Tis not in fate to harm me. 

While fate leaves thy love to me ; 
'Tis not in joy to charm me. 

Unless joy be shared with thee. 
One minute's dream about thee 

Were worth a long, an endless yeaJ 
Of waking bliss without thee. 

My own love, my only dear ! 

And though the hope be gone, lovey 

That long sparkled o'er our way. 
Oh ! we shall journey on, love, 

More safely, "n ithout its ray. 
Far better lights shall win me 

Along the path I've yet to roam :— 
The mind that burns within me. 

And pure smiles from thee at home. 

Thus when the lamp that lighted 

The traveler at first goes out. 
He feels awhile benighted. 

And looks round in fear and doubt. 
But soon, the prospect clearing, 

By cloudless starlight on he treads, 
And thinks no lamp so cheering 

As that light which Heaven sheds. 



COME O'ER THE SEA. 

Come o'er the sea. 

Maiden, with me. 
Mine through sunshine, storm, and 

Seasons may roll, [snows ; 

But the true soul 
Bums the same, where'er it goes. 




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iSV-^ 




lEISH MELODIES. 



263 



Let fate frovra on, so we love and part 
not ; [thou'rt not. 

Tis life where tlwu art, 'tis death where 
Then come o'er the sea, 
Maiden, with me, 
Come wherever the wild wind blows ; 
Seasons may roll, 
But the true soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes. 

"Was not the sea 

Made for the Free, 
Land for courts and chains alone ? 

Here we arc slaves, 

But, on the waves. 
Love and Liberty's all our own. 
No eye to watch, and no tongue to 
wound us, [us — 

AU earth forgot, and aU heaven around 

Then come o'er the sea. 

Maiden, with me, 
Mine through sunshine, storm, and 

Seasons way roll, [snows; 

But the true soul 
Bums the same, where'er it goes 

HAS SOREOW THY YOUNG DAYS 
SHADED. 

Has sorrow thy young days shaded. 

As clouds o'er the morning fleet? 
Too fast have those young days faded, 

That, ev'n in sorrow, were sweet ! 
Does Time with his cold wing wither 

Each feeling that once was dear ? — 
Then, child of misfortune, come hither, 

I'U weep with thee, tear for tear. 

Has love to that soul, so tender, 

Been like our Lagenian mine,* 
"Where sparkles of golden splendor 

All over the surface shine — 
But, if in pursuit we go deeper. 

Allured by the gleam that shone. 
Ah ! false as the dream of the sleeper. 

Like Love, the bright ore is gone. 

Has Hope, like the bu-d in the story, f 

That flitted from tree to tree 
■^ith the talisman's glitt'ring glory — 

Has Hope been that bird to thee ? 
On branch after branch alighting, 

The gem did she still display. 
And, when nearest and most inviting, 

Then waft the fak gem away ? 

*Our TVicklow Gold Mines, to which this 
verse alhules, deserve, I fear, but too well the 
character liore p^iveii of them. 

t " The bird, having got its prize, settled not 



If thus the young hom-s have fleeted 

"When sorrow itself look'd bright ; 
If thus the fair hope hath cheated. 

That led thee along so Hght ; 
If thus the cold world now wither 

Each feeling that once was dear : — 
Come, child of misfortune, come hither, 

I'll weep with thee, tear for tear. , 



NO, NOT MOEE "WELCOME. 

No, not more welcome the fairy numbers 

Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, 
"When half-awaking from fearful slum- 
bers, [near,— 

He thinks the full choir of heaven is 
Than came that voice, when, all forsaken. 

This heart long had sleeping lain. 
Nor thought its cold pulse would ever 
waken 

To such benign, blessed sounds again. 

Sweet voice of comfort ! 'twas like the 
stealing [shell — 

Of summer wind thro' some wreathed 
Each secret winding, each inmost feeling 

Of all my soul echoed to its spell. 
'Twas whisper'd balm — 'twas sunshine 
spoken ! — 

I'd live years of grief and pain 
To have my long sleep of sorrow broken 

By such benign, blessed sounds again. 



"WHEN FIEST I MET THEE. 

When first I met thee, warm and young. 

There shone such truth about thee. 
And on thy lip such promise hung, 

I did not dare to doubt thee. 
I saw thee change, yet still relied. 
Still clung with hope the fonder. 
And thought, though false to all beside. 
From me thou couldst not wander. 
But go, deceiver ! go, [make it 

The heart, whose hopes could 
Trust one so false, so low, [it. 

Deserves that thou shouldst break 

"When every tongue thy follies named, 
I fled the unwelcome story ; 

Or found, in even the faults they blamed, 
Some gleams of future glory. 

/ still was true, when nearer friends 
Conspired to wrong, to slight thee ; 

far off, with the talisman in his moutli. Th« 
prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it; 
but, as he approached, the bird took wing, and 
settled again," &c. — Arabian Nights. 




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264 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



The heart that now thy falsehood rends 
"Would then have bled to right thee. 
But go, deceiver ! go, — 

Someday, perhaps, thou'lt waken 
From pleasui'e's dream, to know 
The grief of hearts forsaken. 

Even now, though youth its bloom has 
shed, 
No lights of age adorn thee : 
The few, who loved thee once, have fled, 

And they, who flatter, scorn thee. 
Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves, 

No genial ties enwreathe it ; 
The smiling there, like light on graves, 
Has rank cold hearts beneath it. 
Go — go — though worlds were thine, 

I would not now smrender 
One taintless tear of mine 
For all thy guilty splendor !• 

And days may come, thou false one ! yet, 

When even those ties shall sever ; 
"When thou wilt call, with vain regret, 

On her thou'st lost forever; 
On her who, in thy fortune's fall, 

With smiles had still received thee 
And gladly died to prove thee all 

Her fancy first believef) thee. 
Go — go— 'tis vain to curse, 

'Tis weakness to upbraid tnc8 ; 
Hate cannot wish thee worse [thee. 

Than guilt and shame have made 



WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE. 

While History's Muse the memorial was 

keeping [weaves, 

Of all that the dark hand of Destiny 

Beside her the Genius of Erin stood 

weeping, [the leaves. 

For hers was the story that blotted 

But oh ! how the tear in her eyelids 

grew bright, [shame. 

When, after whole pages of sorrow and 

She saw History write. 

With a pencil of hght 

That illumed the whole volume, her 

Wellington's name. 
''Hail, Star of my Isle !" said the Spu'- 
it, all sparkling [own dewy skies. 
With beams, such as break from her 

* Tliis alludes to a kind of Irish fairy, t\ hich 
is to be met with, they Siiy, in the fields at 
dusk. As long as you keep your eyes upon 
him, he is fixed, and in your power ;— but the 
moment you hiok away (and he is ingenious in 
fiiruishing some inducement) he vanishes. I 



" Through ages of sorrow, deserted and 

darkling, [thine to arise. 

" I've watch'd for some glory like 

"For, though Heroes I've number'd, 

imblest was their lot, 
" And unhallow'd they sleep in the 
orossways of Fame ; — 
" But oh ! there is not 
" One dishonoring blot 
"On the wreath that enchcles my Wel- 
lington's name. 

" Yet stiU the last crown of thy toils is 
remaining, [hast yet known ; 

" The gi-andest, the purest, ev'n thou 
"Though proud was thy task, other na- 
tions unchaining, 
" Far prouder to heal the deep wounds 
of thy own. 
" At the foot of that throne for whose 

weal thou hast stood, 
"Go, plead for the land that first 
cradled thy fame, 

" And, bright o'er the flood 
" Of her tears and her blood, 
"Let the rainbow of Hope be hei 
Wellington's name 1" 



THE TIME I'YE LOST IN" WOOING 

The time I've lost in wooing, 
In watching and pursuing 

The light, that lies 

In woman's eyes. 
Has been my heart's undoing. 
Though Wisdom oft has sought me^ 
I scom'd the lore she brought me. 

My only books 

Were woman's V oks, 
And folly's all they've taught me. 

Her smile when Beauty granted, 
I hung with gaze enchanted. 

Like him, the sprite,* 

Whom maids by night 
Oft meet in glen that's haunted. 
Like him, too. Beauty won me, 
But while her eyes were on me. 

If once their ray 

Was turn'd away, 
! winds could not outrun me. 

bad thought that this was the sprite which we 
call the Leprechaun; but a high authority upon 
such subjects. Lady Morgan, (in a note upon 
her national and iuteresting novel, O'Bonnel,' 
has given a very different accotmt of that gob 



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IRISH MELODIES. 



2G5 



And are those follies going ? 
And is my proud heart growing 

Too cold or wise 

For brilliant eyes 
Again to set it glowing ? 
No, vain, alas ! th' endeavor 
From bonds so sweet to sever ; 

Poor AYisdom's chance 

Against a glance 
Is now as weak as ever. 



■^HERE IS THE SLATE. 

On, Where's the slave so lowly, 
Condemn'd to chains unholy, 

Who, could he burst 

His bonds at first, 
"Would pine I^eneath them slowly ? 
What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, 
Would wait till time d'ecay'd it, 

"When thus its wing 

At once may spring 
To the throne of Him who made it ? 

Farewell, Erin, — farewell, aU, 
"Who live to weep our fall ! 

Less dear the laurel growing, 
Alive, untouch'd and blowing, 

Than that, whose braid 

Is pluck'd to shade 
The brows witli victory glowing. 
"We tread the land that bore us, 
Her green flag glitters o'er us. 

The friends we've tried 

Are l)y our side, 
And the foe we hate before us. 

Farewell, Erin,— farewell, all, 
"Who live to weep our fall ! 

:jome, REST m this bosom. 

Come, rest in this bosom, my own 

stricken deer, 
Though the herd have fled from thee, 

thy home is still here ; 
Here still is the smile, that no cloud 

can o'ercast, [the last. 

And a heart and a hand aU thy own to 

Oh ! what was love made for, if 'tis not 

the same 
Through joy and through torment, 

through glory and shame ? 
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that 

heart, [thou art. 

I but know that I love thee, whatever 



Thou hast call'd me thy Angel in mo- 
ments of bliss, [of this,— 

And thy Angel I'll be, mid the horrors 

Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy 
steps to pursue, [ish there too 1 

And shield thee, and save thee, — orper- 

'TIS GOXE, AND FOREYER. 
'Tis gone, and forever, the light we saw 
breaking, [sleep ofthe dead- 
Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the 
"When Man, from the slumber of ages 
awakiug, [ray ere it fled. 

Look'd upward, and bless'd tue piure 
'Tis gone, and the gleams it has lelt of 
its bumiug [and mourning, 

But deepen the long night of bondage 
That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is 
returning, [thee. 

And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o'er 

For high was thy hope, when those glo- 
ries were darting 
Around thee, through all the gross 
clouds of the world ; 
"When Truth, from her fetters indignant- 
ly starting, [uulurl'd.* 
At once, like a Sun-burst, her banner 
Oh ! never shall earth see a moment so 
splendid! [ance blended 
Then, then— had one HjTun of Deiivcr- 
The tongues of all nations — how sweet 
had ascended thee I 
The first note of Liberty, Erin, from 
But; shame on those tyrants, who en- 
vied the blessing ! [thy its good, 
And shame on the liffht race, unwor- 
"Who, at Death's reeking altar, like fu- 
ries, caressing [it in IjJood. 
The young hope of Freedom, baptized 
Then vanish 'd forever that fair, sunny 
vision, [heart's derision, 
"Which, spite of the slavish, the cold 
Shall long be remember'd, pure, bright 
and elysian 
As first it arose, my lost Erin, on thee. 

I SA"W FROM THE BEACH. 

1 SAW from the beach, when the mom- 

mg was shining, [ously on ; 

A bark o'er the waters move glori- 

I came when the sun o'er that beach was 

declining, [waters were gone. 

The bark was still there, but the 

*"The Sun-burst" was the fanciful name 
given by the ancient Irish to the Koyal Banner 



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MOORE'S WORKS. 



And such is the fato of our life's early 

promise, [have known ; 

So passing the spring-tide of joy we 

Each wave, that we danced on at 

morning, ebbs from us, 

And leaves us, at eve, on the bleali 

shore alone. 

Ke'er tell me of glories, serenely adorn- 
ing [our night ;— 
The close of our day, the calm eve of 
Give me back, give me back the wild 
freshness of Morning, 
Her clouds and her tears are worth 
Evening's best light. 

Oh, who would not welcome that mo- 
ment's returning. 
When passion first waked a new life 
through his frame. 
And his soul, like the wood, that grows 
precious in burning, [site flame. 
Gave out all its sweets to love's exqui- 

FILL THE BUMPER FAIR. 
Fill the bumper fair ! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 

Smooths away a wrinkle. 
Wit's electric flame 

Ne'er so swiftly passes, 
As when through the frame 

It shoots from brimming glasses. 
Fill the bumper fair ! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 

Smooths away a wrinkle. 

Sages can, they say, 

Grasp the lightning's pinions, 
And bring down its ray 

From the starr'd dominions: — 
So we. Sages, sit, 

And, mid bumpers bright'ning, 
From the Heaven of Wit 

Draw down all its lightning. 

Wouldst thou know what first 

Made our souls inherit 
This ennobling thirst 

For wine's celestial spirit ? 

• Inthatrebelliousbutbeautifulsong, "When 
Erin first rose," there is, if I recollect right, the 
following line:— 

"The dark chain of Silence was thrown o'er the 
deep." 

The chain of Silence was a sort of practical 
figure of rhetoric among the ancient Irish. 



It chanced upon that day, 
When, as bards inform us, 

Prometheus stole away 
The living fires that warm us : 

The careless Youth, when up 

To Glory's fount aspiring, 
Took nor urn nor cup 

To hide the pilfer'd fire in. — 
But oh his joy, when, round 

The halls of Heaven spying 
Among the stars he found 

A bowl of Bacchus lying ! 

Some drops were in that bowl. 

Remains of last night's pleasure. 
With which the Sparks of Soul 

Mix'd their burning treasure. 
Hence the goblet's shower 

Hath such spells to win us ; 
Hence its mighty power 

O'er that flame within us. 
Fill the bumper fair ! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 

Smooths away a wrinkle. 



DEAR HARP OF MY COUN'TRY. 

Dear Harp of my Country ! in darkness 

I found thee, [thee long,* 

The cold chain of silence had hung o'er 

When proudly, my own Island Harp, I 

unbound thee, [dom and song ; 

And gave all thy chords to light, free- 

The warm lay of love and the light note 

of gladness [thrill ; 

Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest 

But, so oft hast thou echo'd the deep sigh 

of sadness, [thee still. 

That ev'n in thy muih it wiU. steal from 

Dear Harp of my Country ! farewell to 

thy numbers, [we shall twine ! 

This sweet wreath of song is the last 

Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on 

thy slumbers, [thy than mine ; 

Till touch'd by some hand less uuwor- 

If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or 

lover, [alone ; 

Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory 

"Walker tells us of " a celebrated contention for 
precedence between Finn andGaul, near Finn's 
palace at Almhaim, where the attending Banls, 
anxious, if possible, to produce a cessation of 
hostilities, shook the chain of Silence, and flung 
themselves among tlie ranks.'' See also the 
Ode to Gaul, the Son of Morni, in Miss Brookti'? 
Reliques of Irish Poetry. 



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IRISH MELODIES. 



267 



I was but as the "wind, passing heedlessly 

over, [was thy own. 

And all the wild sweetness I waked 



MT GEN-TLE HARP. 

My gentle Harp, once more I waken 

The sweetness of thy slumb'iing 
strain ; 
In tears our last farewell was taken, 

And now in tears we meet again. 
'So light of joy hath o'er thee broken, 

But, like those Harps whose heav'nly 
skill 
Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken, 

Thou hang'st upon the willows still. 

And yet, since last thy chord resounded. 

An hour of peace and triumph came. 
And many an ardent bosom bounded 

With hopes — that now are tum'd to 
shame ; 
Yet even then, while Peace was singing 

Her halcj-on song o'er land and sea. 
Though joy and hope to others bringing. 

She only brought new tears to thee. 

Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure, 
My drooping Harp, from chords like 
thine? 
Alas, the lark's gay morning measure 

As ill would suit the swan's decline ! 

Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee, 

Invoke thy breath for Freedom's 

strains, [thee, 

When ev'n the wreaths in which I dress 

Are sadly mix'd — half llow'rs, half 

chams ? 

But come — if yet thy frame can borrow 

One breath of joy, oh, breathe for me. 
And show the world, in chains and sor- 
row, 

How sweet thy music still can be ; 
How gayly, ev'n mid gloom surrounding. 

Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's 
thrill- 
Like Memnon's broken image sounding, 

Mid desolation tuneful stUl !* 



Ilf THE MORN-mG OP LIFE. 

In the morning of life, when its cares 

are unknown, [tre begin. 

And its pleasures in all their new lus- 



*Diniidio magica resonant 
chorisB.— Juvenal. 



Memcono 



"WTien we live in a bright-beaming world 

of our own, [from within ; 

And the light that surrounds us i,^ all 

Oh 'tis not, beheve me, in that happy 

time [transport we may ;^ 

"We can love, as in hours of less 

Of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay 

sunny prime, [away. 

But affection is truest when these fade 

When we see the first glory of youth 
pass us by, [never return •, 

Like a leaf on the stream that will 
When our cup, which had sparkled with 
pleasure so high, [flowing ura; 
First tastes of the other, the dark- 
Then, then IS the time when afi'ection 
holds sway [never knew ; 

With a depth and a tenderness joy 
Love, nursed among pleasures, is faith- 
less as they, [row, is true. 
But the Love bom of Sorrow, lilje Ser- 
in climes full of sunshine, though splen- 
did the flowers, [no worth ; 
Their sighs have no freshness, their odor 
'Tis the cloud and the mist of our own 
Isle of showers, [forth ; 
That call the rich spirit of fragraucy 
So, it is not mid splendor, prosperity, 
mirth, [spirit appears ; 
That the depth of Love's generous 
To the sunshine of smiles it may first 
owe its birth, [out by tears. 
But the soul of its sweetness is drawn 



AS SLOW OUR SHIP. 

As slow our shij) her foamy track 

Against the wind was cleaving. 
Her trembling pennant still look'd back 

To that dear Isle 'twas leaving. 
So loath we part from all we love, 

From all the hnks that bind us ; 
So turn our hearts as on we rove. 

To those we've left behind us. 

When, round the bowl, of vanish'd year^ 

We talk, with joyous seeming, — 
With snailes that might as well be tears, 

So faint, so sad their beaming ; 
While mem'ry brings us back again 

Each early tie that twined us. 
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then 

To those we've left behind us. 

And when, in other climes, we meet 

Some isle, or vale enchanting. 
Where all looks flow'ry, wild, and sweet, 




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2&- MOOKE'S WORKS 



i#^|>^J^^i 




And naught but love is wanting ; 
Wo think how great had been our bliss, 

If Heav'n had but assign'd us 
To live and die iii scenes like this, 

With some we've left behind us ! 

As trav'lers oft look back at eve, 

WTien eastward darld3' going, 
To gaze upon that light thoy leave 

Still faint behind them glowing, — 
So, when the close of pleasure's day 

To gloom hath near consign'd us, 
"We turn to catch one fading ray 

Of joy that's left behind us. 



WHEN- COLD I¥ THE EAETH. 

"When cold in the earth lies the friend 
thou hast loved, [thee then ; 

Be his faults and his follies forgot by 
Or. if fi'om their slumber the veil be re- 
moved, [it again. 
Weep o'er them in silence, and close 
And oh ! if 'tis pain to remember how far 
From the pathways of light he was 
tempted to roam, [the star 
Be it bliss to remember that thou wert 
That arose on his darkness, and 
guided him home. 

Prom thee and thy innocent beauty first 

came [love to adore. 

The revealings, that taught iiim true 

To feel the bright presence, and turn 

him with shame [before. 

From the idols he blindly had knelt to 

O'er the waves of a life, loug benighted 

and wild, [o'er the sea; 

Thou cam'st, like a soft, golden calm 

And if happiness purely and glowingly 

smded [from thee. 

On his ev'ning horizon, the light was 

And though, sometimes, the shades of 

past folly might rise. 

And though falsehood again would 

allure bim to stray. 

He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in 

those eyes, [vanish'd away. 

And the folly, the falsehood, soon 

As the Priests of the Sun, when their 

altar grew dim, [repair. 

At the day-beam alone could its lustre 

So, if virtue a moment grew languid in 

him, [kindled it there. 

He but flew to that smile and re- 



EEMEMBER THEE. 

Remember thee ? yes, while there's life 
in this heart, [thou art ; 

It shall never forget thee, all lorn as 

More dear in thy soitow, thy gloom and 
thy showers, [niest hour.;. 

Than the rest of the world in their suu- 

Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, 
glorious, and free, [of the sea, 

First flower of the earth, and first gem 

I might hail thee with prouder, with 
happier brow, [than now ? 

But oh ! could I love thee more deeply 

Xo, thy chaius as they ranlile, thy blood 
as it runs, [thy sous — 

But make thee more painfully dear tc 

Whose hearts, like the young of the 
desert-bird's nest. 

Drink love in each life-drop that flow, 
from thy breast. 



WREATHE THE BOWL. 

Wreathe the bowl 

With flowers of soul, 
The brightest Wit can find us ; 

We'll take a flight 

Tow'rds heaven to-night, 
And leave dull earth behmd us. 

Should Love amid 

The wreaths be hid. 
That Joy, th' enchanter, brings us 

ISTo danger fear. 

While wine is near. 
We'll drown him if he stings us ; 

Then, wreathe the bowl 

With flowers of soul. 
The brightest A7it can find us ; 

We'll take a flight 

Tow'rds heaven to-night. 
And leave dull earth behind us. 

'Twas nectar fed 

Of old, 'tis said, 
Their Junos, Joves, A polios; 

And man may brew 

His nectar too, 
The rich receipt's as follows. 

Take wine like this, 

Let looks of bliss 
Around it well be blended, 

Then bring Wit's beam 

To warm the stream. 
And there's your nectar splendid! 

So wreathe the bowl 

With flowers of soul, 



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il0 ^w. . om I <^ . . _ MI 




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IRISH MELbi./ES. 



The brightest "Wit can find us ; 
We'll take a flight 
Tow'rds heaven to-night, 

And leave dull earth behind us. 

Say, why did Time, 

His glass sublime, 
FiU up with sands unsightly, 

When wine, he knew. 

Runs Ijrisker through 
And sparkles far more brightly? 

Oh, lend it us. 

And, smiling thus. 
The glass in two we'll sever, 

Make pleasure glide 

In double tide. 
And fill both ends forever ! 

Then wreathe the bowl 

With flowers of soul, 
The brightest Wit can find us, 

We'll take a flight 

Tow'rds heaven to-night, 
And leave dull earth behind us. 



WHEiTE'ERISEE THOSE SMILIlfG 
BYES. 

Whene'er I see those smiling eyes, 

So fuU of hope, and joy, and hght, 
As if no cloud could ever rise, 

To dim a heav'n so pm-ely bright — 
I sigh to thmk how soon that brow 

In grief may lose its every ray. 
And that light heart, so joyous now, 

Almost forget it once was gay. 

For time will come with all its blights, 

The ruin'd hope, the friend unkind. 
And love, that leaves, where'er it lights, 

A chiU'd or bimung heart behind : — 
While youth,that now like snow appears, 

Ere sullied by the dark'ning rain, 
When once 'tis touch'd by sorrow's tears 

Can never shine so bright again. 



IF THOU'LT BE MINE. 

If thod'It be mine, the treasures of air, 

Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet; 

Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair. 

Or in Hope's sweet music sounds most 

sweet, [love ! 

Shall be ours— if thou wilt be mine. 

Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we 

rove, [stream ; 

A voice divine shall talk m. each 



The stars shaU look like worlds of love. 

And this earth be all one beautiful 

dream [love. 

In our eyes— if thou wilt be mine, 

And thoughts, whose source is hidden 
and high, [ward hills, 

Like streams, that come fi-om heaven- 
Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie 
To be bathed by those eternal rills. 
Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, 
love! 

All this and more the Spirit of Love 

Can breathe o'er them, who feel his 

spells ; [above. 

That heaven, which forms his home 

He can make on earth, wherever ho 

dwells, [mine, love ! 

As thou'lt own, — if thou wUt be 



TO LADIES' EYES. 

To Ladies' eyes around, boy. 

We can't refuse, Ave can't refuse, 
Though bright eyes so abound, boy, 

'Tis hard to choose, 'tis hard to choose. 
For thick as stars that lighten 

Yon airy bow'rs, yon airy bow'rs. 
The coimtless eyes that brighten 

This earth of ours, this earth of ours. 
But fill the cup — where'er, boy, [fall. 

Our choice may fall, om* choice may 
We're sure to find Love there, boy. 

So drink them all ! so diink them all! 

Some looks there are so holy, [giv'n. 

They seem but giv'n, they seem but 
As shining beacons, solely. 

To light to heav'n, to light to heav'n. 
While some— oh! ne'er beheve them — 

With tempting ray, with tempting ray. 
Would lead us (God forgive them !) 

The other way, the other way. 
But fill the cup— where'er, boy, 

Out choice may fall, our choice may 
fall. 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all ! so drink them all ! 

In some, as in a mirror, 

Love seems portray'd. Love seems 
portray'd. 
But shun the flatt'ring error, 

'Tis but his shade, 'tis but his shade. 
Himself has fix'd his dwelling 

In eyes we know, in eye< we know, 
And hps— but this is telling— 

So here they go ! so here they go I 



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270 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Fill up, fill np — where'er, boy, 

Om" choice may fall, our choice may 

We're sure to find Love there, boy, [fall, 
So drink them all ! so drink them all! 



FORGET NOT THE FIELD. 

Forget not the field were they per- 

ish'd. 

The truest, the last of the brave, 

All gone — and the bright hope we cher- 

ish'd [grave ! 

Gone with them, and quench'd in their 

Oh ! could we from death but recover 
Those hearts as they bounded before, 

In the face of high heav'n to fight over 
That combat for freedom once more .• — 

Could the chain for an instant be riven 
Which Tyranny flung round us then, 

No, 'tis not in Man, nor in Heaven, 
To let Tyranny bind it again ! 

But 'tis past— and, tho' blazon'd in story 
The name of our Victor may be. 

Accursed is the march of that glory 
Which treads o'er the hearts of the free. 

Far dearer the grave or the prison, 
Illumed by one patriot name, 

Than the trophies of all, who have risen 
On Liberty's niins to fame. 



THEY MAT RAIL AT THIS LIFE. 



They may rail at this life- 
hour I be^an it, 



-from the 
[bliss ; 
I found it a life ftdl of kindness aud 
And, until they can show me some hap- 
pier planet, [me with this. 
More social aud bright, I'll content 
As long as the world has such lips and 
such eyes, [I see, 
As before me this moment enraptured 
They may say what they wiU of their 
orbs in the skies, 
But this earth is the planet for you, 
love, and me. 

In Mercury's star, where each moment 
can bring them 
New sunshine and wit from the foun- 
tain on high. 

Though the nymphs may have livelier 
poets to sing them,* 

* Tons les habitans de Mercure sont vifs. — 
Pluralite des Mondes, 



They've none, even there, more enam- 

or'd than I. 

And, as long as this harp can be waken'd 

to love, [shall be, 

And that eye its divine inspiration 

They may talk as they wiU of theu- Edens 

above, [love, a'^1 me. 

But this earth is the planet *5or you, 

In that star of the west, by whose shad- 
owy splendor, 
At twilight so often we've roam'd 
through the dew, 
There are maidens, perhaps, who have 
bosoms as tender, [as you.f 

And look, in their twilights, as lovely 
But tho' they were even more bright 
than the queen [blue sea. 

Of that isle they inhabit in heaven's 
As I never those fair young celestials 
have seen, [you, love, and me. 
Why— this earth is the planet for 

As for those chilly orbs on the verge of 

creation, [equally rare, 

Where sunshine and smiles must be 

Did they want a supply of cold hearts 

for that station, 

Heav'n knows we have plenty on earth 

we could spare. [of it here. 

Oh ! think what a world we should have 

If the haters of peace, of afiection, 

and glee, [sphere, 

Were to fly up to Saturn's comfortless 

And leave earth to such spirits as you, 

love, and me. 



OH FOR THE SWORDS OP 
FORMER TIME! 

Oh for the swords of former time ! 

Oh for the men who bore them, 
When arm'd for Right they stood sublime, 

And tyrants crouch'd before them • 
When free yet, ere courts began 

With honors to enslave him. 
The best honors worn by Man 

Were those which Yulue gave him. 
Oh for the swords, <fec., &g. 

Oh for the Kings who flourish'd then ! 

Oh for the pomp that crown'd them. 
When hearts and hands of freebom men 

Were all the ramparts round them. 
When, safe built on bosoms true, 

The throne was but the centre, 

1 La terre pourra Stre pour V(5nus I'etoile du 
berger et la m^re des amours, comme V6nns 
rest pour nous. — Pluralite des Mondes. 



.ay2*"'«"""""'"""™"l'"'"""l''"''"""""'""'"''"'''""'"''"'"'^ lllllllllHlllillHIllllll!'! 




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IRISH MELODIES. 



•271 



Round which Love a circle drew, 
That Treason durst not enter. 

Oh for the Kings who flourish'd then ! 
Oh for the pomp that crown'd them, 

When hearts and hands of freeborn mer 
"Were all the ramparts round them ! 



ST. SEN'ANUS AND THE LADY. 

ST. SENANUS.* 

" Oh ! haste and leave this sacred isle, 
"Unholy bark, ere morning smile ; 
"For on thy deck, though dark it be, 

"A female form I see ; 
"And I have sworn this sainted sod 
" Shall ne'er by woman's feet be trod." 

THE LADY. 

" Oh ! Father, send not hence my bark, 
■'Thi-ough wintry winds and billows 

dark. 
■' I come with humble heart to share 

" Thy morn and evening prayer ; 
"Nor mine the feet, oh! holy Saint, 
" The biightness of thy sod to taint." 

The Lady's prayer Senanus spum'd ; 
The winds blew fresh, the bark retum'd ; 
But legends hint, that had the maid 

Till morning's light delay'd, 
A.nd giv'n the saint one rosy smile, 
She ne'er had left his lonely isle. 



NE'ER ASK THE HOUR. 

Ne'er ask the hour— what is it to us 
How Time deals out his treasures ? 

""he golden moments lent us thus, 
Are not his coin, but Pleasure's. 

If counting them o'er could add to their 



I'd number each glorious second : 
But moments of joy are, like Lesbia's 
kisses. 

Too quick and sweet to be reckon'd. 
Then fill the cup— what is it to us 

How Time his circle measures ? 

*In a metrical life of St. Senanus, which is 
taken from an old Kilkenny MS., and may be 
found among the Acta Sanctorum Hibernice, 
•we are told of his flight to the island of Scat- 
tery, and his resolution not to admit any woman 
of the party ; and that he refused to receive 
even a sister siunt, St. Cannera, whom an 
angel liau taken to the island for the express 
purpose- of introducing her to him. The follow- 
ing was the ungracious answer of Senanus, ac- 
cording to his poetical biographer : 



The fairy hours we call up thus, 
Obey no wand, but Pleasui-e's. 

Young Joy ne'er thought of counting 
hours. 

Till Care, one Summer's morning, 
Set up, among his smiling flowers, 

A dial, by way of warning. 
But Joy loved better to gaze on the sun. 

As long as its light was glowing, 
Thau to watch with old Care how tha 
shadow stole on. 

And how fast that light was going. 
So fill the cup— what is it to us 

How Time his circle measures ? 
The fairy hours we call up thus, 

Obey no wand, but Pleasure's. 



SAIL ON, SAIL ON. 

Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark— 
Wherever blows the welcome wind. 

It cannot lead to scenes more dark, 
More sad than those we leave behind. 

Each wave that passes seems to say, 
" Though death beneath our smile may 
be, 
" Less cold we are, less false than they, 
"Whose smiling wreck'd thy hopea 
and thee." 

Sail on,sail on, — through endless space^ 

Through cakn— through tempest— 
stop no more. 
The stormiest sea's a resting-place 

Tohimwholeavessuchheartsonshore. 
Or — if some desert land we meet, 

"Where never yet false-hearted men 
Profaned a world, that else were sweet, — 

Then rest thee, baxk, but not till then. 



THE PARALLEL. 

Yes, sad one of Sion,t if closely resem- 
bling, [up heart- 
In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd- 

Ciii Prcesul, quidfceminis _ 
Commune est cum monachis f 
Nee te nee uUam aliam 
Admittemusin insulam. 
See the Acta Sanet. Eih., page filO. 
According to Dr. Ledwich, St. Senanus was 
no less a personage than the river Shannon; 
but O'Connor and other antiquarians deny the 
metamorphose indignantly. 

1 These verses were written after the peru- 
sal of a treatise by Mr. Hamilton, professing to 
prove that the Irish were originally Jews. 



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272 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



If drinking deep, deep, of the same "cnp 

of trembling/' [thou art. 

Could make us thy children, our parent 

Like thee doth our nation lie conquer'd 

and broken, [royal crown ; 

And i'aU'n from her head is the once 

In her streets, m her halls. Desolation 

hath spoken, [hath gone down.''" 

And "while it is day yet, her sun 

Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of 

retm-niug, [behold ; 

Die far from the home it were life to 

Like thine do her sons, in the day of their 

mourning, [them of old. 

Rememberthebrightthingsthatbless'd 

Ah, well may we call her, like thee, 

" the Forsaken/'t [est are slaves; 

Her boldest are vanquish' d, her proud- 

And the harps of her minstrels, when 

gayest they waken, 

Have tones 'mid their mirth like the 

wind over graves ! 

Yethadst thou thy vengeance— yetcame 

there the morrow, [dark night, 

That shines out, at last, on the longest 

When the sceptre, that smote thee with 

slavery and sorrow, [thy sight. 

'Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in 

When that cup, which for others the 

proud Golden Cityt 

Had brimm'd full of bitterness, 

drench'd her own lips ; 

And the world she had trampled onheard, 

without pity, [her ships. 

The howl in her halls, and the ciy from 

When the curse Heaven keeps for_ the 

haughty came over [unjust, 

Her merchants rapacious, her ralers 

And, a ruin, at last, for the earthworm 

to cover, § [dust. 

The Lady of Kingdoms!] lay low in the 



DRINK OF THIS CTJP. 

Drink of this cup; you'll find there's a 

spell in _ [tality ; 

Its every drop 'gainst the iUs of mor- 

* "Her sun is gone down while it waa yet 
day." — Jcr., xv. 9. 

f " Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken." 
—Isaiah, Isii. 4. 

t " How hath the oppressor ceased. ! the gold- 
en city ceased !" — Isaiah, sir. 4. 



Talk of the cordial that sparkled lor 
Helen ! [ality. 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is re- 
Would you forget the dark world we arc 
in, [the top of it: 

Just taste of the bubble that gleams on 
But would you rise above earth, till akin 
To Immortals themselves, you must 
drain every drop of it ; [spell ir 
Send round the cup— for oh, there's a 
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mor- 
tality ; [Helen ! 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled foi 
Her cup was a fiction, but this is re- 
ality. 
N'ever was philterform'd with such power 
To charm and bewilder as this we are 
quailing ; [hour. 
Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich 
A harvest of gold in the fields it stood 
laughing, [been fiU'd 
There having, by Nature's enchantment, 
With the balm and the bloom of her 
kindliest weather, [distill'd 
This wonderful juice from its core was 
To enliven such hearts as are here 
brought together. [a spell in 
Then diinkof the cup— you'll find there's 
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mor- 
tahty ; [Helen ! 
Talk of the cordial that sparlded for 
Her cup was a fiction, but this is re- 
ality. 
And though, perhaps — but breathe it to 
no one — [so awful, 
Like liquor the "witch brews at midnigh*- 
This philter in secret was first taught to 
flow on, [lawful. 
Tet 'tis n't less potent for being un- 
Aud, ev'n though it taste of the smoke 
of that flame, [forbidden - 
Which in sileu'^e extracted its virtue 
Fill up— there's a fire in some hearts I 
could name, 
Which may work too its charm, 
though as lawless and hidden, [in 
So drink of the cup— for oh there's a spell 
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mor- 
tality; [Helen! 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for 
Hercup was afiction,butthisisreality. 

§ " Thy pomp is brought down to the grave 
and the worms cover thee."— Isaiah, 



II " Tliou shalt no more be called the Lady of 
Kingdoms."— JsaiaA, xlvii. 5. 



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IRISH MELODIES. 



273 



THE Fortune-teller. 

Down in the valley come meet me to- 
night, 
And I'll teU you your fortune truly 
As ever was told, by the new moon's 
light, 
To a young maiden, shining as newly. 

But, for the world, let no one be nigh. 
Lest haply the stars should deceive 
me; 
Such secrets between you and me and 
the sky 
Should never go farther, believe me. 

If at that hour the heav'ns be not dim, 
My science shall call up before you 

A male apparition, — the image of him 
Whose destiny 'tis to adore you. 

And if to that phantom you'll be kind. 
So fondly around you "he'll hover. 

You'll hardly, my dear, any difference 
find 
'Twixt him and a true living lover. 

Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight, 
He'U kneel, with a warmth of devo- 
tion— [sprite 

An ardor, of which such an innocent 
You'd scarcely believe had a notion. 

What other thoughts and events may 

arise, [them, 

As in destiny's book I've not seen 

Must only be left to the stars and your 

eyes 

To settle, ere morning, between them. 



OH, YE DEAD! 

On, ye Dead ! oh, ye Dead !* whom we 

know by the light you give 
From your cold gleaming eyes, though 
you move like men who live, 
Why leave you thus your graves 
In far-off fields and waves, 

* Paul Zealand mentions that there is a moun. 
tain in some part of Ireland, where the ghosts 
of persons who have died in foreign lands walk 
about and converse with those they meet, lilje 
living people. If asked why they donot return 
to their homes, they say they are oblifred to go 
to IMount Hecla, and disappear immediately. 

) I'lie particulars of the tradition respecting 
O'DiiiiDhne and his White Horse, may be found 
m Mr. Weld's Account of Killarney, or more 
liilly dotailea in Derrick's Letters. For many 
years after his death, the spirit of this hero is 

''.iposed to have been seen on the morning of 
May day, gliding over the lake on his favorite 



Where the worm and the sea-bird only 
know your bed. 

To haunt this spot where all 
Those eyes that wept your fall, 
And the hearts that wail'd you, hko 

yom- own, lie dead? 
It is true, it is true, we are shadows 

cold and wan ; 
And the fair and the brave whom wo 
loved on earth are gone ; 
But still thus ev'n in death, 
So sweet the living breath 
Of the fields and the flow'rs in om- youth 
we wander'd o'er. 

That ere, condemn'd, we go 
To freeze 'mid Hecla's snow. 
We would taste it awhile, and think we 
live once more ! 



O'DOI^OHUE'S MISTRESS. 

Of all the fair months, that round the sun 
In light-liuk'd dance their circles run, 

Sweet May, shine thou for me ; 
For still, when thy earliest beams arise, 
Thatyouth who beneath the bluelake Lies, 

Sweet May, returns to me. 

Of all the bright haunts, where daylight 

leaves 
Its lingering smile on golden eves, 

Fair Lake, thou'rt dearest to me ; 
For when the last April sun grows dim, 
Thy Naiads prepare his steedf for him 

Who dwells, bright Lake, iu thee. 
Of all the proud steeds, that ever bore 
Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore, 

White Steed, most joy to thee ; 
Who still, with the fii'st young glance of 

spring, 
From under that glorious lake dost bring 

My love, my chief, to me. 

While, white as the sail some bark xm- 

furls, [curls, 

When newly launch'd, thy long mauei 

white horse, to the sound of sweet nuearthly 
music, and preceded by groups of youtlis .-ind 
maidens, who flung Avreatlis of delicate spring 
flowers in liis path. 

Among other stories, connected with tliis 
Legend of the Lakes, it is said that there was a 
young and beautiful girl whose imaginatioi/ 
was so impressed with the idea of this vision 
ary chieftain, that she fancied herself in lov7 
with him, .and at last, in a fit of insanity, on i 
May morning threw herself into the lake. 

; The boatmen at Killarney call those waves 
wliicli come on a windy day, crested with toam 
" O'Uonohue's white horses." 



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274 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



Fair Steed, as white and free ; 
And spirits, from all the lake's deep 
bowers, [ers, 

Glide o'er the blue wave scattering fiow- 

Aroimd my love and thee. 
Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die. 
Whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie. 

Most sweet that death will be, [light, 
Which, imder the next May evening's 
When tbou a^id thy steed are lost to 

Dear love, I'll die for thee. [sight, 



ECHO. 



How sweet the answer Echo makes 

To music at night. 
When, roused bj' lute or horn, she wakes, 
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes, 

Goes answering hght. 

Tet Love hath echoes truer far, 

And i'ar more sweet, 
Thau e'er beneath the moonlight's star. 
Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar. 

The songs repeat. 

Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere. 

And only then, — 
The sigh that's breathed for one to hear, 
Is by that one, that only dear. 

Breathed back again ! 



OH BANQUET NOT. 

Oh banquet aot in those shining bowers, 

Where Youth resorts, but come to me : 
For mine's a garden of faded flowerS; 

More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee. 
And there we shall have our feasts of 
tears. 

And many a cup in silence pour ; 
Our guests, the shades of former years. 

Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more. 

There, while the myrtle's withering 
boughs 

Their lifeless leaves around us shed, 
We'll brim the bowl to broken vows. 

To friends long lost, the changed, the 
dead. 
Or, while some blighted laurel waves 

Its branches o'er the dreary spot. 
We'll drink to those neglected graves. 

Where valor sleeps, uuuamed, forgot. 



THEE, THEE, ONLT" THEE. 
The dawning of mom, the daylight's 
sinking, [thinking 

The night's long hoxirs stiU find me 

Of thee, thee, only thee. 
When friends are met, and goblets 
crown'd, [enchanted. 

And smiles are near, that once 
Unreach'd by all that sunshine round, 
My soul like some dark spot is haunted 
By thee, thee, only thee. 

Whatever in fame's high path could 

My spirit once, is now forsakeu [waken 

For thee, thee, only thee, [bark 

Like shores, by which some headlong 

To th' ocean hurries, resting never. 
Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark, 
I know not, heed not, hastening ever 
To thee, thee, only thee. 

I have not a joy but of thy bringing. 

And pam itself seems sweet wheu spring- 

From thee, thee, only thee, [iug 

Like spells, that naught on earth can 

break, [spoken. 

Till lips, that know the charm, ha-\ e 

This heart, howe'er the world may wake 

Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken 

By thee, thee, only thee. 



SHALL THE HARP, THEN", BE 
SILENT. 

Shall the Haip, then, be silent, when 

he who first gave [ from all eyes ? 

To our country a name, is withdrawn 

Shall a Minstrel of Erin stand mute by 

the grave, [her Patriots lies ? 

Where the first— where the last of 

No— faint tho' the death-song may fall 
from his lips, 
Tho' his Harp, like his soul, may with 
shadows be cross'd, 
Tet, yet shall it sound, 'mid a nation's 
eclipse, 
And proclaim to the world what a 
star hath been lost ;— * 

What a union of aU the affections and 
powers [refined, 

By which life is exalted, embcUish'd, 
Was embraced in that sphit — whose cen- 
tre was ours, [cled mankind 
While its mighty circumference cir- 

■ These linos were written on the death of is only the t-n-o first verses that are; either in 
our great patriot. Grattan, in the year 18120. It tended or fitted to be sung. 



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IRISH MELODIES. 



275 



Oh, who that loves Erin, or who that can 
see, [epoch sublime- 

Through the waste of her aunals, that 
Like a pyramid raised in the desert — 
where ]ie [of all time ; 

And his glory stand out to the eyes 

That one lucid interval, snatch'd from 

the gloom [with his soul. 

And the madness of ages, when fill'd 

A. jSTation o'erleap'd the dark bounds of 

her doom, [Liberty's goal 1 

And for one sacred instant, touch'd 

Who, that ever hath heard him— hath 

dnmk at the som-ce [own, 

Of that wonderful eloquence, all Erin's 

In whose high-thoughted dariug, the 

lire, and the force. 

And the yet untamed spring of her 

spirit are shown ? 

An eloquence rich, wheresoever its wave 
R^auder'd free aud triumphant, with 
thoughts that shone through. 
As clear as the brook's " stone of lus- 
tre," and gave, [too. 
"With the flash of the gem, its solidity 

WT)o, that ever approach'd him, when 
free from the crowd. 
In a home fuU of love, he delighted to 
tread 
'ilong the trees which a nation had 
given, aud which bowVl, 
As if each brought a new civic crown 
for his head- 
Is there one, who hath thus, through his 
orbit of life 
But at distance observed him — 
through glory, through blame, 
In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur 
of strife, 
"Whether shining or clouded, stdl high 
and the same, — 

Oh no, not a heart, that e'er knew him, 

but mourns 

Deep, deep o'er the grave, where such 

glory is shriued — 

O'er a monument Fame will preserve, 

'mong the urns [mankind ! 

Of the wisest, the bravest, the best of 

OH, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING. 
Oh, the sight entrancing, 
"When morning's beam is glancing 
O'er files array'd 



"With helm and blade, 
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing I 
"When hearts are all high beating, 
And the trumpet's voice repeating 

That song, whose breath 

May lead to death, 
But never te retreating. 
Oh the sight entrancing, 
"When morning's beam is glancing 

O'er files array'd 

"With helm and blade, 
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing i 

Tet, 'tis not helm or feather — 
For ask yon despot, whether 

His plumed bands 

Could bring such hands^ 
And hearts as ours togethd^ 
Leave pomps to those who need 'em- 
Give man but heart and freedom. 

And proud he braves 

The gaudiest slaves 
That crawl where monarchslead 'em 
The sword may pierce the beaver, 
Stone walls in' time may sever, 

'Tis mind alone, 

"Worth steel and stone, 
That keeps men free forever. 
Oh that sight entrancing, 
"When the morning's beam is glancing 

O'er files array'd 

"With helm and blade. 
And in Freedom's cause advancing I 

SWEET INNISFALLEN. 
Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well. 

May calm and sunshine long be thine! 
How fair thou art let others teU,— 

To feel how fair shall long be mine. 
Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell 

In memory's dream that sunny smUe, 
"Which o'er thee on that evening fell, 

"When first I saw thy fairy isle. 

'Twas light, indeed, too blest for one, 
"Who had to turn to paths of care — 

Through crowded haunts again to run, 
And leave thee bright and silent there; 

No more unto thy shores to come, 
But, on the world's rude ocean toss'd 

Dream of thee sometimes, as a home 
Of sunshine he had seen and lost. 

Far better in thy weepmg hours 
To part from thee as I do now, 

When mist is o'er thy blooming bowers 
Like son-ow's veil on beauty's brow. 




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276 



MOORE'S 170EKS. 



For, though tinrivali'd still thy grace, 
Thou dost not look, as then, too blest, 

But thus in shadow seem'st a x^lace 
"Where erring man might hope to rest — 

Might hope to rest, and find in thee 
A gloom liiie Eden's on the day 

He left its shade, when every tree, 
Lilie thine, hung weeping o'er his 
way — 

"Weeping or smiling, lovely isle ! 

And all the lovelier for thy tears— 
For though but rare thy sunny smile, 

'Tis heav'n's own glance when it 
appears. 

Like feey^ hearts, whose joys are few, 
But, wWu in deed they come, divine— 

The brightest light the sun e'er threw 
Is lifeless to one gleam of thine I 

TWAS ON-E OP THOSE DREAMS.* 

'TwAS one of those dreams, that by 

music are brought. 
Like a bright summer haze, o'er the 

poet's warm thought — 
When, lost in the future, his soul 

wanders on, [gone 

And all of this Hfe, but its sweetness, is 

The wUd notes he heard o'er the water 
were those [bondage and woes, 

Ee had taught to sing Erin's dark 

And the breath of the bugle now wafted 
them o'er [shore. 

From Dinis' green isle to Gleuk's wooded 

He listen'd— while, high o'er the eagle's 
rude nest, [to rest ; 

The lingering sounds on their way loved 

And the echoes sung back from their 
full mountain choir, [expire. 

As if loath to let song so enchanting 

It seem'd as if ev'ry sweet note, that died 
here, [au'ier sphere, 

"Was again brought to life in some 

Some heav'n in those hills, where the 
soul of the strain [iug again. 

That had ceased upon earth was awak- 

*"Writteu during a visit to Lord Kenmare, at 
Killaniey. 

t In describing tlie Slieligs, (islands of the 
Barony of Forth, ) Dr. Keating says, "There is 
a certain attractive virtue in the soil which 
draws down all the birds that attempt to fly 
over it, and obliges them to light upon the 
roek." 



Oh forgive, if, while list'ning to music, 
whose breath [against death, 

Seem'd to circle his name with a charm 

He should feel a proud Spirit within him 
proclaim, [of Fame : 

" Even so shalt thou live in the echoes 

" Even so, tho' thy mem'iy should now 
die away, [pier day, 

" 'Twill be caught up again in some hap- 

"And the hearts and the voices of Erin 
prolong, 

"Through the answering Future, thy 
name and thy song." 



FAIREST! PUT OM" A"WHILE. 

Fairest! put on awhile 

These pinions of light I bring thee. 
And o'er thy own Green Isle 

In fancy let me wing thee. 
Never did Ariel's plume, 

At golden sunset hover 
O'er scenes so full of bloom. 

As I shall waft thee over. 

Fields, where the Spring delays. 

And fearlessly meets the ardor 
Of the warm Summer's gaze, 

"With only her tears to guard her. 
Rocks, through myrtle boughs 

In grace majestic frowning ; 
Like some bold warrior's brows 

That Love hath just been crowning. 

Islets, so freshly fair, 

That never hath bird come nigh them, 
But from his course through air 

He hath been won down by them ;— 1 
Types, sweet maid, of thee. 

Whose look, whose blush iuviting, 
N'ever did Love yet see 

From Heav'n, without alighting. 

Lakes, where the pearl lies hid,t 

And caves, where the gem is i ' 
Bright as the tears thy lid 

Lets fall in lonely weeping. 
Glens,t where Ocean comes, 

To 'scape the wild wind's rancor. 
And Harbors, worthiest homes, 

"Where Freedom^s fleet can anchor. 

; "Nennius, a British writer of the ninth ceii 
tury, mentions the abundance of pearls m Ire 
land. Ttieir princes, he says, hung them b& 
nind their ears; and this we find confirmed by 
a present made A. C. 1U94, by Gilbert, Bishop 
of Limerick, to Ansclm, Arclibishop of Cantor- 
bury, of a considerable quantity of Irish 
pea'rls. ' '—O'Halloran. ^ Glengarili^ 



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IRISH MELODIES. 



277 



Then, if, while scenes so grand, 

So beautiful, shine before thee, 
Pride for thy own dear laud 

Should haply be stealing o'er thee, 
Oh, let grief come first. 

O'er pride itself victorious — 
Thinking how man hath cursed 

What Heaven had made so glorious 1 



QUICK! WE HA YE BUT A SECOND. 

Quick ! we have but a second, 

FiU round the cup, whUe you may; 
For Time, the chiurl, hath beckon'd, 

And we must away, away ! 
Grasp the pleasure that's iiying, 

For oh, not Oqjheus' strain 
Could keep sweet hours from dying, 
Or cha,rm them to life again. 
Then, quick ! we have but a second, 
Fill round the cup, while you 
may; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd. 
And we must away, away 1 

See the glass, how it flushes, 

Like some young Hebe's lip, 
And half meets thme, and blushes 
That thou shouldst delay to sip. 
Shame, oh shame upon thee, 
If ever thou seest that day, 
"When a cup or lip shall woo thee, 
And turn untouch'd away ! 

Then, quick ! we have but a second. 
Fill round, fill round, while you 
may; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, 
And we must away, away ! 



AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE 
THIS. 

And doth not a meeting like this make 
amends, [d'ring away — 

For all the long years I've been wan- 
To see thus around me my youth's early 
friends [day '? 

As smiling and kind as in that happy 

* Jours charmans, quand je songe a, vos heur' 
euxiustans, 

Je peuse remonter le fleuve de mes ans; 

Et mon cosur, enchante sur sa rive fleurie, 

Kespire encore I'air pur du matiu de la vio. 

t The same thought has been happily ex- 
pressed by my friend Mr. "Washington Irving, 
m his Bracebridije Hall, vol. i. p. 213.— The sin- 
cere pleasure wiiich I feel iu calling this gen- 



Though haply o'ar some of your brows, 
as o'er mine, [ing — what theni 
The snow-fall of time may be steal- 
Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by 
wine, [again. 

We'll wear the gay tinge of youth' s roses 

What soften'd remembrances come o'er 

the heart, [long ! 

In gazing on those we've been lost to so 

The sorrows, the joys, of which once 

they were part, [terday, throng, 

Stni round them, like visions of yes- 

As letters some hand hath invisibly 

traced, [on the sight. 

When held to the flame will steal out 

So many a feeling, that long seem'd 

effaced, [brings to light. 

The warmth of a moment like this 

And thus, as in memory's bark, we shall 
glide. 
To visit the scenesofoiu: boyhood anew. 
Though oft we may see, looking down 
on the tide, [ing through ; 

The wreck of full many a hope shin- 
Yet still, as in fancy we point to the 
flowers, [gay shore. 

That once made a garden of all the 
Deceived for a moment, we'll think them 
still ours, [ing once more.* 

And breathe the fresh air of life's morn- 

So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the 

most, [dear ; 

Is all we can have of the few we hold 

And oft even joy is unheeded and lost. 

For want of some heart, that could 

echo it, near. 

Ah, well may we hope, when this short 

life is gone, [manent bliss, 

To meet in some world of more per- 

For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, 

hast'ning on, 

Is all we enjoy of each other in this.t 

But, come, the more rare such delights 

to the heart, [them the more ; 

The more we should welcome and bless 

tleman my friend, is much enhanced by the re- 
flection that he is too good an American, to 
have .'idmitted me so readilv to such a distinc- 
tion, if he had not known that my feelings to- 
wards the great and free country that gave him 
birth, have been long such as every real lover 
of the liberty and happiness of the human race 
must entertain. 




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278 



MOOEE'S "WORKS. 



They're ours, when we meet, — they are 

lost when we part, [when 'tis o'er. 

Like bii'ds that bring summer, and fly 

Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere 

we drink, [sure, thro' pain, 

^Let Sympathy pledge us, thro' plea- 

'fliat, fast as a feeling but touches one 

link, [the chain. 

Her magic shall send it direct thro' 



THE MOUNTAIIf SPRITE. 

fN yonder valley there dwelt, alone, 
A youth, whose moments had calmly 

flown, [night, 

Till spells came o'er him, and, day and 
He was haunted and watch'd by a 

Mountain Sprite. 

As once, by moonlight, he wander'd o'er 
The golden sands of that island shore, 
A foot-print sparkled before his sight — 
'Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain 
Sprite ! 

Beside a fountain, one sunny day, 
As bending over the stream he lay, 
There peep'd down o'er him two eyes of 
light, [tain Sprite. 

And he saw in that minror the Moun- 

He tum'd, but lo, like a startled bird, 
That spirit fled ! — and the youth but 

heard 
Sweet music, rsuch as marks the flight 
Of some bird of song, from the Moun- 
tain Sprite. 

One night, still haunted by that bright 

look, 
The boy, bewUder'd, his pencil took, 
And, guided only by memory's light, 
Drew the once-seen form of the Moun- 
tain Sprite 

" Oh thou, who lovest the shadow," 

cried 
A voice, low whisp'ring by his side, 
' ISTow tm-n and see,"— here the youth's 

dehght [Sprite. 

Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain 

♦"Thomas, the heir of the Desmond family, 
had accidentally been so engaged m the chase, 
that he was benighted near Tralee, and obliged 
tc take shelter at the Abbey of Feal. in "the 
house of one of his dependents, called JIac 
Cormac. Catherine, a beautiful daughter of his 



" Of all the Spirits of land and sea," 
Then rapt he mm-mur'd, "there's none 

like thee, [light 

"And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus 
" In this lonely bower, sweet Mountair 

Sprite ! " 

AS VANQUISH'D ERIN. 
As vanqui.sh'd Erin wept beside 

The Boyne's ill-fated river, 
She saw where Discord, in the tidf , 

Had dropp'd his loaded quiver. 
" Lie hid," she cried, " ye venom'd darts, 

" Where mortal eye may shun you ; 
" Lie hid— the stain of manly hearts, 

" That bled for me, is on you." 
But vain her wish, her weeping vain, — 

As Time too well hath taught her — 
Each year the Fiend returns again, 

And dives into that water; 
And brings, triimaphant, from beneath 

His shafts of desolation, [death. 

And sends them, wing'd with worse than 

Through all her madd'ning nation. 
Alas for her who sits and mourns, 

Ev'n now, beside that river — 
Unwearied still the Fiend returns, 

And stored is still his quiver. [Good ?" 
" When wUl this end, ye Powers of 

She weeping asks forever ; 
But only hears, from out that flood, 

The Demon answer, "Never!" 



DESMOND'S SONG.' 
By the Feal's wave benighted, 

No star in the skies. 
To thy door by Love lighted, 

I first saw those eyes. 
Some voice whisper'd o'er me, 

As the threshold I cross'd, 
There was min before me. 

If I loved, I was lost. 
Love came, and brought sorrow 

Too soon in his train ; 
Yet so sweet, that to-morrow 

'Twero welcome again. 
Though misery's full measure 

My portion should be, 
I would drain it with pleasure, 

If ponr'd out by thee. 

host, instantly inspired the Earl with a violent 
passion, which he could not sulidue. He raai- 
ried her, and by this inferior alliance alienated 
his followers, whose brutal pride regarded thia 
indulgence of his love as an unpardonable deg- 
radation of his family." — Leland. toI. ii. 



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lEISH MELODIES. 



•279 



Tou, who call it dishonor 

To bow to this flame, 
If you've eyes, look but on her, 

And blush while you blame- 
Hath the pearl less whiteness 

Because of its bu-th '? 
Hath the violet less brightness 

For gi-owing near earth ? 

Ifo— Man for his glory 

To ancestry flies ; 
But Woman's bright story 

Is told in her eyes. 
"While the Monarch but traces 

Through mortals his line, 
Beauty, bora of the Graces, 

Banks next to Divine ! 



THEY KN"OW NOT MT HEART. 

't'HET know not my heart, who believe 

there can be [for thee ; 

One stain of this earth in its feeUngs 
Who think, while I see thee in beauty's 

young hour, 
As pure as the mornmg's first dew on 

th3 flow'r, 
I could harm what I love, as the sun's 

wanton ray [away. 

But smiles on the dew-drop to waste it 

No — beaming with light as those young 
features are, [lovelier far : 

there's a light round thy heart which is 
It is not that cheek — 'tis the soiil du\vn- 
ing clear [ty so dear ; 

Thro' its innocent blush makes thy beau- 
As the sky we look up to, though glori- 
ous and fair, [lies there ! 
Islook'dup to the more, because Heaven 



I -WISH I 



"WAS BY 
LAKE, 



THAT DIM 



I WISH I was by that dim Lake,* 
"Where sinful souls their farewell take 

* riioso verses are meant to allude to that 
ancient liauut of superstition, called Patrick's 
Purgatory. " In the midst of these ploomy re- 
gions of Donegall (says Dr. Campbell) la}' a 
lake, wliich was to become the mystic theatre 
of this fabled and intermediate state. In the 
lake were several islands; but one of them was 
dignified with that called the Mouth of Purga- 
tory, which, during tlie dark ages, attracted 
the notice of all Christendom, and was the re- 
sort ot penitents and pilgrims from almost 
every country in Europe.^' 



Of this vain world, and half-way lie 
In death's cold shadow, ere they die. 
There, there, far from thee. 
Deceitful world, my home should be ; 
Where, come what might of gloom and 

pain, 
False hope should ne'er deceive again. 

The lifeless sky, the mournful sound 

Of unseen waters falling round; 

The dry leaves quiv'ring o'er my head. 

Like man, unquiet ev'n when dead ! 

These, ay, these shaU wean 

My soul from life's deluding scene, 

And tm-n each though!., o'ercharged with 

gloom. 
Like willows, downward tow'rds the 

tomb. 

As they, who to tlieir couch at night 
Would win repose, first quench the fight, 
So must the hopes, that keep this breast 
Awake, be quench'd, ere it can rest. 
Cold, cold, this heart must gi-ow. 
Unmoved by either joy or wo, 
Like freezing founts, where all that'? 

thrown 
"Within their current turns to stone. 



SHE SUNG OF LOVE. 

She sung of Love, while o'er her lyre 
The rosy rays of evening fell, 

As if to feed, with their soft fire. 

The soul within that treml^ling shell. 

The same rich light hung o'er her cheek, 
And play'd around those lips that sung 
poke, as flowers would sing and 



And ^ 

speak. 
If Love could 



[tongue. 
lend their leaves a 



But soon the "West no longer burn'd. 
Each rosy ray fi"om heav'n withdrew; 

And, when to gaze again I turu'd, 
Th3 minstrel's fonn seem'd fading too 

As if her fight and heav'n's were one. 
The glory all had left that frame ; 

*'Tt was," as tne same writer tells us, "ono 
of the most dismal and dreary spots in the 
North, almost inaccessible, through deep glena 
and rugged mountains, frightful with impend- 
ing rocks, and the hollow murmurs of the west- 
ern vvinds in dark caverns, peopitd only with 
such fantastic beings as the mind, Lowevel 
gay, is, from strange association, wont to ap- 
propriate to such gloomy scenes." — Stricture* 
on the Hcclesiastical and Literary History ot 
Ireland, 



280 



MOOKE'S WOEKS. 



And from her glimmering lips the tone. 
As from a parting spirit, came.* 

Who ever loved, but had the thought 

That he and all he loved must part ? 
Fill'd with this fear, I ilew and caught 

The lading image to my heart — 
And cried, " Oh, Love ! is this thy 
doom? [day! 

" OK, light of youth's resplendent 
■■'' Must ye then lose your golden bloom, 

" And thus, like snnshuie, die away?" 

SING— SING— MUSIC WAS GIYEK 

Sing— sing— Music was given, 

To brighten the gay, and kindle the 
loving ; 
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, 
By harmony's laws alone are kept 
moving. [cheeks, 

Beauty may boast of her eyes and her 
But Love from the lips his true arch- 
ery wings ; [when she speaks, 
And she who but feathers the dart 
At once sends it home to the heart 
when she sings. 
Then sing — sing — Music was given. 
To brighten the gay, and kindle 
the loving; 
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, 
By harmony's laws alone are kept 
moving. 

WTien Love, rock'd by his mother. 
Lay sleeping as calm as slumber could 
make him, 
" Hush, hush," said Venus, " no other 
" Sweet voice but his own is worthy 
to wake him." [whUe 

Dreaming of music he slumber'd the 
Till faint from his lips a soft melody 
broke, [a smile, 

And Venus, enchanted, look'd on with 
Wliile Love to his own sweet singing 
awoke. 
Then sing — sing — music was given, 
To brighten the gay, and kindle 
the loving ; 
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, 
By harmony's laws alone are kept 
moving. 
• Tlie thought here was Buggested liv some 
beautiful lines ia Mr. Kogers'spoemofi/it»ian 
Life, begin uing— 

"Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows 
Less and less earthly." 
I would quote the entire passage, did I not 
fear to put my owa humble imitation of it out 
of coiuttenauce. 



THOUGH HUMBLE THE BAN- 

QUET. 
Though humble the banquet to whiclj 
I invite thee, [can command: 
Thou' It find there the best a poor bard 
Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall 
throng round, to light thee. 
And Love sei-ve the feast with Ms own 
wilhng hand. 

And though Fortune may seem to have 

turn'd from the dwelliug 

Of him thouregardest her favoiingray, 

Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treas 

ures excelliug, [his way . 

"Wldch, proudly he feels, hath ennobled 

'Tis that freedom of mind, which no vul- 

gar dominion [science approves; 

Can turn from the path a pm-e con- 

"WTiich, with hope in the heart, and no 

chain on the pinion. 

Holds upwards its course to the light 

which it loves. 

'Tis this makes the pride of his humlde 

retreat, [treasures bereaved, 

And, with this, though of aU other 

The breeze of his garden to him is more 

sweet [e'er received. 

Than the costliest incense that Pomp 

Then come,— if aboard so imtempting 

hath power [shall be thine ; 

To win thee from gi-andeur, its best 

And there's one, long the light of the 

bard's happy bower, 

"WTio, smiling, will blend her bright 

welcome with mine. 



SmG, SWEET HARP. 
Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me 

Some song of ancient days, 
Whose sounds, in this sad memory, 

Long buried di'eams shall raise ; — 
Some lay that tells of vanish'd fame, 

Whose light once round us shone ; 
Of noble pride, now tmn'd to shame, 

And hopes forever gone. — 
Sing, sad Harp, thus sing to me ; 

Alik e our doom is cast, 
Both lost to all but memory, 

We live but in the past. 

How mournfully the midnight air 
Among thy chords doth sigh. 

As if it sought some echo there 
Ot voices long gone by ; — 



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lEISH MELODIES. 



281 



Of Chieftains, now forgot, who seem'd 

The foremost then in fame ; 
Of Bards who, once immortal deem'd, 

Now sleep without a name. — 
In vain, sad Harp, the midnight air 

Among thy chords doth sigh ; 
In vain it seeks an echo there 

Of voices long gone by. 

Couldst thou but call those spirits round, 

Who once, in bower and hall. 
Sat listening to thy magic sound, 

Xow mute and mould'riug all ; — 
But, no ; they would but wake to weep 

Their chikb-en's slavery ; 
Then leave them in their dreamless sleep, 

The dead, at least, are free ! — 
Hush, hush, sad Harp, that dreary tone, 

That knell of Freedom's day; 
Or, listening to its death-like moan, 

Let me, too, die away. 

SOI^G OF THE BATTLE EVE. 
Time— THE J^inth Centuey. 
To-morrow, comrade, we 
On the battle-plain must be. 

There to conquer, or both lie low ! 
The morning star is up,— 
But there's wine still in the cup, 

And we'll take another quaff, ere we 
go, boy, go ; 

"We'll take another quaff ere we go. 
Tis true, in manliest eyes 
A passing tear will rise, [lone ; 

TThen we think of the friends we leave 
But what can wailing do ? 
See, our goblet's weeping too ! 

With its tears we'U chase away our 
own, boy, our own ; [own. 

With its tears we'll chase away our 
But daylight's stealing on ; — 
The last that o'er us shone 

Saw our children around us play ; 
The next— ah ! where shall we 
And those rosy lu-chins be ? 

But— no matter — grasp thy sword and 
away, boy, away ; 

1^0 matter —grasp thy sword and away. 

Let those, who brook the chain 
Of Saxon or of Dane, 

Ignobly by their firesides stay; 
One sigh to home be given, 
One heartfelt prayer to heaven, 

Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, 
hurra! hurra! hurra! 

Then, fur Erin and her cause, hurra ! 



THE WANDEEING BARD. 

What life like that of the bard can be,- 
The waudeiing bard, who roams as free 
As the mountain lark that o'er him sings, 
And, like that lark, a music brings 
Within him, where'er he comes or 
A fount that forever flows ! [goes, — 
The world's to Mm like some play- 
ground, [round ; 
Where fairies dance their moonlight 
If dimm'd the turf where late they trod, 
The elves but seek some gi-eener sod ; 
So, when less bright his scene of glee, 
To another away flies he ! 

Oh, what would have been young Beau- 
ty's doom. 
Without a bard to fix her bloom ? 
They tell us, in the moon's bright round. 
Things lost in this dark world are found ; 
So charms, on earth long pass'd and 
In the poet's lay live on. [gone, 

Would ye have smiles that ne'er grow 

dim? 
You've only to give them all to him. 
Who, with but a touch of Fancy's wand, 
Can lend them life, this life beyond, 
And fix them high, in Poesy's sky, — 
Young stars that never die ! 

Then welcome the bard where'er ho 
comes, — [homes. 

For, though he hath countless airy 
To which his wing excursive roves, 
Yet still, from time to time, he loves 
To light upon earth and find such cheer 
As brightens our banquet here. 
No matter bow far, how fleet he flies. 
You've only to light up kind young eyes, 
Such signal-fires as hero are given, — 
And down he'll drop from Fancy's 

heaven, 
The minute such call to love or mirth 
Proclaims he's wanting on earth ! 



ALONE IN CROWDS TO WAN- 
DER ON. 

Alone in crowds to wander on, 
AnJ feel that all the charm is gone 
Which voices dear and eyes beloved 
Shed round us once, where'er we roved— 
This, this the doom must be 
Of all who've loved, and hved to see 
The few bright things they thought 

would stay 
Forever near them, die away. 



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MOORE'S WORKS. 



Tho' fairer forms around us throng, 
Their smiles to others all belong, 
And want that charm which dwells alone 
Round those the fond heart calls its own. 
"Where, where the sunny brow ? [now ? 
The long-known voice— where are they 
Thus ask I still, nor ask in vain. 
The silence answers all too plain. 

Oh, what is Fancy's magic worth, 
if all her art cannot call forth 
One bliss like those we felt of old 
From lips now mute, and eyes now 
No, no, — her spell is vain, — [cold? 
As soon could she bring back again 
Those eyes themselves from out the 

grave. 
As walEe again one bliss they gave. 

I'VE A SECRET TO TELL THEE. 

I've a secret to tell thee, but hush ! not 

here, — [keeps: 

Oh! not where the world its vigil 

I'D. seek, to whisper it in thine ear, 

Some shore where the Spirit of Silence 

sleeps ; [dies. 

Where summer's wave unmurm'ring 

]S"^or fay can hear the fountain's gush ; 

Where, if but a note her night-bird sighs, 

The rose saith, chidingly, "Hush, 

sweet, hush !" 

There, amid the deep silence of that hour, 

When stars can be heard in ocean dip, 
Thyself shall, under some rosy bower, 

Sit mute with thy finger on thy lip : 
Like him, the boy,* who born among 

The flowers that on the Nile-stream 
Sits ever thus,— his only song [blush. 

To earth and heaven, " Hush, all, 
hush !" 



SONG OF INNISFAIL. 
They came from a land beyond the sea. 

And now o'er the western main 
Set sail, in their good ships, gallantly, 

From the sunny land of Spain, 
" Oh, Where's the Isle we've seen in 
dreams, 

" Our destined home or grave ?"t 
Thus sung they as, by the morning's 
They swept the Atlantic wave, [beams, 

* The God of Silence, thus pictured by the 
Egyptians. 

I " Milesius remembered the remarkable pre- 
diction of the priiicii>al Druid, ■who foretold 
that the posterity of Gadelus should obtain the 



And, lo, where afar o'er ocean shines 

A sparkle of radiant gi-een, [mines, 
As though iu that deep lay emerald 

Whose light thit»ugh the wave was 
"'Tis Innisfailt— 'tis lunisfail !" [seen. 

Rings o'er the echoing sea ; [hail 

While, bending to heav'n, the warriors 

That home of the brave and free. 

Then turn'd they unto the Eastern wave. 

Where now their Day- God's eye 
A look of such sunny omen gave 

As lighted up sea and sky. 
Nor frown was seen through sky or sea, 

Nor tear o'er leaf or sod, 
When first on their Isle of Destiny 

Our great forefathers trod. 

THE NIGHT DANCE. 

Strike the gay harp ! see the moon is 

on high, [of the ocean. 

And as true to her beam as the tides 

Young hearts, when they feel the soft 

light of her eye, [motion. 

Obey the mute call, and heave into 

Then, sound notes — the gayest, the 

lightest. 

That ever took wing when heav'n 

look'd brightest ! 

Again ! Again ! 

Oh I could such heart-stining music be 

heard [romancers, 

In that City of Statues, described by 

So wak'ning its spell, even stone would 

besttrr'd, [dancers! 

And statues themselves all start into 

Why then delay, with such sounds m 
our ears, [den before us, — 

And the flower of Beauty's own gar- 
While stars overhead leave the song of 
their spheres, [ingo'erus? 

And list'ning to ours, hang wonder- 
Again, that strain!— to hear it thus 
sounding [bounding — 

Might set even Death's cold pulses 
Again ! Again ! [gay, 

Oh, what delight, when the youthful and 
Each with eye like a sunbeam and 
foot like a feather, 
Thus dance, like the Hours to the 
music of May, [together ! 

And mingle sweet song and sunshine 

possession of a "Westeni Island, (which was 
Ireland,) and there inhabit." — Keating. 

\ The Island of Destiny, one of the ancient 
names of Ireland. 



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IKISH MELODIES. 



283 



THERE ARE SOUNDS OF MIRTH. 

There are sounds of mirth in the night- 
air ringing, [shown : 

And lamps irom every casement 
"While voices blithe within are singing, 

That seem to say "Come," in every 

tone. [season. 

Ah ! once how light, in Life's young 

My heart bad leap'd at that sweet lay ; 
N'or paused to ask of graybeard Reason 

Should I the syren call obey. 

And, see — the lamps still livelier glitter, 

The syi-en lips more fondly sound ; 
Ko, seek, ye nymplis, some rictim fitter 

To sink in your rosy bondage bound. 
Shall a bard, whom not the world in 
arms 

Could Ijend to tyranny's rude control. 
Thus quail, at sight of woman's charms, 

And jield to a smile his freeborn soul ? 

Thus sung the sage, while, slyly steal- 
ing, [cast. 
The nymphs their fetters around him 
And, — theS* laughtag eyes, the while, 
concealing, — [last. 
Led Freedom's Bard their slave at 
For the Poet's heart, still prone to loving, 
"Was like that rock of the Druid race,* 
"Which the gentlest touch at once set 
moving, [from its base. 
But all earth's power couldn't cast 

OH! ARRANMORE, LOYED AR- 
RANMORE. 

On ! Arranmore, loved Arranmore, 

How oft I dream of thee. 
And of those days when, by thy shore, 

I wander'd young and free. 
Full many a path I've tried since then, 

Through pleasure's flowery maze, 
But ne'er could find the bliss again 

I felt in those sweet days. 

How blithe upon thy breezy clifi's 

At sunny mom I've stood, 
"With heart as bounding as the skiffs 

That danced along thy flood ; 
Or, when the western wave grew bright 

"With daylight's parting wing, 

*The Rocking Stonns of the Druids, some of 
which no force is able to dislodge from their 
stations. 

f" The inhabitants of Arranmore are still per 
Buaded that, in a clear day, they can see from 
this coast Hy Brysail, or the Enchanted Island, 
the Paradise of the Pagan Irish, and concern- 



Have sought that Eden in its light 

"Which dreaming poets sing ; — t 
That Eden where th' immortal brave 

Dwell in a land serene, — 
"Whose bow'rs beyond the shining wave, 

At sunset, oft are seen. 
Ah dream too full of sadd'ning tnith ! 

Those mansions o'er the main 
Are like the hopes I built in youth,— 

As sunny and as vain ! 



LAY HIS SWORD BY HIS SIDE. 

Lay his sword by his side, J it hath 
served him too well 
N"ot to rest near his pillow below ; 
To the last moment true, from his hand 
ere it fell, 
Its point was still tum'd to a flying foe. 
FeUow-lab'rers in life, let them slumber 
in death, [brave, — 

Side by side, as becomes the reposing 
That sword which he loved still unbroke 
in its sheath, 
And himself unsubdued in his gi-ave. 

Yet pause— for, in fancy, a still voice I 

hear, [remains;— 

As if breathed from his brave heart's 

Faint echo of that which, in Slavery's 

ear, [joav chains !" 

Once sounded the war-word, " Burst 

And it cries, from the grave where the 

hero lies deep, [ever hath set, 

"Tho' the day of your Chieftain for- 

" leave not his sword thus mglorious to 

sleep, — 

' ' It hath victory's life in it yet ! 

"Should some alien, unworthy such 
weapon to wield, [sword, 

" Dare to touch thee, my own gallant 
"Then rest in thy sheath, like a tabs- 
man seal'd, [less lord. 
" Or return to the grave of thy chain- 
" But, if grasp'd by a hand that hath 
leam'd the proud use 
" Of a falchion, Uke thee, ou the battle- 
plain, — L°ii^g let loose. 
"Then, at Liberty's summons, like light- 
"Leap forth from thy dark sheath 
again I" 

ing which they relate a ntimber of romantic 
stories."— iJeat^/brt's Ancient Topography oj 
Ireland. 

\ It was the custom of the ancient Irish, in 
the manner of the Scythians, to bury the favoi* 
ite siTords of their heroes along with them. 




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284 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



OH, COULD WE DO WITH THIS 

WORLD OP OURS. 
Oh, could we do with this world of ours 
As thou dost with thy garden bowers. 
Reject the weeds aud keep the flowers. 

What a heaven on earth we'd make it ! 
So bright a dwelhng should be our own. 
So warranted free from sigh or frown. 
That angels soon would be coming down, 

By the week or month to take it. 
Like those gay flies that wing through air, 
AJid in themselves a lustre bear, 
A stock of light, still ready there, 

Whenever they wish to use it ; 
So, in this world I'd make for thee. 
Our hearts should all like fire-flies be. 
And the flash of wit or poesy 

Break forth whenever we choose it. 
While ev'ry joy that glads our sphere 
Hath still some shadow hov'ring near. 
In this new world of ours, my dear. 

Such shadows will all be omitted : — 
Unless they're like that graceful one. 
Which, when thou'rt dancing in the sim, 
Btill near thee, leaves a charm upon 

Each spot where it hath flitted ! 

THE WINE-CUP IS CIRCLING. 
The wine-cup is cu-cling in Almhin's 
haU,* [ing. 

And its Chief, 'mid his heroes reclin- 
Looks up, with a sigh, to the trophied 
wall, 
Where his sword hangs idly shining ; 
When, hark ! that shout 
From the vale without, — 
"Arm ye quick, the Dane, the Dane 
is nigh!" 
Ev'ry Chief starts up 
From his foaming cup, 
And " To battle, "to battle !" is the 
Finian's cry. 

The minstrels have seized their harps of 
gold, [bers,— 

And they sing such thrilling num- 
'Tis like the voice of the Brave, of old, 
Breaking forth from their place of 
slumbers ! 
Spear to buckler rang 
As the minstrels sang, 

* The Palace of Fin l\rac-Cumhal (the Fin- 
gal of Macpliersou) in Leinster. It was built 
on the top of the hill, whioh has rt-taineil 
from thence the name of the Hill of Allen, in 
the county of Kildaro. The Finians, or Fenii, 
were tlie celebrated National Militia of Ireland, 



And the Sun-burstt o'er them floated 
While rememb'ring the yoke [wide; 
Which their fathers broke, 

" On for liberty, for liberty !" the 
Finians cried. 

Like clouds of the night the Northmen 
came. 
O'er the valley of Almhin lowering ; 
While onward moved, in the light of its 
fame. 
That banner of Erin, towering. 

With the mingling shock 

Rung cliff and rock. 
While, rank on rank, the invaders die : 

And the shout, that last 

O'er the dying pass'd. 
Was " Victory ! victory 1"— the Fin- 
ian's cry. 

THE DREAM OF THOSE DAYS. 

The dream of those days when first I 

sung thee is o'er. 
Thy triumph hath stain'd the charm thy 

sorrows tHen wore ; 'i 
And ev'n of the light which Hope once 

shed o'er thy chains, 
Alas, not a gleam to grace thy freedom 

remams. 

Say, is it that slavery sunk so deep in 

thy heart, 
That still the dark brand is there, though 

chainless thou art ; 
And Freedom's sweet fruit, for which 

thy spirit long burn'd, 
Now, reaching at last thy lip, to ashes 

hath tum'd ? 

Up Liberty's steep by Truth and Elo- 
quence led, 

With eyes on her temple fix'd, how 
proud was thy tread 1 

Ah, better thou ne'er hadst lived than 
submit to gain, [the fane. 

Or died in the porch, than thus dishonor 

FROM THIS HOUR THE PLEDGE 

IS GIVEN. 
From this hour the pledge is given. 
From this hour my soul is thine : 
Come what will, from earth or heaven, 

which this Chief commanded. The introduc- 
tion of Die Banes in the above sons is an an- 
achronism common to most of the Finiau and 
Ossianic lepends. 
t The nu«e given to the banner of the 



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IRISH MELODIES. 



"Weal or wo, thy fate be mine. 
"When the proud and great stood by thee, 

None dared thy rights to spurn ; 
And if now they're false and fly thee, 

Shall I, too, "basely turn ? 
No ;— whatc'er the fires that try thee. 

In the same this heart shall bum. 

Though the sea, where thou embarkest, 

Oifers now a friendly shore, 
Light may come where all looks darkest, 

Hope hath hie, when life seems o'er. 
And, of those past ages dreaming, 

"V7hen glory deck'd thy brow. 
Oft I fondly think, though seeming 

So fall'n nd clouded now, 
Thou'lt again break forth, all beaming, — 

None so bright, so blest as thou ! 



SILENCE IS IN OUR FESTAL 
HALLS.* 

Silence is in our festal halls,^ 

Sweet Son of Song ! thy course is o'er; 
In vain on thee sad Erin calls. 

Her minstrel's voice responds no 
more ; — 
All silent as th' Eolian shell 

Sleeps at the close of some bright day, 
When the sweet breeze, that waked its 
swell 

At sunny mom, hath died away. 

Yet, at our feasts, thy spirit long, 

Awaked by music's spell, shall rise ; 
Eor, name so Imk'd with deathless song 

Partakes its charm and nerer dies : 
And ev'n within the holy fane, 

"WTien music wafts the soul to heaven. 
One thought to hmi, whose earliest strain 

Was echoed there, shall long be given. 

But, where is now the cheerful day, 

The social mght, when, by thy side. 
He, who now weaves this parting lay, 

His skniess voice with thine allied ; 
And sung those songs whose every tone, 

"When bard and minstrel long have 
pass'd. 
Shall still, in sweetness all their own, 

Embalm'd by fame, undying last. 

Tes, Erin, thine alone the fame, — 
Or, if thy bard have shared the crown, 

* It is liardly necessary, perhaps, to inform the 
reader, that these lines "are meant as a tribute 
of sincere friendship to the memory of an old 
and valued colleague in this work, Sir Joha 
Stevenson. 



From thee the borrow'd glory came, 
And at thy feet is now laid down. 

Enough, if Freedom still inspire 
His latest song, and still there be. 

As evening closes round his lyre, 
One ray upon its chords from thee. 



APPENDIX: 

CONTAINING 

THE ADYERTISEMENTS 



THE PREFATORT LETTER ON IRISH 
MUSIC. 



ADVERTISEMENT 

PREFIXED 

TO THE FIRST AND SECOND 
NUMBERS. 

Power takes the liberty of armotmc- 
ing to the Public a "Work which has long 
been a Desideratum in this country. 
Though the beauties of the National 
Music of Ireland have been very gener- 
ally felt and acknowledged, yet it haa 
happened, through the want of appro- 
priate English words, and of the ar- 
rangement necessary to adapt them to 
the voice, that many of the most excel- 
lent; compositions have hitherto remained 
in obscurity. It is intended, therefore, 
to form a Collection of the best Original 
Irish Melodies, with characteristic Sym- 
phonies and Accompaniments ; and with 
"Words containing, as frequently as pos- 
sible, allusions to the manners and 
history of the country. Sir John Ste- 
venson has very kindly consented to un- 
dertake the axranfrement of the Airs ; 
and the lovers of Simple National Music 
may rest secure, that, in such tasteful 
hands, the native charms of the original 
melody will not be sacrificed to the os- 
tentation of science. 

In the Poetical Part, Power has had 
promises of assistance from several dis- 
tingui,shed Literary Characters ; particu- 
larly from Mr. Moore, whose lyrical 
talent is so peculiarly smted to such a 



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MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



task, and whose zeal in the undertaking 
will be best understood from the follow- 
ing Extract of a Letter which he has ad- 
dressed to Six John Stevenson on the 
subject : — 

" I feel very anxious that a work of 
this kind should bo undertaken. "We 
have too long neglected the only talent 
for which our Enghsh neighbors ever 
deigned to allow us any credit. Our 
i^ational Music has never been properly 
collected;* and, while the composers of 
the Continent have enriched their 
Operas and Sonatas with melodies bor- 
rowed from Ireland, — very often with- 
out even the honesty of acknowledg- 
ment, — we have left these treasm-es, in 
a great degree, unclaimed and fugitive. 
Thus our Airs, like too many of our 
countrymen, have, for want of protec- 
tion at homo, passed into the service of 
foreigners. But we are come, I hope, 
to a better period of both Politics and 
Music ; and how much they are con- 
nected, in Ireland, at least, appears too 
plainly in the tone of sorrow and de- 
pression "\.hich characterizes most of our 
early Songs. I, - 

" The task which you propose to me 
of adapting words to these airs is by no 
means easy. The Poet who would fol- 
low the various sentiments which they 
express, must feel and understand that 
rapid fluctuation of spirits, that unac- 
countable mixture of gloom and levity, 
which composes the character of my 
countrymen, and has deeply tinged 
their Music. Even in their liveliest 
strams we find some melancholy note 
intrude, — some minor Thu-d or flat 
Seventh, — which throws its shade as it 
passes, and makes even mirth interest- 
ing. If Burns had been an Irishman, 
(and I would willingly give up all our 
claims upon Ossian lor him,) his heart 
would have been proud of such music, 
and his genius would have made it im- 
mortal. 

"Another difficulty (which is, how- 
ever, purely mechanical) arises from the 
irregular structure of many of those airs, 
and the lawless kind of iuetre which it 
will in consequence be necessary to 
adapt to them. In these instances the 

*Tlie writer forgot, when he made this asser- 
Hon, that the imblic are indebted to Mr. Bunt- 
ing for a very valuable coUectiou of Irish 



Poet must write, not to the eye, but to 
the ear ; and must be content to have his 
verses of that description which Cicero 
mentions, 'Quos si cantu spoliaveris 
nuda remanebit oratio.' That beautiful 
Air, ' The Twisting of the Eope,' which 
has all the romantic character of the 
Swiss Ranz des Vaclies, is one of those 
wild and sentimental rakes which it 
will not be veiy easy to tie down in 
sober wedlock with Poetry. However, 
notwithstanding all these difficulties, 
and the very moderate portion of talent 
which I can bring to sm-mount them, the 
design appears to me so truly National, 
that I shall feel much pleasure in giving 
it all the assistance in my power. 
"Leicestershire, Feb., 1807." 



ADYERTISEMENT TO THE THIRD 
NUMBER. 

In presenting the Third Number of 
this work to the Public, Power beg.s 
leave to ofi"er his acknowledgments for 
the very liberal patronage with which 
it has been honored ; and to express a 
hope that the unabated zeal of those who 
have hitherto so admu-ably conducted 
it, will enable him to continue it through 
many future Numbers with equal spirit, 
variety, and taste. The stock of popu- 
lar Melodies is far fi-om being exhausted ; 
and there is still in reserve an abun- 
dance of beautiful Airs, which call upon 
Mr. Moore, in the language he so well 
understands, to save them from the ob- 
livion to which they are hastening. 

Power respectfully trusts he will not 
be thought presumptuous in saying, 
that he feels proud, as an Irishma», in 
even the verj' subordinate share which 
he can claim, in promoting a "Work so 
creditable to the talents of the Country, 
— a Work which, from the spirit of na- 
tionality it breathes, will do more, he is 
convinced, towards liberahzing the feel- 
ings of society, and producing that 
brotherhood of sentiment which it is so 
much our interest to cherish, than could 
ever be effected by the mere arguments 
of well-intentioned but uninteresting 
politicians. 

Music ! and that the patriotic genius of Miss 
Owenson has been employed upon some of out 
finest airs. 




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lEISH MELODIES. 



287 



LETTER 

TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF 

DONEGAL, 

PREFIXED TO THE THIRD NUMBER. 

"While the publisher of these Melo- 
dies very properly inscribes them to 
the Mobility and Gentry of Ireland in 
general, I have much pleasm-e in select- 
ing one from that number, to Tvhom my 
share of the Work is particularly ded- 
I'ated. I know that, though your 
Ladyship has been so long absent from 
Ireland, you still continue to remember 
it well and warmly,— that you have not 
sufl'ered the attractions of English so- 
ciety to produce, like the taste of the 
lotus, any forgetfuluess of your own 
country, l)ut that even the huml)le tri- 
bute which I offer derives its chief claim 
upon your interest and sympathy from 
the appeal which it makes to your pat- 
riotism, ludeed, absence, however 
fatal to some affections of the heart, 
rather tends to strengthen our love for the 
laud where we were bora ; and Ireland 
is the country, of all others, which an 
esUe from it must remember with most 
enthusiasm. Those few darker and less 
amiable traits with which bigotry and 
misrule have stained her character, and 
which are too apt to disgust us upon a 
nearer intercourse, become at a distance 
softened, or altogether invisible, Noth- 
ing is remembered but her virtues and 
her misfortunes, — the zeal with which 
she has always loved liberty, and the 
barbarous poUcy which has always with- 
held it from her, — the ease with which 
her generous spirit might be conciliated, 
and the cruel ingenuity which has been 
exerted to " wring her into uudutiful- 
ness."* 

* A phrase which occurs in a Letter from the 
Earl (if Desmond to the Eurl of Ormond, in 
Elizabeth's time.—Scrinia Sacra, as quoted by 
Curry. 

t There are some gratifying accounts of tlie 
gallantry of tliese Irish auxiliaries in " The 
complete History of the Wars in Scotland un- 
der Montrose," (16G0.) See particularly, for 
the conduct of an Irishman at the battle of 
Aberdeen, chap. vi. p. 49; and for a tribute to 
the bravery of Colonel O'Kyan, chap. vii. 5o. 
Clarendon on-ns that the Marquis of Montrose 
was indebted for much of his miraculous suc- 
cess to the small band of Irish heroes under 
Macdonnell 

} The associations of the Hindu music, though 



It has been often remarked, and still 
oftener felt, that in our music is found 
the truest of aU comments upon om' his- 
tory. The tone of defiance, succeeded 
by the languor of despondency,— a 
burst of turbulence dying away' into 
softness, — the sorrows of one moment 
lost in the levity of the next, — and all 
that romantic mixtm-e of mirth and sad- 
ness, which is naturally produced by the 
efforts of a lively temperament to shako 
off, or forget, the wrongs which lie upon 
it. Such are the features of our history 
and character, which we find strongly 
and faithfully reflected in our music ; 
and there are even many airs, which it 
is difficult to listen to, without recalling 
someperiod or event to which their ex- 
pression seems applicable. Sometimes, 
for instance, when the strain is open and 
spirited, yet here and there shaded by a 
mournful recollection, we can fancy that 
we behold the brave allies of Montrose,*- 
marching to the aid of the royal cause, 
notwithstanding all the pei-fidy of Charle i 
and his ministers, and remembering jus 
enough of past sufferings to enhance the 
generosity of their present sacrifice. 
The plaintive melodies of Carolan take 
us back to the times in which he lived, 
when our poor countrymen were diiver 
to worship their God in caves, ox to quit 
forever the land of their birth,— like the 
bird that abandons the nest which hu- 
man touch has violated. In many of 
these mournful songs we seem to hear 
the last farewell of the exile,t mingling 
regret for the ties which he leaves at 
home, with sanguine hopes of the high 
honors that await him abroad, — such 
honors as Avere won on the field of Fon- 
tenoy, where the valor of Irish Catholics 
turned the fortune of the day, and ex- 
more obvious and defined, were far less touch- 
ing and characteristic. They divided their 
songs according to the seasons of the year, by 
which (says Sir William Jones) " they were 
able to recall the memory of autumnal merri- 
ment, at the close of the harvest, or of separa- 
tion and melancholy during the cold months," 
&c. — Asiatic Transactions, vol. iii. on the Mu 
sical Modes of the Hindus.— What the Abbe du 
Bos says of the symphonies of Ltilly, may be 
asserted, with much more probability, of our 
bold and impassioned airs : — " Elles auroient 
produit de ces effets, qui nous paroissent fabn- 
leux dans le rt'cit des ancieno, si on les avoit 
fait etendro a des homraes dun natiu'e) aus.si 
vif que les Atlieiiiens.'' — liejtex. sur la Fein 
ture, &.O. torn. i. sect. 45. 



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MOORE'S WORKS. 



torted from George the Second that 
memorable exclamation, " Cm"sed be the 
laws which deprive me of such subjects!'' 
Though much has been said of the 
antiquity of our music, it is certain that 
om- finest and most popular airs are 
modern; and, perhaps, we may look no 
further than the last disgi-aceful centuiy 
for the origin of most of those wild and 
melancholy strains which were at once 
the offspring and solace of grief, and 
were applied to the mind as music was 
formerly to the body, " decantarc loca 
dolentia." Mr. Pinkerton is of opinion* 
that none of the Scotch popular airs are 
as old as the middle of the sixteenth cen- 
tury; and though musical antiquaries 
refer us, for some of our melodies, to so 
early a period as the fifth century, I am 
persuaded that there are few, of a civil- 
ized description, (and by this I mean to 
exclude all the savage Ceanans, Cries, + 
&c.,) which can claim quite so ancient 
a date as Mr. Pinkerton allows to the 
Scotch. But music is not the only sub- 

i'ect upon which our taste for antiquity 
las been rather unreasonably indulged; 
and, however heretical it may be to dis- 
sent from these romantic speculations, I 
cannot help thinking that it is possible 
to love our country very zealously, and 
to feel deeply interested in her honor and 
happiness, without believing that Irish 

* Dissertation prefixed to the 2d volume cf his 
Scottish Ballads. 

t Of which some genuine specimens may be 
found at the end of Mr. "Walker's Work upon 
the Irish bards. Mr. Bunting has disfigured his 
last splendid volume by too many of these bar- 
barous rhapsodies. 

t See Advertisement to the Transactions of 
the Gaelic Society of Dublin. 

§ O'Halloian, vol. i. part iv. chap. rii. 

II Id. ib. cliap. vi. 

ll It is also supposed, but with as little proof, 
that they uiider.stuod the diesis, or enliarmonic 
interval.— The Greeks seem to have formed 
their ears to this delicate gradation of sound; 
and, whatever difficulties or objections may lie 
in the way of its practical\xso, we must agree 
with Mersenne, (Preludes de rHarmouie, Quest. 
7,) that the theory of Music would be imperfect 
ivithout it. Even in practice, too, as Tosi, 
amoug others, very justly remarks, (Observa- 
tions on Florid Song, chap. i. sect. 16,) there is 
no good performer on the violin who does not 
make a sensible difference between D sliarp and 
Eflat, though, from theimperfectionofthe instru- 
ment, tlicy are the same notes upon the piano- 
forte. T)ic effect of modulation by enharmonic 
transitions is also very striking and beautiful. 

"* The words woiKiAia and kTepo4>oivia, in a 



was the language spoken in Paradise,t 
that our ancestors were kind enough to 
take the trouble of polishing the Greeks,^ 
or that Abaris, the Hyperborean, was a 
native of the North of Ireland. || 

By some of these zealous antiquarians 
it has been imagined that the Irish were 
early acquainted with counterpoint ;ir 
and they endeavor to support this con- 
jecture by a well-known passage in Gi- 
raldus, where he dilates, with such elab- 
orate praise, upon the beauties of our 
national minstrelsy. But the terms of 
this eulogy are much too vague, too 
deficient in technical accuracy, to prove 
that c^en Giraldus himself knew any- 
thing of the artifice of counteqjoint. 
There are many expressions in the Greek 
and Latin writers which might be cited, 
with much more plausibility, to prove 
that they understood the an-augement 
of music in parts ; ** and it is in general 
now conceded, I beheve, by the learned, 
that, however grand and pathetic the 
melody of the ancients may have been, 
it was reserved for the ingenuity of mod- 
em Science to transmit the " light of 
Song" through the variegating prism of 
Harmony. 

Indeed, the irregular scale of the eariy 
Irish (in which, as in the music of Scot- 
land, the interval of the fourth was want- 
ingtt) must have furnished but wild and 

Passage of Plato, and some expressions of Ci- 
cero, in Fragment, lib. ii. deKepubl., induced 
the Abbe Fraguier to maintain that the an- 
cients had a knowledge of counterpoint. M. 
Burette, however, has answered him, I think, 
satisfactorily. (Examen d'un Passage de Pla. 
ton, in the 3d vol. of Histoire de I'Acad.) M. 
Huet is of opinion, (Pens^es Diverses,) that 
what Cicero says of the music of the spheres, in 
his dream of Scipio, is sufficient to prove an ac- 
quaintance with harmony; but one of the 
strongest passages, which I recollect, in favor 
of this supposition, occurs in the Treatise 
(nepi Ko(r/iiou) attributed to Aristotle— Mou- 
(TiKi) Se of CIS aixa Kai /Sapeis, k. t. A. 

ff Another lawless peculiarity of our music is 
the frequent occurrence of what composers call 
consecutive fifths; but this, Imust say, is an ir- 
regularity which can hardly be avoided by per- 
sons not conversant with all the rules of com- 
position. If I may venture, indeed, to cite my 
own wi' 1 attempts in this way, it is a fault 
whiehl findmyself continually committing, and 
which has even, at times, appeared so pleasing 
to my ear, that I have surrendered it to the critic 
with no sm.all reluctance. May there not be a 
little pedantiy in adliering too rigidly to this 
rule ?— I have been told that there arein'^tances 
in Haydn, of an undisguised succession of fifthSi 



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>^-^ 



IRISH MELODIES. 



refractory subjects to the harmonist. It 
was only when the invention of Guido 
began to be known, and the powers of 
the harp* were enlarged by additional 
strings, that our au's can be supposed to 
have assumed the sweet character which 
interests us at present; and while the 
Scotch persevered in the old mutilation 
of the scale, t our music became by de- 
grees more amenable to the laws of har- 
mony and counterpoint. 

While profiting, however, by the im- 
provements of the modems, our style 
still keeps its original character sacred 
from their refinements ; and though Car- 
olan, it appears, had frequent opportu- 
nities of hearing the works of Geminiani 
and other great masters, we but rarely 
find him sacrificing his native simplicity 
to any ambition of their ornaments, or 
aff'ectation of their science. In that cu- 
rious composition, indeed, called his 
Concerto, it is evident that he labored to 
imitate Corelli; and this union of man- 
ners, so very dissimilar, produces the 
same kind of imeasy sensation which is 
felt at a mixture of diflerent styles of 
architecture. In general, however, the 
artless flow of our music has preserved 
itself free from all tinge of foreign inno- 
vation;}: and the chief corrupticms of 
which we have to complain arise from the 
unskilful performance of our own itiner- 
ant musicians, from whom, too frequent- 

nml Mr. ShieW, in his Introduction to Harmony, 
seoms to intimate that Handel has been some- 
times gnilty ofthe same irrefrularity. 

* A singular oversight occurs in an Essay 
upon the Irish Harp, uy Mr. Beauford, which 
is inserted in the Appendix to Walker's Histori- 
cal Memoirs: — "The Irish, (says he,) accord- 
ing to llromton, in the reign of 'Henry II. liad 
twoldndsof Harps, ' Hibernicitamen in duobus 
musicigenerisinstrumentis.quamvispnecipitem 
et vehicem, suaYem tamen et jucundnm: the 
one greatly bold and quick, the other soft and 
pleasing.'" — How a man of Mr. Beauford's 
learnin g could s o mistake the meaning, a nd m uti- 
lutethe grammatical coustruction of this extract, 
is niiaceountable. The foilowing is the passage 
iis I find it entire in Bromton; audit requires 
liut little Latin to perceive the injustice which 
li.is liecn done to the words of the old Chroni- 
cler :— " Et cum Scotia, hiijns terra? filia, utatur 
lyr,*i, tyinpano et choro, ac Wallia cithara, tu- 
l)is et chore Hibernici tamen in duobus musici 
generis instrumentis, quamvis prcecipifem- et 
velocein, suavem tamen et jucundarn, crispatis 
niodulis et iutricatis notnlis, efficiimt harmn- 
n irern."— Hist. Anglic. Script, page 1 07,5. I should 
not have thoiight'this error worth remarking, 
but that the compiler ofthe Dissertation on tha 



ly, the airs are noted down, encumber- 
ed by their tasteless decorations,, and 
responsible for all their ignorant anoma- 
lies. Though it be sometimes impossi- 
ble to trace the original strain, yet, in 
most of them, " auri per ramos aura re- 
fulget,"§ the pm-e gold of the melody 
shines through the ungraceful foliage 
which sm-rouuds it, — and the most deli- 
cate and diificult duty of a compiler is to 
endeavor, by retrenching these inelegant 
superfluities, and collating the various 
methods of playing or singing each air, 
to restore the regularity of its form, and 
the chaste simplicity of its character. 

I must again observe, that in doubt- 
ing the antiquity of our music, my skepti- 
cism extends but to those polished speci- 
mens of the art, which it is diflicult to 
conceive anterior to the dawn of modern 
improvement ; and that I would by no 
means invahdate the claims of Ireland 
to as early a rank in the annals of miu- 
strels.y, as the most zealous antiquary 
may be iuchned to allow her. In addi- 
tion, indeed, to the power which music 
must always have possessed over the 
minds of a people so ardent and suscep- 
tible, the stimulus of persecution was 
not wanting to quicken our taste into 
enthusiasm ; the charms of Song were 
ennobled with the glories of martyrdom, 
and the acts against minstrels, in the 
reigns of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth, 

Harp, prefixed to Mr. Bunting's last Work, has 
ado))ted it implicitly. 

t The Scotch lay claim to some of our best 
airs, but there are strong traits of difl'erenee 
between their melodies and ours. They had for- 
merly the same passion for robbing us of our 
Saints, and the learned Dempster was for this 
offence called " The Saint Stealer. " It must 
have been some Irishman, I suppose, who. by 
way of reprisal, stole Dempster's beautifiil 
wife from hira at Pisa.— See this anecdote 
in the Pinaeotheca of Erythrseus, part i. 
page 25. 

I Among other false refinements of the art, 
our music (with the exception perhaps of the 
air called "Mamma, Mamma," and one or two 
more of the same ludicrous description) has 
avoided that puerile mimicry ftf natural noises, 
motions, &c., which disgraces so often the 
works of even Handel himself. D'Alembert 
ought to have h.ad better taste than to be- 
come the patron of this imitative affectation. — 
jyiscours Preliminaire de l' Encyclopedie. The 
render may find some good remarks on the 
subject in Avison upon Musical Expressi.^i » 
a work which, though under the name of A^ »- 
son, was written, it is said, by Dr. Brown. 

§ Virgil, ^ueid, lib. vi. verse 204. 



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-j^r^ 



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290 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



were as successful, I doubt not, in 
making my countrymen musicians, as 
the penal laws have been in keeping 
them Catholics. 

"With respect to the verses which I 
have written for these melodies, as they 
are intended rather to be sung thau 
read, I can answer for their sound with 
somewhat more confidence than for their 
sense. Yet it would be afl'ectation to 
deny that I have given much attention 
to the task, and that it is not thi-ough 
any want of zeal or industry, if I unfor- 
tunately disgrace the sweet airs of my 
country by poetry altogether unworthy 
of their taste, their energy, and their ten- 
derness. 

Though the humble nature of my con- 
tributions to this work ma}^ exempt them 
from the rigors of literary criticism, it 
was not to be expected that those 
touches of political feeling, those tones of 
national complaint, in which the poetry 
sometimes sympathizes with the music, 
would be siiffered to pass without cen- 
sure or alarm. It has been accordingly 
said, that the tendency of this pubhca- 
tion is mischievous,* and that I have 
chosen these airs but as a vehicle of 
dangerous politics, — as fair and precious 
vessels, (to borrow an image of St. Au- 
-ustine,!) from which the wine of error 
tiaight be administered. To those who 
identify nationality with treason, and 
who see, in every effort for Ireland, a 
system of hostility towards England, — 
to those, too, who, nursed in the gloom 
of prejudice, are alarmed by the faintest 
gleam of liberality that threatens to dis- 
turb their darkness, — like that Demo- 
phon of old, who, when the sun shone 
upon him, shivered, f — to such men I 
shall not condescend to offer an apok)gy 
for the too great warmth of any political 
sentiment which may occur in the course 
of these pages. But as there are many, 
among tlie more wise and tolerant, who, 
with feeling enough to mourn over the 
wrongs of their country, and sense 
enough to to perceive aU the danger of 
not redressing them, may yet be of opin- 
ion that allusions, in the least degree in- 
flammatory, should be avoided in'a pub- 

*See Letters, imilerthe sianaturesof Timreus, 
&c. , in t\\o Mor ning Post, Pilot, and otlier papers. 

t " Xon accuso verba, quasi vasa electa atque 
prctiosa ; sod vinum erroris quad cum eis nobis 



lication of this popular description — I 
beg of these respected persons to believe 
that there is no one who more sincerely 
deprecates than I do, any appeal to the 
passions of an ignorant and angry multi- 
tude;but that itis uotthi-ough thatgi-oss 
and inflammable region of society, a work 
of this nature could ever have ^leen m- 
tended to circulate. Itlooks much tugher 
for its audience and readers,— itis '.and 
upon the piano-fortes of the rich and the 
•educated, — of those who can afford to 
have their national zeal a little stimulat- 
ed, without exciting much dread of the 
excesses into which it may hurry them ; 
and of many whose nerves may be, now 
and then, alarmed with advantage, as 
much more is to be gained by their 
fears, than could ever be expected from 
their justice. 

Having thus adverted to the principal 
objection which has been hitherto made 
to the poetical part of this work, allow 
me to add a few words in defence of my 
ingenious coadjutor, Sir John Steven- 
son, who has been accused of having 
spoiled the simplicity of the airs by the 
chrematic richness of his symphonies, 
and the elaborate variety of his har- 
monies. "We might cite the example o\ 
the admirable Haydn, who has sported 
through all the mazes of musical science, 
in his arrangement of the simplest Scot- 
tish melodies ; but it appears to me, that 
Sir John Stevenson has brought to this 
task an innate and national feeling, 
which it would be vain to expect from a 
foreigner, however tasteful or judicious. 
Through many of his own compositions 
we trace a vein of Irish sentiment, 
which points him out as peculiarly 
suited to catch the spirit of his country's 
music; and, far from agi-eeiug with 
those fastidious critics who think that 
his symphonies have nothing kindi-ed 
with the airs which they introduce, I 
would say that, on the contrary, they 
resemble, in general, those illuminated 
initials of old manusciipts, which are of 
the same character with the writing 
which follows, though more highly col- 
ored and more curiously ornamented. 

In those airs which he has arranged 

propinatur."— Lib. i. Confess, chap. xvi. 

t This emblem of modern bigrots was head- 
butler (rpaTre^oTToio?) to Alexander the Great 
—Sext. Empir. Pyrrh. Eypoth. Lib. i. 



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IRISH MELODIES. 



291 



i'oi voices, his skill has particularly dis- 
tiajjoished itself, and though it cauuot 
be denied that a single melody most 
naturally expresses the language of feel- 
ing and passion, yet, often, when a 
favorite strain has been dismissed, as 
having lost its charu'v of novelty for the 
ear, it returns, in a haimoni^ied shape, 
■with new claims on orir interest and at- 
tention; and to those who study the 
delicate artifices of oorapositiou, the 
eonstraction of the inner parts of these 
pieces must afford, I think, ^considerable 
satisfaction. Every voice hao an air to 
itself, a flowing succession lA notes, 
which might bo heard with pleasure 
mdependently of the rest ;— sit artfully 
has the harmonist (if I may thu? express 
it) (javellcd the melody, distributing an 
equal portion of its sweetness to every 
part. 

If your Ladyship's love of Music were 
not well known to me, I should not 
have hazarded so long a letter upon the 
subject; but as, probably, I may have 
presumed too far upon your partiality, 
the best revenge you now can take is to 
write me just as long a letter upon 
Painting; and I promise to attend to 
your theory of the art, with a pleasure 
only surpassed by that which I have so 
often derived from your practice of it. — 
May the mind which such talents adorn, 
continue calm as it is bright, and happy 
as it is virtuous ! 

Believe me, your Ladyship's 
Grateful Friend and Servant, 
TnoMAs Moore. 



ADYERTISEMBISTT TO THE 
FOURTH NUMBER. 

Tnis Ifumber of the Melodies oucht 
to have appeared much earher; and the 
writer of the words is ashamed to con- 
fess, that the delay of its publication 
must be imputed chiefly, if not entirely, 
to him. He finds it necessary to 
make this avowal, not only for the pur- 
pose of removing all blame from the 
Publisher, but in consequence of a 
Tumor which has been circulated indus- 
triously in Dulilin, that the Irish Gov- 
ernment had interfered to prevent the 
continuance of the Work. 



This would be, indeed, a revival ol 

Henry the Eighth's enactments against 
Minstrels, and it is flattering to find that 
so much importance is attached to oui 
compilation, even by such persons as 
the inventors of the report. Bishop 
Lowth, it is true, was of opinion, that 
one song, like the Hymn to Harmodius, 
would have done more towards rousing 
the spirit of the Romans, than all the 
Philippics of Cicero. But we live in 
wiser and less musical times; balladi 
have long lost their revolutionary 
powers, and we question if even a "Lilli- 
bullero " would produce any very seriotu 
consequences at present. It is needless, 
therefore, to add, that there is no truth 
in the report ; and we trast that what- 
ever belief it obtained was founded more 
upon the character of the Government 
than of the Work. 

The Airs of the last N"umber, thougl 
full of originality and beauty, were, m 
general, perhaps, too cm-iously selected 
to become all at once as popular as, wo 
think, they deserve to be. The public 
are apt to be reserved towards new ac- 
quaintances in music, and this, perhaps, 
is one of the reasons why many modern 
composers introduce none but old friends 
to their notice. It is, indeed, natural 
that persons who love music only by as- 
sociation, should be somewhat slow in 
feeling the charms of a new and strange 
melody; while those, on the other hand, 
who have a quick sensibility for this en- 
chanting art, wiU as naturally seek and 
enjoy novelt^v, because in every variety 
of strain they find a fresh combination 
of ideas; and the sound has scarcely 
reached the ear, before the heart has as 
rapidly rendered it into imagery aud 
sentiment. After all, however, it can- 
not be denied that the most popular of 
our National Airs are also the most beau- 
tiful ; and it has been our wish, in the 
present Number, to select from those 
Melodies only which have long been lis- 
tened to and admired. The least known 
in the collection is the Air of " Love's 
Young Dream ;" but it will be found, I 
think, one of those easy and artless 
strangers whose merit the heart instant- 
ly acknowledges. 

T.M. 
Bury Street, St. James'a, 
Nov., 1811. 



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'IIHIIIIIiailllillllllllllUIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIll 



292 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIFTH 
NUMBER. 

It is bi;t fair to those who take an in- 
terest in this "Work, to state that it is now 
very near its termination, and that the 
Sixth jSTumber, which shall speedily ap- 
pear, will, most probably, be the last of 
the series. Three volumes will then 
have been completed, according to the 
original plan, and the Proprietors desii-e 
me to say that a List of Subscribers will 
be pubhshed with the concluding Num- 
ber. 

It is not so much, I must add, from a 
want of materials, and still less from any 
abatement of zeal, or industry, that we 
have adopted the resolution of bringing 
our task to a close; but wo feel sopcoud, 
stiU more for our country's sake than our 
own, of the general interest which this 
purely Insh Work has excited, and so 
anxious lest a particle of that interest 
should be lost by too long a protraction 
of its existence, that we think it wiser to 
take away the cup from the lip, while 
its flavor is yet, we trast, fresh and 
sweet, than to risk any fui'ther trial of 
the charm, or give so much as not to 
leave some wish for more. In speaking 
thus, I allude entirely to the Airs, which 
are, of course, the maiu attraction of 
these Yolumes; and though we have 
still a great many popular and delightful 
Melodies to produce,* it cannot be denied 
that we should soon experience consid- 
erable difBcultyin equalling the richness 
and novelty of the earlier numbers, for 
which, as we had the choice of all before 
us, we naturally selected only the most 
rare and beautiful. The Poetry, too, 
would be sure to sympathize with the 
decline of the Music; and, however fee- 
bly my words have kept pace with the 
excellence of the Airs, they would follow 
their falling off, I fear, with wonderful 
alacrity Both pride and prudence, 
therefore, counsel us to come to a close, 
while yet our "Work is, we believe, flour- 
ishing and attractive, and thus, in the 
imperial attitude, " stantes mori," before 
we incur the charge either of altering 

• Among: these is Savourna Deelish, which I 
have been liitherto only withheld from selecting 
by the diffidence I feel in treading upon the 
same ground with Mr. Campbell, wliose beau- 
tiful word^ to this fine Air have taken too strong 



for the worse, or, what is equally unpar- 
donable, continuing too long the same. 

We beg to say, however, that it is 
only in the event of our failing to find 
Au-s as good as most of those we have 
given, that we mean thus to anticipate 
the natural period of dissolution, (like 
those Indians who, when their relatives 
become worn out, put them to death;) 
and they who are desirous of retarding 
this Euthanasia of the Irish Melodies, 
cannot better efiect their wish than by 
contributing to our collection, — not whnt 
are called curious Airs, for we have 
abundance of such, and they are, in gen- 
eral, only cimous, — but any real sweet 
and expressive Songs of our Country, 
which either chance or research may 
have brought into their hands. 

T. M. 
Mayfield Cottaqe, Axhbourne, 
December, 1813. 



ADYERTISEMENT TO THE SIXTH 
NUMBER. 

In presenting this Sixth Number to 
the public as our last, and bidding adieu 
to the Irish Harp forever, we shall not 
answer very confidently fur the strength 
of our resolution, nor feel quite sure that 
it may not turn out to be one of those 
eternal farewells which a lover takes oc- 
casionally of his mistress, merely to en- 
hance, perhaps, the pleasure of their 
next meeting. Our only motive, indeed, 
for discontinuing the Work was a fear 
that our treasures were nearly exhaust- 
ed, and a natural unwillingness to de- 
scend to the gathering of mere seed- 
pearl, after the really precious gems it 
has been our lot to string together. The 
announcement, however, of this inten- 
tion, in our Fifth Number, has excited 
a degrees of anxiety in the lovers of Iri^h 
Music, not only pleasant and flattering, 
but highly useful to us; for the various 
contributions we have received in con- 
sequence, have enriched our collection 
with so many choice and beautiful Airs, 
that should we adhere to our present 
resolution of publishing no more, it 

possession of all ears and hearts, for me to think 
of folIoAving in his footsteps with any suceess, 
I suppose, however, as a matter of diity, I must 
attempt the air for our next Number 



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IRISH MELODIES. 



293 



would certainly furnish an instance of 
forbearance unexampled in the history 
of poets and musicians. To one gentle- 
man in particular, who has been for 
many years resident in England, but 
who has not forgot, among his various 
pursuits, either the language or the mel- 
odies of his native country, we beg to 
offer our best thanks for the many inter- 
esting communications with which he 
has favored us. We trust that neither 
he nor any other of om- kind fi-iends will 
relax m those efforts by which we have 
been so considerably assisted; for, 
though our work must now be looked 
upon as defunct, yet — as Reaumur found 
oi;t the art of making the cicada sing 
after it was dead— it is just possible that 
we may, some time or other, try a sim- 
ilar experiment upon the Irish Melodies. 

T. M. 
May field, Ashbourne, 
'March, 1815. 



ADYERTISEMENT TO THE 
SEVEi^TH NUMBER. 

Had I consulted only my own judg- 
ment, this Work would not have extend- 
ed beyond the Six Numbers already pub- 
Jished; which contain the flower, per- 
haps, of our national melodies, and have 
now attained a rank in public favor, of 
which I would not willingly risk the 
forfeitm-e, by degenerating, in any way, 
iirom those merits that were its source. 
Whatever treasures of our music were 
still in reserve, (and it will be seen, I 
trust, that they are numerous and valu- 
able,) I would gladly have left to future 
poets to glean, and, with the ritual words 
"tiU trado," would have delivered up 
the torch into other hands, before it had 
lost much of its Ught in my own. But 
the call for a continuance of the work 
has been, as I understand from the Pul)- 
lisher, so general, and we have received 
so many contributions of old and beau- 
tiful airs,*— the suppression of which, 
for the enhancement of those we have 
published, would too much resemble the 
policy of the Dutch in burning their 



*One frentleman, in particular, 
I shall feel happy in beiug allowed 



, whose name 
ippy in being allowed to raention, 
has not only sent us nearly forty ancient airs, 
but has communicated many curious fragments 
of Irish poetry, and some interesting traditions 



spices,— that I have been persuaded, 
though not without much diffidence in 
my success, to commence a new series 
of the Irish Melodies. T. M. 



DEDICATION TO THE MARCHION 
ESS OF HEADFORT, 

PREFIXED TO THE TENTH NtTMBER. 

It is with a pleasure, not unmixed 
with melancholy, that I dedicate the last 
Number of the Irish Melodies to your 
Ladyship; nor can I have any doulit 
that the feehugs with which you receive 
the tribute will be of the same mingled 
and saddened tone. To you, — who, 
though but little beyond the season of 
childhood when the earlier numbers of 
this work appeared, — lent the aid of your 
beautiful voice, and, even then, exquisite 
feeling for music, to the happy circle who 
met, to sing them together, under ^our 
father's roof, the gi-atification, whatever 
it may be, which this humble ofleriug 
brings, cannot be otherwise than dark- 
ened by the mournful reflection, how 
many of the voices, which then joined 
with ours, are now silent in death! 

I am not without hope that as far as 
regards the grace and spirit of the Mel- 
odies, you will find this closing portion 
of the work not unworthy of what has 
preceded it. The Sixteen Airs of which 
the Number and the Supplement con- 
sists, have been selected from the im- 
mense mass of Irish music, which has 
been for years past accumulating in my 
hands ; and it was from a desire to in- 
clude aU that appeared most worthy of 
preservation, that the four supplement- 
ary songs, which follow this Tenth Num- 
ber, have been added. 

Trusting that I may yet again, in re- 
membrance of old times, hear our voices 
together in some of the harmonized aiis 
of this Volume, I have the honor to sub- 
scribe myself. 

Your Ladyship's 

faithful Friend and Servant, 
Thomas Moore. 

Sloperton Cottage, 
May, 1834. 

current in the country where he resides, illus- 
trated by sketches of the romantic scenery to 
which they refer; all of which, though too late 
for the present Number, will be of inlinite ser 
vice to us in the prosecution of our task. 



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294 MOORE'S WORKS. 





NATIONAL AIRS. 



1819 TO 1828. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 
It is Cicero, I believe, ■who says, 
" naiurS ad modos ducimur ;" and the 
abundance of "wild, indigenous airs, 
which almost every country, except 
England, possesses, sufficiently proves 
the truth of his assertion. The lovers of 
this simple, but interesting kind of mu- 
sic, are here presented with the first 
number of a collection, which, I trust, 
their contributions will enal)le us to con- 
tinue. A pretty air without words re- 
sembles one of those half creatures of 
Plato, which are described as wander- 
ing in search of the remainder of them- 
selves through the world. To supply 
this other half, by uniting with congen- 
ial words the many fugitive melodies 
which have hitherto had none, — or only 
such as are unintelligible to the general- 
ity of their hearers, — is the object and 
ambition of the present work. Neither 
is it our intention to confine ourselves to 
what are strictly called National Melo- 
dies, but, wherever we meet with any 
wandering and beautiful air, to which 
poetry has not yet assigned a worthy 
home, we shall venture to claim it as 
an estray swan, and enrich our humble 
Hippocrene with its song. 

« » * * * 

T. M. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP.* 

(Si'ANisH Air.) 
A Temple to Friendship," said Laura, 

enchanted, 
" I'U build in this garden, — the 

thought is divine I" 



Her temple was built, and she now only 
wanted [the shrine. 

An image of Friendship to place on 
She flew to a sculptor, who set down 
before her [invent ; 

A Friendship, the fairest his art could 
But so cold and so dull, that the youth- 
ful adorer [meant. 
Saw plainly this was not the idol she 

"Oh! never," she cried, "could I 
think of enshrining 
" An image, whose looks are so joy- 
less and dim; — ■ 
"jBut you httle god,upon roses rechning 
""We'll make, if you please. Sir, a 
Friendship of him. 
So the bargain was struck ; with the lit- 
tle god laden [grove : 
She joyfully flew to her shrine in the 
"Farewell," said the sculptor, "you're 
not the first maiden 
"Who came but for Friendship and 
took away Love. 



FLOW ON, THOTJ SHINING RIVER. 

(Portuguese Air.) 
Flovt on, thou shining river ; 

But, ere thou reach the sea. 
Seek Ella's bower, and give her 

The wreaths I fling o'er thee. 
And tell her thus, if she'll be mine, 

The current of our fives shaU be. 
With joys along their course to shine. 

Like those sweet flowers on thee. 

But if, in wand'ring thither, 
Thou find'st she mocks my prayer, 

Then leave those wreaths to wither 
Upon the cold bank there ; 

* The thought is taken from a Bona; bj Le 
Prieur, called " La Statue de 1 Amitie.*' 



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JTATIOITAL AIES. 



And tell her thus, -when youth is o'er, 
Her lone and loveless charms shall be 

Thrown by upon life's weedy shore, 
Like those sweet flowers from thee. 



ALL THAT'S BRIGHT MUST TADE. 
(Indian Air.) 

All that's bright must fade, — 

The brightest still the fleetest; 
All that's sweet was made 

But to be lost when sweetest. 
Stars that shine and fall ; — 

The flower that drops in springmg ;— 
These, alas ! are types of all 

To which our hearts are clinging. 
All that's bright must fade,— 

The brightest still the fleetest; 
All that's sweet was made 

But to be lost when sweetest I 

"WTio would seek or prize 

Delights that end ia aching ? 
"Who would trust to ties 

That every hour are breaking ? 
Better far to be 

In utter darkness lyin^, 
Than to be bless'd with light and see 

That light forever flying. 
All that's bright must fade, — 

The brightest still the fleetest ; 
All that's sweet was made 

But to be lost when sweetest I 



SO "V7ARMLT WE MET. 

(Hungarian Air.) 

So warmly we met and so fondly we 

parted, [could not tell, — 

That which was the sweeter ev'n I 

That firstlook of welcome her sunny eyes 

darted, [our farewell. 

Or that tear of passion, whicli bless'd 

To meet was a heaven, and to part thus 

another, — [in bliss; 

Our joy and our sorrow seem'd rivals 

Oh ! Cupid's two eyes are not liker each 

other [ment to this. 

In smUes and in tears, than that mo- 

The first was like daybreak, new, sud- 
den, delicious, — [up yet; 
The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled 
The last like the farewell of daylight, 
more precious, [its set. 
More glowing and deep, as 'ti& nearer 



Our meeting, though happy, was tinged 

by a sorrow [remain ; 

To think that such happiness could not 

While our parting, though sad, gave a 

hope that to-morrow 

Would bring back the bless'd hour ol 

meeting again. 



THOSE EYE]^IN"G BELLS. 
(AiK. — The Bells of St. Peteksburgh.) 

Those evening bells! those eveningbells' 
How many a tale their music tells, 
Of youth, and home, and that sweettime, 
When last I heard their soothing chime. 

Those joyous hours are pass'd away ; 
And many a heart, that then was gay, 
Within the tomb now darkly dwells, 
And hears no more those evening bells. 

And so 'twill be when I am gone ; 
That tuneful peal will still ring on, 
WhUe other bards shall walk these dells. 
And singyourpraise, sweetevening bells. 



SHOULD THOSE POKD HOPES. 

(Portuguese Air.) 
Shoitld those fond hopes e'er forsake 
thee,* [ploy; 

Which now so sweetly thy heart em- 
Should the cold world come to wake thee 
From all thy visions of youth and joy ; 
Should the gay friends, for whom thou 
wouldst banish [his own. 

Him who once thought thy youngheart 
All, like spring birds, falsely vanish, 
And leave thy winter unheeded and 
lone ;— 

Oh ! 'tis then that he thou hast slighted 

Would come to cheer thee, when all 
seemed o'er ; 
Then the truant, lost and blighted. 

Would to his bosom be taken once 

more. [ber. 

Like that dear bird we both can remem- 

Wholeft us while summer sboue round, 
But, when chill'd by bleak December, 

On our threshold a welcome still found. 

* This is one of the many instances among 
my lyrical poems, — though "the above, it must 
be' owned, is an extreme case, — where the me- 
tro has been necessarily sacrificed to the struo 
ture of the air. 




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296 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



REASOif, FOLLY, AUD BEAUTY. 

(Italian Air.) 
Reason, and Folly, and Beauty, they 

say, 
"Went on a party of pleasure one day : 
Folly play'd 
Around the maid. 
The beUs of his cap rung merrily out ; 
While Reason took 
To his sermon-book — 
Oh! which vras the pleasanter no one 
need doubt, [doubt. 

WTiich was the pleasanter no one need 

Beauty, who likes to be thought very 
sage, [page, 

Tum'd for a moment to Reason's dull 
Till Folly said, 

" Look here, sweet maid !" — 
The sight of his cap brought her back to 
herself; 
While Reason read 
His leaves of lead. 
With no one to mind him, poor sensible 
elf! [elf! 

N"o, — no one to mind him, poor sensible 

Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay 
cap ; [trap- 

Had he that on, he her heart might en- 
' ' There it is, " 
Quoth Folly, "old quiz !" 
(Folly was always good-natured, 'tis 
said, ) 

" Under the sun 
" There's no such fun, 
•* As Reason with my cap and bells on 
his head, [head !" 

*' Reason with my cap and beUs on his 
But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly 
wore, [before ; 

That Beauty now liked him still lessthan 
While Folly took 
Old Reason's book, 
And twisted the leaves in a cap of such 
That Beauty vow'd [ton, 

(Though not aloud,) 
She liked him still better in that than his 
own, [his own. 

Yes,— liked him still better in that than 



FARE THEE WELL, THOU LOYELY 

ONE. 
(Sicilian Air.) 
Fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 
Lovely still, but dear no more; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 



Love's sweet hfe is o'er. 
Thy words, whate'er theu- llatt'ring spell, 

Could scarce have thus deceived ; 
But eyes that acted truth so weU 

Were sure to be beheved. 
Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 

Lovely still, but dear no more j 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 
Yet those eyes look constant stUl, 

True as stars they keep their light j 
Still those cheeks their pledge fullil 

Of blushing always bright. 
'Tis only on thy changeful heart 

The blame of falsehood lies ; 
Love lives in every other part. 

But there, alas ! he dies. 
Tneu, fare thee well, thou lovely one I 

Lovely still, but dear no more; 
Once bis soul of truth is gone. 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 



DOST THOU REMEMBER. 

(PoiiTUGUESE Air.) 

Dost thou remember that place so lone- 

A place for lovers, and lovers only, [ly 

Where first I told thee all my secret 

sighs ? [o'er thee, 

When, as the moonbeam, that trembled 

Illumed thy blushes, I knelt before thee, 

And read my hope's sweet triumph iu 

those eyes? [dra^^'n to heart, 

Then, then, while closely heart was 

Love bound us— never, never more to 

part! 

And when I call'd thee by names the 

dearest* [est,— 

That love could fancy, the fondest, near- 

" My life, my only life I" among the 

rest ; [me, 

In those sweet accents that still enthral 

Thou saidst, " Ah ! wherefore thy life 

thus call me ? [love best ; 

"Thy soul, thy soul's the name that I 

" For Mfe soon passes,— but how bless'd 

to be [from thee !" 

" That Soul which never, never parts 

OH, COME TO ME WHEN DAY 
LIGHT SETS. 
(Venetian Air.) 
Oh, come to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet ! then come to me. 
When smoothly go our goudolets 

* The thought ia tliis verse is borrowed fron: 
the origiual Portuguese wordfc 




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NATION-AL AIRS. 



297 



O'er the moonlight sea. 
When Mirth's awalie, and Love begins, 

Beneath that glancing ray, 
"With sound of kites and mandolins, 

To steal 5'ouug hearts away. 
Then, come to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet ! then come to me, 
■When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight sea. 

Oh, then's the honr for those who love, 

Sweet ! like thee and me ; 
'When all's so calm below, above, 

In heav'n and o'er the sea. 
When maidens sing sweet barcarolles* 

And Echo sings again 
So sweet, that all with ears and souls 

Should love and listen then. 
So, come to me when dayhght sets; 

Sweet ! then come to me, 
"W"hen smoothly go our gondoleta 

O'er the moonlight sea. 



OFT, IX THE STILLY NIGHT. 
(Scotch Air.) 
Oft, in the stilly night, 

Ere Slumbei-'s chain has bound me, 
Fond Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me ; 
The smiles, the tears, 
Of boyhood's years, 
The words of love then spoken ; 
The eyes that shone 
Now dimm'd and gone. 
The cheerful hearts now broken! 
Thus, in the stilly night, 

Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me. 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

When I remember all 

The friends, so link'd together, 
I've seen around me fall, 
Like leaves in wintry weather ; 
I feel hke one. 
Who treads alone 
Some banquet-hall deserted. 
Whose lights are fled, 
Whose garland's dead, 
And all but he departed 1 
Thus, in the stilly night, 

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me. 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

♦Barcarolles, sorte de chansons en langue 
Venitienne, que cliantent Ips {roiulnliers i ven- 
ise. — Rousseau, Dictiunnaire de Musique, 



HARK ! THE YESPER HYMN IS 
STEALING. 
(Russian Air.) 

Hark ! the vesper hymn is stealing 

O'er the waters soft and clear; 
Nearer yet and nearer pealing, 
And now bursts upon the ear: 
Jubilate, Amen. 
Farther now, now farther stealing, 
Soft it fades upon the ear : 
Jubilate, Amen. 

Now, like moonlight waves retreating 

To the shore, it dies along ; 
Now, like angry surges meeting, 
Breaks the mingled tide of song: 
Jubilate, Amen. 
Hush ! again, like waves, retreating 
To the shore, it dies along : 
f ibilate, Amen. 



LOYE AND HOPE. 
(Swiss Air.) 

At mom, beside yon summer sea. 

Young Hope and Love reclined ; 
But scarce had noontide come, when he 
Into his bark leap'd smilingly. 
And left poor Hope behind. 

" I go," said Love, " to sail awhile 

" Across this sunny main ;" 
And then so sweet his parting smile. 
That Hope, who never dream'd of guile^ 
Believed he'd come again. 

She linger'd there till evening's beam 

Along the waters lay ; 
And o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream, 
Oft traced his name, which still the 

As often wash'd away. [stream 

At length a sail appears in sight. 
And tow'rd the maiden moves ! 

'Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and 
bright. 

His golden bark reflects the light, 
But ah ! it is not Love's. 

Another sail— 'twas Friendship show'd 

Her night-lamp o'er the sea ; 
And calm the light that lamp bestow'dj 
But Love had lights that warmer glow'd 
And where, alas ! was he ? 

Now fast around the sea and shore 
Night threw her darkling chain ; 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 



The sunny saUs were seen no more, 
Hope's morning dreams of bliss were 
Love never came again. [o'er, — 



THERE COMES A TIME. 
(German Air.) 

There comes a time, a dreary time, 

To him whose heart hath flown 
O'er all the fields of youth's sweet prime, 

And made each flower its own. 
Tis when his soul must first renounce 

Those dreams so bright, so fond ; 
Oh ! then's the time to die at once, 

For life has naught beyond. 

WTien sets the sun on Afric's shore, 

That instant all is night ; 
And so should life at once be o'er, 

"When Love withdraws his light ;— 
Nor, like our northern 4ay, gleam on 

Through twilight's dim delay, 
The cold remains of lustre gone, 

Of fire long pass'd away. 



MY HARP HAS ONE UNCHANG- 
ING THEME. 
(Swedish Air.) 

Mt harp has one unchanging theme, 

One strain that still comes o'er 
Its languid chord, as twere a dream 

Of joy that's now no more. 
In vain I try, with hvelier air. 

To wake the breathing string; 
That voice of other times is there. 

And saddens all I sing. 

Breathe on, breathe on, thou languid 

Henceforth be all my own ; [strain. 
Though thou art oft so fuU of pain 

Few hearts can bear thy tone, 
ret oft thou'rt sweet, as if the sigh, 

The breath that Pleasure's wings 
Gave out, when last they wanton'd by, 

"Were still upon thy strings. 

OH, NO— NOT EY'N "WHEN FIRST 

WE LOYED. 

(Cashmerian Air.) 

Oh, no — not ev'n when first we loved, 
"Wert thou as dear as now thou art ; 

Thy beauty then my senses moved, 
But now thy virtues bind my heart. 

What was bat Passion's sigh before, 



Has smce been turned to Reason's 
vow ; [>Koye, 

And, though I then might love thee 
Trust me, I love thee better now. 

Although my heart in earlier youth 

Might kindle with more wild desire. 
Believe me, it has gaiu'd in truth 

Much more than it has lost in fire. 
The flame now warms my inmost core, 

That then but spai'kled o'er my brow, 
And, though I seem'd to love thee more, 

Yet, oh, I love thee better now. 



PEACE BE AROUND THEE. 
(Scotch Air.) 

Peace be around thee, wherever thou 
rovest ; 
May life be for thee one summer's day, 
And all that thou wishest, and all that 
thou lovest. 
Come smiling around thy sunny way ! 
If sorrow e'er this calm should break, 

May even thy tears pass off so lightly, 
Like spriug-showers, they'll only make 
The smiles that follow shine more 
brightly. 

May Time, who sheds his blight o'er all, 

And daily dooms some joy to death, 
O'er thee le't years so gently fall, [ueath. 

They shall not crush one flower be- 
As half in shade and half in sun 

This world along its path advances. 
May that side the sim's upon 

Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances ! 



COMMON SENSE AND GENIUS. 
(French Air.) 

"While I touch the string, 

"Wreath my brows with laurel. 
For the tale I sing 

Has, for once, a moral. 
Common Sense, one night, 

Though not used to gambols,, 
"Went out by moonlight, 

"With Genius, on his rambles. 
"While I touch the string, &c. 

Common Sense went on, 
Many wise things saying ; 

"WhUe the light that shone 
Soon set Genius straying. 

One his eye ne'er raised 
E.om the path before him. 



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NATION'AL AIKS. 



T'other idly gazed 
On each night-cloud o'er him. 
"While I touch the string, &e. 

So they came, at last, 

To a shady river ; 
Common Sense soon pass'd, 

Safe, as he doth ever ; 
"VThile the boy, whose look 

"Was in Heaven that minute, 
Never saw the brook, 

But tumbled headlong in it ! 
"While I touch the string, &c. 

How the "Wise One smiled, 

"When safe o'er the torrent, 
At that youth, so wild, 

Dripping from the current ! 
Sense went home to bed ; 

Genius, left to shiver 
On the bank, 'tis said, 

Died of that cold river ! 

"While I touch the string, &c. 



THEN", FARE THEE "WELL. 
(Old English Air.) 

Then, fare thee well, my own dear love. 

This world has now for us 
No greater grief, no pain above 

The pain of parting thus, 
Dear love ! 

The pain of parting thus 

Had we but known, since first we met. 
Some few short hours of bhss, 

"We might, in numb'ring them, forget 
The deep, deep pain of this, 

Dear love ! 
The deep, deep pain of this. 

But no, alas, we've never seen 
One gUmpse of pleasure's ray, 

But still there came some cloud between. 
And chased it aU away, 

Dear love ! 
And chased it all away. 

Yet, ev'n could those sad moments last, 

Far dearer to my heart 
"Were hours of grief, together pass'd, 

Than years of mirth apart. 
Dear love ! 

Than years of mirth apart. 

Farewell ! our hope was born in fears, 

And nursed 'mid vain regrets ; 
Like winter suns, it rose in tears. 



Like them in tears it i 

Dear love ! 
Like them in tears it s 



GATLT SOUN"DS THE CASTAI7ET. 
(Maltese Air.) 

Gayly sounds the castanet, 

Beatiu"; time to bounding feet, 
"When, after daylight's golden set, 

Maids and youths by moonlight meet. 
Oh, then, how sweet to move 

Through all that maze of mirth 
Led by light from eyes we love 

Beyond all eyes on earth. 

Then, the joyous banquet spread 

On the cool and fragrant ground, 
"With heav'n's bright sparkles overhead, 

And still brighter sparkhng round. 
Oh, then, how sweet to say 

Into some loved one's ear. 
Thoughts reserved through many a day 

To be thus whisper'd here 

"When the dance and feast are done, 

Arm in arm as home we stray. 
How sweet to see the dawning sun 

O'er her cheek's warm blushes play ! 
Then, too, the farewell kiss — 

The words, whose parting tone 
Lingers still in dreams of bliss. 

That haunt young hearts a^one. 



LOYE IS A HUNTEE BOY. 
(Languedocian Air.) 

Love is a hunter boy, 
"Who makes yoimg hearts his prey ; 

And, in his nets of joy. 
Ensnares them night and day. 

In vain conceal'd they lie- 
Love tracks them everywhere ; 

In vain aloft they fly — 
Love shoots them flying there. 

But 'tis his joy most sweet, 

At early dawn to trace 
The print of Beauty's feet. 

And give the trembler chase. 
And if, through virgin snow, 

He tracks her footsteps fair. 
How sweet for Love to Know 

None went before him there. 



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soo 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



COME, CHASE THAT STARTING 

TEAR AWAY. 

(French Air.) 

Come, chase that starting tear away, 

Ere mine to meet it springs ; 
To-night, at least, to-night be gay, 

Whate'er to-mon-ow brings. 
Like sunset gleams, that linger late 

"When all is dark'ning fast, [Fate— 
kre hours like these we snatch from 

The brightest and the last. 
Then, chase that starting tear, &c. 

To gild the deep'niug gloom, if Heaven 

But one bright hour allow, 
Oh, think that one bright hour is given 

In all its splendor now. 
Let's live it out — then sink in night. 

Like waves that from the shore 
One minute swell, are touch'd with light, 

Then lost for evermore ! 
Come, chase that starting tear, &c. 



JOTS OP YOUTH, HOW FLEET- 
IN" G ! 

(Portuguese Air.) 
Whisp'rings, heard by wakeful maids, 

To whom the night stars guide us ; 
Stolen walks through moonlight shades, 
"W"ith those we love beside us; 
Hearts beating. 
At meeting ; 
Tears starting, 
At parting ; 
Oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades ! 
Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting 1 

"Wand'rings far away from home, 

With life all new before us ; 
Greetings warm, when home we come, 
From hearts whose prayers watch'd 
Tears starting, [o'er us. 

At parting ; 
Hearts beating. 
At meeting ; 
Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some ! 
To some, how bright and fleeting 1 



HEAR ME BUT ONCE. 
(Prench Air.) 
Hear me but once, while o'er the grave. 
In which our Love lies cold and dead, 
I count each flatt'ring hope he gave 
Of joys now lost, and charms how fled. 



Who could have thought the smile he 
wore, 
"WTien first we met, would fade away ? 
Or that a chUl would e'er come o'er 
Those eyes so bright through many a 
day? 

Hear me but once, &c. 



WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD. 

(Swedish Air.) 

When Love was a child, and went idling 

round, [day, 

'Mong flowers, the whole summer's 

One mom in the valley a bower he found. 

So sweet, it allured him to stay. 

O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland 

fair, 

A foimtam ran darkly beneath ; — 

'Twas Pleasure had hung up the flow'r- 

ets there ; [wreath. 

Love knew it, and jump'd at the 

But Love didn't know — and, at his weak 

years, 

"WTiat urchin was likely to know ?— 

That Sorrow had made of her own salt 

tears 

The fountain that murmur'd below. 

He caught at the wreath— but with too 
much haste. 

As boys when impatient will do — 
It fell in those waters of briny taste. 

And the flowers were all wet through. 

This garland he now wears night and 
day; 
And, though it all sunny appears 
With Pleasure's own ligitit, each leaf, 
they say. 
Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears. 



SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR 

SPORT TO-DAY? 

(Sicilian Air.) 

Sat, what shall be our sport to-day? 

There's nothingon earth, in sea, or air, 
Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay, 

For spirits like mine to dare ! 
'Tis like the returning bloom 

Of those days, alas, gone "by, 
When I loved, each hour — I scarce knew 
whom — 

And was bless'd— I scarce knew why. 




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NATIONAL AIEB. 



-.501 



Ay — those were days when life had 
wings, 

And flew, oh, flew so wild a height, 
That, like the lark which sunward 
springs, 

'Twas giddy with too much light. 
And, though of some plumes bereft, 

With that sun, too, nearly set, 
I've enough of light and wing stiU left 

For a few gay soarings yet. 

BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS. 

("Welsh Aib.) 

Bright be thy dreams— may aU thy 
weeping [ing. 

Turn into smiles while thou art sleep- 
May those by death or seas removed, 
The friends, who in thy spring-time 
knew thee. 
All, thou hast ever prized or loved, 
In di'eams come smUing to thee ! 

There may the child, whose love lay 

deepest, 
J)earest of all, come while thou sleepest ; 
Still as she was — no charm forgot — 
No lustre lost that life had given ; 

Or, if changed, but changed to what 
Thou' It find her yet in heaven ! 



GO, THEN— 'TIS YAIN. 
(Sicilian Air.) 

Go, then — 'tis vain to hover 

Thus round a hope that's dead; 
At length my dream is over; 

'Twas sweet — 'twas false — 'tis fled ! 
farewell ! since naught it moves thee, 

Such truth as mine to see — 
Some one, who far less loves thee, 

Perhaps more bless'd will be. 

Farewell, sweet eyes, whose 

New life around me shed ; 
Farewell, false heart, whose lightne 

Now leaves me death instead. 
Go, now, those charms surrender 

To some new lover's sigh — 
One who, though far less tender, 

May be more bless'd than I. 

THE CRYSTAL-HUNTERS. 
(Swiss Aik.) 

O'er mountains bright 
With snow and hght, 



"We Crystal-Hunters speed along; 

While rocks and caves, 

And icy waves, 
Each instant echo to our song ; 
And, when we meet with store of gems, 
We grudge not kings their diadems. 

O'er mountains bright 

With snow and light, 
We Crystal-Hunters speed along; 

While grots and caves, 

And icy waves, 
Each instant echo to our song. 

Not half so oft the lover dreams 
Of sparkles from his lady's eyes. 

As we of those refreshing gleams 
That teU where deep the crystal lies ; 

Though, next to crystal, we too grant. 

That ladies' eyes may most enchant. 
O'er mountains bright, &c. 

Sometimes, when on the Alpine rose 

The golden sunset leaves its ray. 
So like a gem the flo-^'ret glows. 

We thither bend oiu headlong way; 
And, though we find no treasure there, 
We bless the rose that shines so fair. 
O'er mountains bright 
With snow and light, 
We Crystal-Hunters speed along; 
While rocks and caves. 
And icy waves, 
Each instant echo to our song. 



ROW GENTLY HERE. 

(Venetian Air.) 

Row gently here, 

My gondolier. 
So softly wake the tide, 

That not an ear. 

On earth, may hear. 
But hers to whom we glide. 
Ha ■ Heaven buttonguestospcak,aswen 

As starry eyes to see, 
Oh- think what tales 'twould have toteU 
Of wandering youths like me I 

Now rest thee here. 

My gondolier ; 
Hush, hush, for up I go, 

To climb yon light 

Balcony's height. 
While thou kecp'st watch below. 
Ah ! did we take for Heaven above 

But half such pains as we 

Take, day and night, for woman's lova 

WTiat Angels we should bo ! 



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303 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



H, DATS OF YOUTH. 

(French Air.) 

Oh, days of youth and joy, long clouded, 
Why thus forever haunt my view ? [ed, 

Wheu in the grave your light lay shroud- 
Why did not Memory die there too? 

7ainly doth Hope her strain now sing 
TelUngof joys that yet remain — [me, 

No, never more can this life bring me 
One joy thatequals youth's sweet pain. 

Dim lies the way to death before me, 

Culd winds of Time blow round my 

brow ; [me, 

Sunshine of youth ! that once fell o'er 

Where is your warmth, yourglorynow? 
'Tto- not that then no pain could sting 
m«; 

'Tis not that now no joys remain ; 
Oh, 'tis that life no more can bring me 

One joy so sweet as that worst pain. 



WHEN FIRST THAT SMILE. 
(Venetian Air.) 
When first that smile, like sunshine, 
bless'd my sight. 
Oh what a vision then came o'er me ! 
Long years of love, of calm and pure 
delight, 
Seem'd in that smile to pass before me. 
Ne er did the peasant dream of summer 
skies, [ing, 

or golden fruit, and harvests spring- 
Witli londer hope than I of those sweet 
eyes, [ing. 

And of the joy their light was bring- 
Where now are all those fondly promised 
hours? 
Ah ! woman's faith is like her bright- 
ness — [flowers, 
Fading as fast as rainbows, or day- 
Oi aught that's known for grace and 
lightness. [day, 
Short as the Persian's prayer, at close of 
Should be each vow of Love's repeat- 
ing ; [ray— 
Qcick let him worship Beauty's precious 
Even while he kneels, that ray is fleet- 
ing! 

PEACE TO THE SLUMB'RERS ! 
(Cataloniai? Aie.) 

Peace to the slurab'rers ! 
They lie on the battle-plain- 



With no shroud to cover them ; 

The dew and the summer rain 
Are all that weep over them. 

Peace to the slumb'rers ! 

Tain was their brav'ry ! — 
The fallen oak lies where it lay 

Across the wintry river ; 
But brave hearts, once swept away. 

Are gone, alas ! forever. 

Yain was their brav'ry ! 

"Wo to the conq'ror ! 

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs 
Of whom his sword bereft us. 

Ere we forget the deep arrears 
Of vengeance they have left us ! 
Wo to the conq'ror ! 



WHEN" THOU SHALT WANDER. 

(Sicilian Air.) 

When thou shalt wander by that sweet 

light 

We used to gaze on so many an eve, 

When love was new and hope was bright; 

Ere I could doubt or thou deceive — 

Oh, then, remem'bring how swift went 

by [may'st sigh. 

Those hours of transport, even thou 

Yes, proud one ! even thy heart may own 
That love like om's was far too sweet 

To be, like summer garments, thrown 
Aside, when pass'd the summer's heat; 

And wish in vain to know again [then. 

Such days, such nights, as bless'd thee 



WHO'LL BUr MY LOVE-ELN^OTS ? 

(Portuguese Air.) 

Hymen, late, his love-knots selling, 
Call'd at many a maiden's dwelling. 
None could doubt, who saw or knew 

them. 
Hymen's call was welcome to them. 

" Who'll buy my love-knots? 

"Who'll buy my love-knots ? " 
Soon as that sweet cry resounded, 
How his baskets were surrounded ! 

Maids, who now first dream'd of trying 
These gay knots of Hymen's tying ; _ 
Dames, who long had sat to watch him 
Passing by, but ne'er could catch him j" 

" Who'll buy my love-knots ? 

" Who'll buy my love-knots ? "— 







c'^~^^. — ^ 




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N ATIOlfAL AIRS. 



303 



All at that sweet cry assembled ; 
Some laugh' d, some blush' d, and some 

trembled. 
" Here are knots," said Hymen, taking 
Some loose flowers, "of Love's own 
making ; ['em "— 

"Here are gold ones — you may trust 
(These, of course, found ready custom, ) 

" Come, buy my love-knots ! 

" Come, buy my love-knots ! 
" Some are labell'd ' Knots to tie men — 
" Love the maker —Bought of Hymen.- " 

Scarce their bargains were completed. 
When the nymphs all cried, "We're 
cheated ! [sadly ; 

"See these flowers — they're drooping 
" This gold-knot, too, ties but badly— 

" Who'd buy such love-knots ? 

" Who'd buy such love-knots? 
" Even this tie, with Love's name round 

it— 
" All a sham— He never bound it." 

Love, who saw the whole proceeding, 
Would have laugh'd but for good-breed- 

iug, 
While Old Hymen, who was used to 
Cries like that these dames gave loose 
to— 

" Take back our love-knots ! 

" Take back our love -knots !" 
Coolly said, "There's no returning 
" Wares on Hymen's hands— Good mom- 



SEE, THE DAWN^ FROM HEAVEN. 

(To AH Air sung at Romk, on Christmas 

Eve.) 

See, the dawn from Heaven is breaking 

O'er our sight. 
And Earth, from sin awaking, 

Hails the light ! 
See those groups of angels, winging 

From the realms above, 
On their brows, from Eden, bringing 

Wreaths of Hope and Love. 

Havk, their hymns of glory pealing 

Through the air. 
To mortal ears revealing 

Who hes there ! 
In that dwelling, dark and lowly, 

Sleeps the Heavenly Son, 
He, whose home's above, -*the Holy, 

Ever Holy One ! 

* Sutrgcsted by tlio following remark of 
Swift:— "The reason Why so few marriages 



NETS AND CAGES.* 
(Swedish Air.) 
Come, listen to my story, while 

Your needles' task you ply ; 
At what I sing some maids will smile, 

While some, perhaps, may sigh. 
Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom 
blames 
Such florid songs as ours, [dames,' 
Yet Truth sometimes, like eastern 
Can speak her thoughts by flowers. 

Then listen, maids, come listen, whUe 

Your needles' task you ply ; 
At what I sing there's some may snule, 

While some, perhaps, will sigh. 

Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves, 

Such nets had leam'd to frame, 
That none, ui all her vales and groves, 

E'er caught so much small game : 
But gentle Sue, less giv'n to roam, 

While Cloe's nets were taking 
Such lots of Loves, sat still at home. 

One little Love-cage making. 

Come, listen, maids, <fec. 

Much Cloe laugh'd at Susan's task : 

But mark how things went on : [ask 
These hght-eaught Loves, ere you could 

Their name and age, were gone ! 
So weak poor Cloe's nets were wove. 

That, though she charm'd into them 
New game each hour, the youngest Love 

Was able to break through them. 
Come, listen, maids, &c. 

Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was 
wrought 

Of bars too strong to sever, 
One Love with golden pinions caught. 

And caged him there forever; 
Instructing, thereby, all coquettes, 

Whate'er their looks or ages. 
That, though 'tis pleasant weaving Nets, 

'Tis wiser to make Cages. 

Thus, maidens, thus do I begiule 
The task your fingers ply. — 

May aU who hear like Susan smUe, 
And not, like Cloe, sigh 1 

WHEN THROUGH THE PIAZETTA. 

(Venetlvn Air.) 

When through the Piazetta 
Night breathes her cool air, 
are happy, is, because young ladies spend their 
time in making nets, not in making cages,' 




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304 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Then, dearest Ninetta, 
ni come to thee there. 

Beneath thy mask shrouded, 
I'll know thee afar, 

As Love knows, though clouded, 
His own Evenmg Star. 

In garb, then, resembling 

Some gay gondolier, 
I'll whisper thee, trembling, 

" Our bark, love, is near : 
" Kow, now, while there hover 

" Those clouds o'er the moon, 
"Twill waft thee safe over 

" Yon silent Lagoon." 



GO, NOW, AND DREAM. 
(Sicilian Air.) 

Go, now, and dream o'er that joy in thy 
slumber— [number. 

Moments so sweet again ne'er shalt thou 

Of Pain's bitter draught the flavor ne'er 
flies, [ere it dies. 

While Pleasure's scarce touches the lip 
Go, then, and dream, &G. 

That moon, which hung o'er your part- 
ing, so splendid, [did — 

Often will shine again, bright as she then 

But, never more will the beam she saw 
bum [return. 

In those happy eyes, at your meeting. 
Go, then, and dream, <tc. 



TAKE HENCE THE BOWL. 
(Neapolitan Aie.) 

Take hence the bowl; — though beaming 

Brightly as bowl e'er shone. 
Oh, it but sets me dreaming 

Of happy days now gone. 
There, in its clear reflection. 

As iu a wizard's glass, 
Lost hopes and dead afi'ection. 

Like shades, before me pass. 

Each cup I drain brings hither 

Some scenes of bliss gone by ; — 
Bright lips, too bright to wither, 

Warm hearts, too warm to die. 
Till, as the dream comes o'er me 

Of those long-vanish'd years, 
Mas, the wine before me 

Seems turning all to tears ! 



FAREWELL, THERESA ! 

(Venetian Air.) 

Farewell, Theresa! yon cloud that 

over [see. 

Heaven's pale night-star gath'riug we 

Will scarce fi-om that pure orb have 

pass'd, ere thy lover [from thee. 

Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander 

Long, like that dim cloud, I've hung 

around thee, [brow ; 

Dark'ningthy prospects, sadd'ning thv 

With gay heart, Theresa, and bright 

cheek I found thee ; 

Oh, think how changed, love, how 

changed art thou now ! 

But here I free thee : like one awakiny 

From fearful slumber, thou break's! 

the spell; [is breaking-. 

'Tis over— the moon, too, her bondage 

Past are the dark clouds; Theresa, 

farewell ! 



HOW OFT, WHEN WATCHING 

STARS. 

^Savoyard Air. 

Oft, when the watching stars grow pale, 
And round me sleeps the moonlight 
scene. 
To hear a flute through yonder vale 

I from my casement lean. 
* • Come, come, my love !" each note then 
seems to say, [fast away I" 

"Oh, come, my love ! the night wears 
Never to mortal ear 

Could words, though warm they be, 

Speak Passion's language half so 

As do those notes to me ! [clear 

Then quick my own light lute I seek, 
And strike the chords with loudest 
swell ; [speak. 

And, though they naught to others 

He knows their language well, 
"■'■ come, my love!" each note then 
eems to say, [break of day." 
"j. come, my love! — thine, thine till 
Oh, weak the power of words, 

The hues of painting dim. 
Compared to what those simple 
chords 
Then say and paint to him ! 



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N-ATION-AL AIKS. 



305 



WHEN" THE FIRST SUMMER BEE. 
(German Air.) 
"When the first summer bee 
O'er the young rose shall hover, 
Then, like that gay rover, 
I'll come to thee. 
He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets 
to the brim — [me and for him ! 
What a meeting, what a meeting for 
When the first summer bee, &c. 

Then to every bright tree 
In the garden he'll wander; 
WhUe I, oh, much fonder, 
WiU stay with thee. 
In search of new sweetness through 
thousands he'll run, [in one. 

While I find the sweetness of thousands 
Then, to every bright tree, &g. 



THOUGH 'TIS ALL BUT A DREAM. 
(French Air.) 

Though 'tis all but a dream at the best, 
And still, when happiest, soonest o'er, 
Yet, even iu a dream, to be bless'd 
Is so sweet, that I ask for no more. 

The bosom that opes 

With earliest hopes, 
The soonest finds those hopes untrue ; 

As flowers that first 

In spiing-time burst 
The earbest wither too ! 

Ay— 'tis aU but a dream, &c. 

Though by Friendship we oft are de- 
ceived, [cast. 

And find Love's sunshine soon o'er- 
Yet Friendship will still be believed. 

And Love trusted on to the last. 
The web 'mong the leaves 
The spider weaves [men ; 

Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er 
Though often she sees 
'Tis broke by the breeze, 

She spins the bright tissue again. 
Ay— 'tis all but a dream, &c. 



WHEN" THE WINE-CUP IS SMIL- 

IN^G. 

(Italian Air.) 

When the wine-cup is smiling before us, 
And we pledge round to hearts that 
are true, boy, true. 



Then the sky of this life opens o'er us. 
And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue. 

Talk of Adam iu Eden rechning, 
We are better, far better ofi" thus, boy, 
thus ; [ing— 

For 1dm but two bright eyes were shin- 
See, what numbers are sparkling for us! 

Wlien on one side the grape-juice is 
dancing, [boy, beams. 

While on t'other a blue eye beams, 
'Tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the 
glancing, 

To distm-b ev'na saint from his dreams. 
Yet, though Mfe like a river is flowing, 

I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on, 
So the grape on its bank is still growing. 

And love hghts the waves as they nm. 



WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUli: 
SHAME? 

(Neapolitan Air.) 

Where shall we bury our shame ? 

Where, in what desolate place, 
Hide the last wreck of a name 

Broken and stain'd by disgrace ? 
Death may dissever the chain. 

Oppression will cease when we're gone; 
But the dishonor, the' stain. 

Die as we may, will live on. 

Was it for this we sent out 

Liberty's cry from our shore ? 
Was it for this that her shout 

Thrill'd to the world's very core' 
Thus to live cowards and slaves ! — 

Oh, ye free hearts that lie dead, 
Do you not, ev'n in your graves, 

Shudder, as o'er you we tread ? 



NE'ER TALK OF WISDOM'^ 

GLOOMY SCHOOLS. 

(Mahratta Air.) 

N"e'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools', 

Give me the sage who's able 
To draw his moral thoughts and rules 

From the study of the table ; — 
Wno learns how hghtly, fleetly pass 

This world and all that's in it, [glass, 
From the bumper that but crowns hig 

And is gone again next minute ! 

The diamond sleeps within the mine, 
The pearl beneath the water ; 

While Trath, more precious, dwells m 
The grape's own rosy daughter, [wme, 




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806 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



And none can prize her charms like him, 
Oh, noue like him obtain her, 

"Who thus can, like Leander, swim 
Through sparkling floods to gain her 1 

HERE SLEEPS THE BARD. 
(Highland Am.) 
Here sleeps the Bard who knew so well 
All the sweet windings of Apollo's shell ; 
Whether its music roll'd like torrents 
near, [ear. 

Or died, Mke distant streamlets, on the 
Sleep, sleep, mute bard ; alike unheeded 
now [brow — 

The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless 
That storm, whose rush is like thy mar- 
tial lay ; [dies away ! 
That breeze which, like thy love-song, 



DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS 
WANIifG. 

Do not say that life is waning. 
Or that Hope's sweet day is set; 

While I've thee and love remaining, 
Life is in th' horizon yet. 

Do not think those charms are flying, 

Though thy roses fade and fall; 
Beautj^ hath a grace undying. 

Which in thee survives them all. 
Kot for charms, the newest, brightest. 

That on other cheeks may shine, 
Woiild I change the least, the slightest, 

That is Img'ring now o'er thine. 

THE GAZELLE. 
Dost thou not hear the silver beU, 

Through yonder lime-trees ringing ? 
'Tis my lady's light gazelle, 

To me her love thoughts bringing, — 
All the while that silver bell_ 

Around his dark neck ringmg. 

See, in his mouth he bears a wreath, 
My love hath kiss'd in tying ; 

Oh, what tender thoughts beneath 
'Those silent flowers are lyin^, — 

Hid within the mystic wreath. 
My love hath kiss'd in tying I 

Welcome, dear go jelle, to thee, 

And joy to her, the fairest, 
WTio thus hath breathed her soul to me. 

In every leaf thou bearest ; 
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee. 

And joy to her, the fairest i 



Hail ye living, speaking flowers, 
That breathe of her who bound ye ; 

Oh, 'twas not in fields or bowers, 
'Twas on her lips, she found ye ; — 

Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers, 
'Twas on her Mps she found ye. 

NO— LEAVE MY HEART TO REST. 
No— leave my heart to rest, if rest it 

may, [pass'd away. 

When youth, and love, and hope, have 
Couldst thou, when summer hom-s are 

fled. 
To some poor leaf that's fall'n and dead, 
Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it 

shed? 
No — leave this heart to rest, if rest it m ay. 
When youth, and love, and hope, have 

pass'd away. 

Oh, had I met thee then, when life was 
bright, [light; 

Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil 
But now thou com'st like sunny skies, 
Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes, 
When wreck'd and lost his bark before 
him lies ! [may, 

No— leave this heart to rest, if rest 'it 
Since youth, and love, and hope, have 
pass'd away. 



WHERE ARE THE YISIONS. 

"Where are the visions that round me 

once hover' d, [shadows alone; 

" Forms that shed gi'ace from their 

Looks fresh as light irom a star just dis- 

cover'd, [her own?" 

" And voices that Music might take for 

Time, while I spoke, with his wings 
resting o'er me, [ions, oh, where ?" 
Heard me say, "Where are those vis- 
And pointing lus wand to the sunset be- 
fore me, [wind, " There." 
Said, with a voice like the hoUow 

Fondly I look'd, when the wizard had 

spoken, [of day, 

And there, mid the dim shining rains 

Saw, by their light, like a taUsman 

broken, [melt away. 

The last golden fragments of hope 

WIND THY HORN, MY HUNTER 
BOY. 

Wind thy horn, my hunter boy. 
And leave thy lute's inglonous sighs,* 




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ITATIOITAL AIRS. 



307 



Hunting is the hero's joy. 

Till war his nobler game supplies. 
Hark ! the hound-bells ringmg sweet, 
While hunters shout, and the woods re- 
peat, 

Hilli-ho ! Hilli-ho 1 

TVind again thy cheerful horn, 
Till echo, faint with answ'ring, dies ; 

Bum, bright torches, bum till mom. 
And lead us where the wild boar lies. 

Hark! the cry, " He's found, he's found," 

While hill and valley our shouts resound, 
Hilli-holEmi-ho! 



OH, GUAED OTJR AFFECTION 

Oh, guard our affection, nor e'er let it 
feel [est will steal : 

The blight that this world o'er the warm- 
While the faith of aU round us is fading 
or past, [the last. 

Let ours, ever green, keep its bloom to 

Far safer for Love 'tis to wake and to 
weep, [to sleep ; 

As he used in his prime, than go smiling 

For death on his slumber, cold death 
follows fast, [to the last. 

While the love that is wakeful lives on 

And though, as Time gathers his clouds 
o'er our head, [may spread, 

A shade somewhat darker o'er life they 

Transparent, at least, be the shadow 
they cast, [through to the last. 

So that Love's soften'd light may shine 



SLUMBEE, OH SLUMBER. 
' Slumber, oh slumber, if sleeping thou 
mak'st thou wak'st." 

' My heart beat so wildly, I'm lost if 
Thus sung I to a maiden, 

Who slept one summer's day, 
And, like a flower o'erladen 
With too much sunshine, lay. 
Slumber, oh slumber, &c. 

'Breathe not, oh breathe not, ye winds, 

o'er her cheeks ; 
' If mute thus she charms me, I'm lost 
when she speaks." 
Thus sing I, while, awaking, 

She murmurs words that seem 
As if her lips were taking 
Farewell of some sweet di-eam. 
Breathe not, oh breathe not, (fee. 



BEING THE HEIGHT GAELANDS 

HITHEE. 

Bring the bright garlands hither, 

Ere yet a leaf is dying ; 
If so soon they must witiier. 

Ours be tbeir last sweet sighing. 
Hark, that low dismal chime ! 
'Tis the dreary voice of Time. 
Oh, biing beauty, brmg roses. 

Bring all that yet is ours ; 
Let life's day, as it closes. 

Shine to the last thi-ough flowers. 

Haste, ere the bowl's declining. 

Drink of it now or never ; 
Now, while Beauty is shining, 

Love, or she's lost forever. 
Hark ! again that dull chime, 
'Tis the dreary voice of Time. 
Oh, if Hfe be a torrent, 

Down to oblivion going. 
Like this cup be its current, 

Bright to the last drop flowing ! 



IF IN LOYING, SINGING. 

If in loving, singing, night and day 
We could tiifle memly life away, 
Like atoms dancing in the beam, 
Like day-flies skimming o'er the stream. 
Or summer blossoms, bom to sigh 
Their sweetness out, and die — 
How brilliant, thoughtless, side by side, 
Thou and I could make our miinites 
No atoms ever glanced so bright, [glide ! 
No day-flies ever danced so light. 
Nor summer blossoms mix'd their sii;h, 



So close as thou and I ! 



THOU LOY'ST NO MOEE. 
Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken. 

Nor canst thou veil the sad truth o'er ; 
Thy heart is changed, thy vow is broken,, 

Thou lov'st no more — thou lov'st no 



Though kindly still those eyes behold 

me, [wore , 

The smile is gone which onco they 

Though fondly stiU those arms euibld 

me, [more. 

'Tis not the same — thou lov'st no 

Too long my dream of bliss believing, 
I've thought thee all thou wert before; 

But now — alas ! there's no deceiving, 
'Tis all too plain, thou lov'st no more 



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308 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Oh, thou as soon the dead couldst waken, 
As lost affection's life restore, 

Give peace to her that is forsaken, 
Or bring back him who loves no more. 



WHEX ABROAD IX THE WORLD. 

"When abroad in the world thou appear- 

est, [there, 

And the young and the lovely are 

To my heart while of all thou'rt the 

dearest. 

To my eyes thou'rt of all the most fair. 

They pass, one by one. 

Like waves of the sea, 
That say to tbe Sun, 

" See, how fair we can be." 
But Where's the light hke thine, 
In sun or shade to shuie ? 
Ifo — no, 'mong them all, there is noth- 
ing hke thee, 

Nothing like thee. 

Oft, of old, without farewell or warning, 

Beauty's self used to steal from the 

skies ; [morning, 

Fling a mist round her head, some fine 

And post down to earth in disguise ; 

But, no matter what shroud 

Around her might be, 
Men peep'd through the cloud. 
And whisper'd '"Tis She." 
So thou, where thousands are, 
Shin'st forth the only star — 
TeSj yes, 'moug them all, there is noth- 
ing hke thee, 

No thing like thee. 



KEEP THOSE EYES STILL PURE- 
LY MINE. 
Keep those eyes still purely mine, 

Though far oli' I be ; 
When on others most they shine, 

Then tliink they're turn'd on me. 

Should those lips as no\^- respond 

To sweet minstrelsy, 
WTien their accents seem most fond. 

Then think they're breathed for me. 

Make what hearts thou wilt thy own, 

If when all on thee 
Fix their charmed thoughts alone, 

Thou think'st the while on me. 



But hush, gentle syren — for, ah, there's 

less danger [again. 

In still sufi'ring on, than in hoping 

Long, long, in son-ow, too deep for re- 
pining, [lain ; 
Gloomy, but tranquil, this bosom hatli 
And joy coming now, like a sudden 
light shining [me but pain. 
O'er eyelids long darken'd, would bring 

Fly then, ye visions, that Hope would 

shed o'er me ; [rt .^t 

Lost to the future, my sole chance of 

Now lies not in dreaming of bliss that's 

before me, [blebt. 

But ah — in forgetting how once I was 



HOPE COMES AGAIN. 
Hope comes again, to this heart long a 
stranger, [stram ; 

Once more she sings me her flattering 



SAY, THOU BEST AND BRIGHT- 

EST. 
SAY, thou best and brightest, 

My first love and my last, 
When he, whom now thou shghtest. 

From life's dark scene hath pass'd. 
Will kinder thoughts then move thee ? 

Will pity wake one thrill 
For him who lived to love thee. 

And dying, loved thee stiU? 

If when, that hour recalling 

From which he dates bis woes. 
Thou feel'st a tear-drop falMng, 

Ah, blush not while it flows : 
But, all the past forgiving, 

Bend gently o'er his shrine, 
And say, "This heart, when living, 

" With all its faults, was mine." 

WHEN NIGHT BRINGS THE 
HOUR. 
When night brings the hour 

Of starhght and joy. 
There comes to my bower 

A fairy-wing'd boy ; 
With eves so bright. 

So fiill of wild arts, 
Like nets of fight, 

To tangle young hearts : 
With lips, in whose keeping 

Love's secret may dwell. 
Like Zephyr asleep in 

Some rosy sea-shell. 
Guess who he is. 

Name but his name, 
And his best kiss. 

For reward, you may claim. 




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N"ATIOirAL AIRS. 



"WTiere'er o'er the gi'ound 

He prints his light feet, 
The flow'rs there are found 

Most shining and sweet: 
His looks, as soft 

As lightning in May, 
Though dangerous oft, 

Ne'er wound but in play : 
And oh, when his wings 

Have brush'd o'er my lyre, 
You'd fancy its strings 

Were turning to fii-e. 
Guess who he is, 

ISTame but his name. 
And his best kiss, 

For reward, you may claim. 



LIKE 0¥E WHO, DOOM'D. 

Like one who, doom'd o'er distant seas 
His weary path to measure, [breeze, 

"Wlien home at length, with fav'ring 
He brings the far-sought treasui'e; 

His ship, in sight of shore, goes down, 
That shore to which he hasted ; 

And all the wealth he thought his own 
Is o'er the waters wasted — 

Like him, this heart, thro' many a track 

Of toil and sorrow straying, 
One hope alone brought fondly back, 

Its toil and grief repaying. 

Like him, alas, I see that ray 

Of hope before me perish, 
And one dark minute sweep away 

What years were given to cherish. 



FEAE NOT THAT, WHILE AROIIN"D 

THEE. 
Fear not that, while around thee 

life's varied blessings pour, 
One sigh of hers shall wound thee, 

Whose smde thou seek'st no more. 
No, dead and cold forever 

Let our past love remain ; 
Once gone, its spirit never 

Shall haunt thy rest again. 

May the new ties that bind thee 

Far sweeter, happier prove. 
Nor e'er of me remind thee, 

But by their tnith and love. 
Think how, asleep or waking, 

Thy image haunts me yet ; 
But, how this heart is breaking 

For thy own peace forget. 



WHEN LOYE IS KIND. 

When Love is kind. 
Cheerful and free. 

Love's sm-e to find 
Welcome ii'om me 

But when Love brings 
Heartache or pang, 

Tears, and such things- - 
Love may go hai^g J 

If Love can sigh 

For one alone. 
Well pleased am I 

To be that one. 

Bat should I see 
Love giv'n to rove 

To two or thi-ee, 
Then— good-by. Love.' 

Love must, in short. 
Keep fond and true. 

Through good report. 
And evil too. 

Else, here I swear, 
Young Love may go^ 

For aught I care — 
To Jericho. 



TEE GARLAND I SEND THEE. 

The Garland I send thee was cuH'A 

from those bowers 
Where thou and I wauder'd in long 

vanish'd hours ; [displays, 

Not a leaf or a blossom its bloom here 
But bears some remembrance of those 

happy days. 

The roses were gathered by that garden 
gate, [seem'd always too late ; 

Where our meetings, though early, 

Where Hng'ring full oft through a sum- 
mer night's moon, 

Our partings, though late, appear' d 
always too soon. 

The rest were all cull'd from the banks 
of that glade, [we've stray'd. 

Where, watching the sunset, so often 

And moum'd, as the time went, that 
Love had no power [hour. 

To bind in his chain even one happy 



HOW SHALL I WOO ? 
If I speak to thee in Friendship's nam^ 
Thouthink'st I speak too coldly; 




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310 



MOORE'S \70EK3. 



If I mention Love's devoted flame. 
Thou say'st I speak too boldly. 

Between these two unequal fires, 
Why doom me thus to hover °l 

I'm a fi-iend, if such thy heart requires, 
If more thou seek'st, a lover. 

Which shall it bel? How shall I woo? 

Fair one, choose between the two. 

Tho' the wings of Love will brightly play, 

"When first he comes to woo thee, 
There's a chance that he may fly away 

As fast as he flies to thee. [come, 
While Friendship, though on foot she 

N"o flights of fancy trying, 
Will, therefore, oft be found at home, 

When Love abroad is flying. 
Which shall it be 'I How shall I woo ? 
Dear one, choose between the two. 

If neither feeling suits thy heart, 

Let's see, to i)lease thee, whether 
We may not learn some precious art 

To mix their charms together ; 
One feeling, atill more sweet, to form 

From two so sweet already — 
A friendship that Uke love is warm, 

A love like friendship steady. 
Thus let it be, thus let me woo. 
Dearest, thus we'll join the two. 



SPRING AND AUTUMN. 

Ev'rt season hath its pleasures ; _ 
Spring may boast her flow'ry prime, 

Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures 
Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time. 

So life's year begins and closes ; 
Days, though short'ning, still can shine; 

"What though youth give love and roses. 
Age still leavea u^ Uleuds and wine. 



Phillis, when she might have caught me, 

All the Spring look'd coy and shy, 
Tet herself in Autumn sought me, 

When the flowers were all gone by. 
Ah, too late ; — she found her lover 

Calm and free beneath his vine, 
Drinking to the Spiiug-time over 

In his best autumnal wine. 

Thus may we, as years are flying, 

To their flight our pleasures suit 
Nor regret the blossoms dying, 

While we stUl may taste the fruit. 
Oh, while days like this are ours, 

^VTiere's the lip that dares repine ? 
Spiing may take our loves and flow'rs, 

So Autumn leaves us friends and wine. 



LOYE ALONE. 

If thou wouldst have thy charms en- 
chant our eyes, [pbe liej : 
First win our hearts, for there thy em- 
Beauty in vain would mount a heartless 

throne, 
Her Right Divine is given by Love alone. 

What would the rose with aU her pride 
be worth, [forth? 

Were there no sun to call her brightness 

Maidens, unloved, like flowers in dark- 
ness thrown, [Love alone. 

Wait but that light, which comes fr'om 

Fair as thy charms in yonder glass ap 
pear, [year to year 

Trust not their bloom, they'll fade from 

Wouldst thou they still should shine as 
first they shone. 

Go, fix thy mirror in Love's eyes alone. 




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SACRED SONGS. Sll 




SACRED SONGS 



TO 

EDWARD TUITE DALTON", ESQ. 

THIS FIKBT NUMBER OF SACKED SONGS IS INSCRIBED, 

BY HIS SINCERE AND AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, 

THOMAS MOOEE. 

!tl«!{jre\d tvvtage, d-shbourne, May, 1816. 



THOU ART, OH GOD. 

(AiK— Unknown.*) 

•■The day is thine, the night also is thine: 
ti.ou hast prepared the lieht and the sun. 

'Thou hast set all the borders of the earth : 
♦hou liast made summer and winter.'" — Psalm 
Issiv. 16, 17. 

Thou art, God, the life and light 

Of all this wondrous world we see ; 
ltd glow by day, its smile by night. 

Are but reflections caught from Thee. 
"Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, 
And all things fair and bright are Thine ! 
"When Day, with farewell beam, delays 

Among the op'ning clouds of Even, 
And we can almost think we gaze 

Through golden vistas into Heaven — 
Those hues that make the Sun's decline 
So soft, so radiant, Lord ! are thine. 

"When Night, with wings of starry 
gloom, 
O'ershadows all the earth and skies. 
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose 
plume 
Is sparkling with unmimber'd eyes — 
That sacred gloom, those fires divine. 
So grand, so countless. Lord ! are Thine. 
"When youthful Spring around us 
breathes, 
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; 

* I have heard that this air is bj tlio late Mrs. 
Sheridan. It is sung to the beantifulold words, 
" I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair." 

1 The carrier-pigeon, it is well kiiowu, flies 



And every flower the Summer wreathe>. 

Is bom beneath that kindhng eye. 
"Where'er we turn, thy glories shine. 

And all things fair and bright arj 
thine ! 



THE BIRD LET LOOSE. 

(Air— Beethoven. ) 
The bird, let loose in eastern skies, t 

"When hast'uing fondly home, 
Ne'er stoops to earth her Aviug, nor flies 

"Where idle warl)lers roam. [hght. 
Bat high she shoots through air and 

Above all low delay, 
"Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, 

Nor shadow dims iier way. 

So grant me, God, from every care 

And stain of passion free. 
Aloft, through V'irtue's purer air, 

To hold my course to Thee ! 
No sin to cloud, no lure to stay 

My Soul, as home she springs ; — 
Thy Sunshine on her joyful way, 

Thy Freedom in her wings ! 



FALLEN IS THY THRONE. 
(Air.— Martini.) 

Fall'n is thy Throne, oh Israel ! 
Silence is o'er thy plain<< ; 

at an elevated pitch, in ord^r to snrmonnt 
between her aiid the place to 




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312 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



Thy dwellings all lie desolate, 

thy children weep in chains. 
"Where are the dews that fed thee 

On Etham's baiTen shore ? 
That lire from Heaven which led thee, 

Now lights thy path no more. 
Lord ! thou didst love Jerusalem — 

Once she was all thy own ; 
Her love thy fairest heritage,* 

Her power thy glory's throne,t 
Till evil came, and blighted 

Thy long-loved olive tree ; \ 
And Salem's shrines were Hghted 

For other gods than Thee. 

Then sunk the star of Solyma — 

Then pass'd her glory's day, 
Like heath that, in the wilderness, $ 

The wild wind whirls away. 
Silent and waste her bowers, 

"Where once the mighty trod. 
And sunk those guilty towers, 

"While Baal reign'd as God. 

"Go" — said the Lord— 'Te Con- 
querors 

" Steep in her blood yom* swords, 
*' And raze to earth her battlements, H 

" For they are not the Lord's. 
" Till Zion's mom-nful daughter 

" O'er kindred bones shall tread, 
"' And Hinnom's vale of slau ghter If 

" Shall hide but half her dead ! " 



"WHO IS THE MAID ? 

ST. JEROME'S LOVE.** 
(Am— Beethoven.) 

"Who is the Maid my spirit seeks, 
Through cold reproof and slander's 
blight? 

Has slie Love's roses on her cheeks ? 
Is hers an eye of this world's light ? 

No — wan and sunk with midnight prayer 
Are the pale looks of her I love ; 

* " I have left mine heritage ; I have given 
the dearly beloved of my soul into the hands 
of her enemies.'' — Jeremiah, xii. 7. 

t '• Do not disgrace the throne of thy glory." 
—-Jer. siv. 21. 

} " The Lord called thy name a green olive- 
tree; fair, and of goodly fi-uit," &c.— Jer. xi. 16. 

§1 " Tor he shall' be like the heath in the des- 
ert." — Jer. xvii. 6. 

II " Take away her battlements ; for they are 
not the Lord's.' —Jer. v. 10. 

f " Therefore, behold, the days come, saith 
the Lord, that it shall no more be called Tophet, 
nor the Valley of the Son of Hiuuom, but tli« 



Or if, at times, a light be there. 
Its beam is kindled from above. 

I chose not her, my heart's elect, 

From those who seek their Maker's 
shrine 
In gems and garlands proudly deck'd, 

As if themselves were things divine. 
No — Heaven but faintly warms the 
breast 

That beats beneath a broider'd veil ; 
And she who comes in glitt'ring vest 

To mom-n her fraUty, still is fiail.tt 

Not so the faded fonn I prize 

And love, because its bloom is gone ; 
The glory in those sainted eyes 

Is all the grace her brow puts on. 
And ne'er was Beauty's dawn so bright, 

So touching as that form's decay, 
Wliich, Uke the altai-'s trembling light, 

In holy lustre wastes away. 



THIS "WORLD IS ALL A FLEET- 
ING SHO"W. 

(Air.— Stevenson.) 

This world is all a fleeting show, 

For man's illusion given ; 
The smiles of Joy, the tears of "Wo, 
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow — 

There's nothing true, but Heaven ! 

And false the light on Glory's plume. 

As fading hues of Even; [bloom. 

And Love and Hope, and Beauty's 
Are blossoms gather'd for the tomb — 
There's nothing bright, but Heaven ! 

Poor wand'rers of a stormy day ! 

From wave to wave we're driven. 
And Fancy's flash, and Reason's ray. 
Serve but to light the troubled way — 

There's nothing calm, but Heaven ! 

Valley of Slaughter; for they shall bury in 
Tophet till there be no place."— Jer. vii. ."52. 

** These lines were suggested by a passage 
in one of St. Jerome's Letters, replying to some 
calumnious remarks that had been circulated 
respecting his intimacy with the matron Paula; 
— "Kumquid me vestes sericse, nitentes gem- 
mse, picta facies, aut auri rnpuit ambitio? 
Nulla fuit alia Eomse matronarum, qua meam 
possit edomare mentem, nisi lugens atquo jeju- 
nans, fletu pene ciecata." — Epist. " Si tibi 
piUem." 

tt Ov yap Kpova-<t>op€i.v rrji' Saxpvovcrav Set. — 
ChrysosU Homil. 8, in Epist. ad Tim,. 




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SACRED S05TGS. 313 




OH, THOU! A\^HO DET'ST THE 

MOURNEE'S TEAR. 

(Air.— IIatdx.) 

" He healeth the broken in heart, and bind- 
eth up their v^ounds."— Psalm cxlvii. 3. 
On, Thou ! who drj'st the mourner's 

How dark this workl would be, [tear, 
If, when deceived and wounded here, 

We could not fly to Thee ! 
The friends, who in our sunshine live, 

When winter comes, are flown; 
And he who has but tears to give, 

Must weep those tears alone. 
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, 

Which, like the plants that throw 
Their fragrance from the wounded part, 

Breathes sweetness out of wo. 

When joy no longer soothes or cheers, 

And e'en the hope that threw 
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears, 

Is dimm'd and vanish'dtoo. 
Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom. 

Did not thy Wing of Love 
Come, brightly waftiuo: through the gloom 

Our Peace-hranch from above ? 
Then son-ow, touch'd by Thee, grows 

With more than rapture's ray ; [bright 
As darkness shows us worlds of light 

We never saw by day ! 

WEEP NOT FOR THOSE. 

(AlK.— AVISON.) 

Weep not for those whom the veil of the 
tomb, Lour eyes. 

In life's happy morning, hath hid from 
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's 
young bloom, [for the skies. 

Or earth had profaned what was born 
Death chill'd the fair fountain, ere sor- 
row had stain'd it ; [its course, 
'Twas frozen in all the pure light of 
And but sleeps till the sunshine of Hea- 
ven has imchain'd it, [its source. 
To water that Eden where first was 
Weep not for those whom the veil of the 
tomb, [our eyes, 

In life's happy morning, hath hid from 
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's 
young bloom, [for the skies. 

Or earth had profaned what was bom 
* This second verse, which Iwrote lonp after 
the first, alludes to the fate of a veiy lovely and 
amiable girl, the daughter of the late Colonel 
Baiubrigge, who was married ia Ashbourne 
church, October 31, 1815, and died of a fever in 
a few weeks after : the sound of her marriage- 
bells seemed scarcely out of our ears when we 
heard of her death. Dming her last delirium 



Mourn not for her, the young Bride ol 
the Vale,* [now. 

Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us 
Ere life's early lustre had time to grow 
pale, [on her brow. 

And the garland of Love was yet fresh 
Oh, then was her moment, dear spirit, 
for flying [gloom was unknown- 
Prom this gloomy world, while its 
And the wild hymns she warbled so 
sweetly, in dying, [her own. 

Were echoed in Heaven by lips like 
Weep not for her — in her spring-time 
she flew [soul are unlurl'd ; 

To that land where the wings of the 
And now, like a star beyond evening's 
cold dew, [this world. 

Looks radiantly down on the tears of 



THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRA- 
GRANT SHRINE. 

(Am.— Stevenson.) 

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine ; 
My temple. Lord! that Arch of thine; 
My censer's breath the mountain airs. 
And silent thoughts my only prayers, t 

My choir shall be the moonlight waves, 
When murm'ring homeward to theii 
Or when the stillness of the sea, [caves, 
E'en more than music, breathes of Thee. 

I'll seek, by day, some glade unknown. 
All light and silence, like thy Throne ; 
And the pale stars shall be, at night, 
The only eyes that watch my rite. 

Thy Heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look, 
Shall be my pm-e and shining book. 
Where I shall read, in words of flame, 
The glories of thy wondrous name. 

I'll read thy anger in the rack 

That clouds awhile the day-beam's track; 

Thy mercy in the azure hue 

Of sunny brightness, breaking through. 

There's notning bright, above, below, 
From flowers that bloom to stars that 
But in its light my soul can see [glow, 
Some feature of thy Deity, 
she sung several hymns, in a voice even clearer 
and sweeter than usual, and among them were 
some from the present collection, (particularly, 
" There's nothing bright but Heaven,"; v hich 
this very interesting girl had often heard me 
sing during the summer. 

f Pii orant tacit6. 




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314 



MOORE'S "^OKKS. 



There's nothing dark, belou-, above, 
But in its gloom I trace thy Love, 
And meekly wait that moment, when 
Thy touch shall turn all bright again ! 

SOUlfD THE LOUD TIMBREL. 

MIRIAM'S SONG. 

(Air.— AvisoN.*) 

"And Miriam the Prophetess, the sister of 
Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand ; and all the 
■women went ont after her with timbrels and 
with dances." — Exod. xv. 20. 

SoTiND the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's 

dark sea ! [free. 

Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are 
Sing— for the pride of the Tyrant is 

broken, [did and brave — 

His chariots, his horsemen, all splen- 

How vaiu was then* boast, for the Lord 

hath but spoken, [in the wave. 

And chariots and horsemen are sunk 

Soimd the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark 

sea ; [free. 

Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are 

Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the 

Lord ! [our sword — 

Eis word was our arrow, his breath was 

Who shall retm-n to tell Egypt the story 

Of those she sent forth in the hour of 

her pride ? [pillar of gIory,t 

For the Lord hath look'd out from his 

And all her brave thousands are dash'd 

in the tide. dark sea ; 

Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's 
Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are 

free! 



GO, LET MB WEEP. 

(AiK.— Stevenson.) 

Go, let me weep — there's bliss in tears, 

When he who sheds them inly feels 
Some ling'ring stain of early years 

Effaced by every drop that steals. 
The fruitless showers of worldly wo 

Fall dark to earth and never rise ; 
While tears that from repentance flow. 

In bright exhalement reach the skies. 
Go, let me weep. 

• I have so much altered the character of this 
air, which is from the beginning of one of 
Avison's old-fashioned concertos, that, without 
this acknowledgment, it could hardly, I think, 
be recognized. 

f " And it came to pass, that, in the morning 
watch the Lord looked tmto the hosts of the 



Leave me to sigh o'er hours that flew 

More idly than the summer's wind. 

And, while they pass'd, a fragranco 

threw, 

But left no trace of sweets behind. — 

The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves 

Is cold, is faint, to those that swell 
The heart, where pure repentance 
grieves 
O'er hours of pleasure, loved too well. 
Leave me to sigh. 



COMB jS"OT, oh lord. 
(Air.— Haydn.) 
Come not, oh Lord, in the dread robe 
of splendor [of thine ire ; 

Thou wor'st on the Mount, in the day 
Come veil'd in those shadows, deep, aw- 
ful, but tender, [of fire' 
Which Mercy flings over thy feature. 

Lord, thou rememb'rest the night, when 
thy N"ationJ [ing stream ; 

Stood fronting her Foe by the red-roll- 
O'er Egypt thy pillar shed dark desola- 
tion, [beam. 
While Israel bask'd all the night in its 

So, when the dread clouds of anger en- 
fold Thee, [remove ; 
From us, in thy mercy, the dark side 
While shrouded in terrors the guilty be- 
hold Thee, [Love ! 
Ob, turn upon us the mild light of thy 



WERE NOT THE SIN"FUL MART'S 

TEARS. 

(Air.- -Stevenson.) 

Were not the sinful Mary's tears 
An offering worthy Heaven, 

When, o'er the faults of former years, 
She wept — and was forgiven? 

When, bringing every balmy sweet 

Her day of luxury stored, 
She o'er her Saviour's hallow'd feet 

The precious odors pour'd ;— 

And wiped them vrith that golden hair. 
Where once the diamond shone ; 

Egyptians, through the pillar of fire and of the 
cloud, and troubled the host of the Egyptians." 
—Exod. xir. 24. 

] " And it came between the camp of the 
Egyptians and the camp of Israel; and it was 
a cloud and darkness to them, but it gave ligbi 
by night to these."— £a;od. xiv. 20. 




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SACRED SON-GS. 



315 



rhough now those gems of grief were 
"Which shine for God alone ! [there 

Were not those sweets, so humbly shed — 
That hair— those weeping eyes — 

And the sunk heart, that inly bled — 
Hsaven's noblest sacrifice ! 

Thou, that hast slept in error's sleep, 
Oh, wouldst thou wake in Heaven, 

Jjike Mary kneel, like Mary weep, 
" Love mach"* and be forgiven ! 



IS BOWl^ IS THE SUN"LESS RE- 
TREATS. 
(Air— Hayun.) 
As down in the sunless retreats of the 
Ocean, [can see. 

Sweet flowers are springing no mortal 
So, deep in my soul the still prayer of 
devotion, [Thee, 

Unheard by the world, rises silent to 
My God ! silent, to Thee, 
Pure, warm, silent, to Thee. 

As still to the star of its worship, 

though clouded, [dim sea, 

The needle points faithfully o'er the 

So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world 

shrouded, [to Thee, 

The hope of my spirit turns, trembling. 

My God ! trembling, to Thee— 

True, fond, trembling, to Thee. 



BUT WHO SHALL SEE. 

(Air.— Stevenson.) 

But who shall see the glorious day 

When, throned on Zion's brow. 
The Lord shall rend that veil away 

Which hides the nations now ?t 

♦ " Her sins, which ore mniiT, are forgiven ; 
for she loved much."— 2y»ie, \ii. 47 

t"Aml he will destroy, in tliis mountain, 
the face of the covering cnst over all people, 
and tlic veil that ia spread over all nations."— 
Inaiali, xsv. 7. 

J "The rebuke of his people shall he take 
away from off all the earth."— Jsaia/i, xsv. 8. 

§ "And God shall wipe away all tears from 
their eyes; .... neither shall there be any 
more pain." — Rev. xxi. 4. 

I! "And he that sat upon the throne said, 
Behold, I make all things new." — Rev. xxi. 5. 

TI "And whosoever will, let him take the 
water of life freely. "—i?e». xxii. 17. 

** "The Scriptures having declared that tlie 
Temple of Jerusalem was a typo of the llessiaii, 
it is natural to conclude that the Palms, which 
made so conspicuous a figure in that structure, 
represented that Life and Immortality which 



When earth no more beneath the fear 

Of his rebuke shall lie ;% 
When pain shall cease, and every tear 

Be wiped from ev'ry eye. § 

Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourt 

Beneath the heathen's chain ; 
Thy days of splendor shall return, 

And all be new again.|| 
The Fount of Life shall then be quaff'd 

In peace, by all who come ;1I 
And every wind that blows shall waft 

Some long-lost exile home. 

ALMIGHTY GOD I 

CHORUS OF PRIESTS. 
(Air.— Mozart.) 
Almighty God ! when round thy shrine 
The Palm-tree's heavenly branch we 
(Emblem of Life's eternal ray, [twine,** 
And Love that "fadeth not away,") 
We bless the flowers, expanded all, It 
We bless the leaves that never fall. 
And trembling say, — "In Eden thus 
" The Tree of Lite may flower for us !" 

When round thy Cherubs— smiling calm, 
Without their flamesU— we wreathe the 

Palm, 
Oh God ! we feel the emblem true — 
Thy Mercy is eternal too. 
Those Cherubs, with their smiling eyes, 
That crown of Palm which never dies. 
Are but the types of Thee above- 
Eternal Life, and Peace, and Love 1 



OH EAIR ! OH PUREST ! 

SAINT AUGUSTINE TO HIS SISTER. § J 
(Air.— MoouE.) 
Oh fair ! oh purest ! be thou the dove 
That flies alone to some sunny grove. 



were brought to light by the Gospel."— Ofiscr- 
vations on the Palm, as a Sacred Emhlem, by 
W. Tiuhe. 



II " And he carved all the walls of the house 
round about with carved figures of clierubims, 
and palm-trees, and open Jlowers."—X Kin'js, 
vi. 29. 

;; " "When the passovcr of tlio tabernacles 
was revealed to the great lawgiver in the 
mount, then the cherubic images wliich aj)- 
peared in that structure were no longer sur- 
rounded by flames ; for the tabernacle was a. 
type of the dispensation of mercy, by which 
Jehovah confirmed his gracious covenant to 
redeem mankind." — Observations on the Palm. 

§^ In St. Augustine's Treatise upon the ad- 
vantages of a solitarv life, addressed to his sis- 
ter, there is tlie following fanciful passage, 
from which, the reader will perceive, the 
thought of this song was taken: — " Te. soro^ 



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316 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And lives unseen, and bathes her wing, 
All vestal white, in the limpid spring. 
There, if the hov'ring hawk be near. 
That limpid spring, in its mirror clear, 
Reflects him, ere he reach his prey, 
And warns the tiniorous bird away. 

Be thou this dove ; 
Fairest, pm-est, be thou this dove. 

The sacred pages of God's own book 
Shall he the spring, the eternal brook 
In whose holy muror, night and day, 
Thou'It study Heaven's reflected ray ;— 
And should the foes of virtue dare, 
"With gloomy wing, to seek thee there, 
Thou wilt see how dark their shadows lie 
Between Heaven and thee, and tremb- 
Be thou that dove ; [ling flyl 
Fairest, purest, be thou that dove. 

ANGEL OF CHAEITT. 
(Am.— Handel.) 
AJTUEL of Charity, who, from above, 

Comest to dwell a pilgrim here. 
Thy voice is music, thy smile is love, 

And Pity's soul is in thy tear. 
When on the shrine of God were laid 

First-fruits of all most good and fair, 
That ever bloom'd in Eden's shade, 

Thine was the holiest ofi'eiing there. 

Hope and her sister, Faith, were given, 

But as our guides to yonder sky ; 
Soon as they reach the verge of heaven, 

There, lost in perfect bliss, they die.* 
But, long as Love,Almighty Love_, 

Shall on his throne of thrones abide, 
Thou, Charity, shalt dwell above. 

Smiling forever by His side ! 



BEHOLD THE SUN. 
(Air —Lord Moenington.) 
Behold the sun, how bright 

Prom yonder East he springs. 
As if the soul of life and light 
"Were breathing Irom his wings, 

nuiiquam nolo esse sceuram, sed timere sem- 

perque tiiam fragilitatem habere Buspectam, ad 

inst;ir pavida? columbm freqxientare rivos 

aquarnm et quasi In speculo accipitris cernere 

supervolantis effigiem et cavere. Rivi aqua- 

nim sententiPB sunt scripturarnm, qiice de 

limpidisaimo sapientice fonte profluentes," &c., 

&G. —De Vit. Hrem.it. ad Sororem. 

* •• Then Faith shall fail, and holy Hope shall 

die, 

One lost in certainty, and one in joy." 

—Prior' 
\ "And the angel which I saw stand upon 



So bright the Gospel broke 

Upon the souls of men ; 
So fresh the dreaming world awoke 

In Truth's full radiance then. 

Before yon Sun arose. 

Stars clusterid through the sky — 
But, oh, how dim ! how pale were those. 

To His one burning eye ! 

So Truth lent many a ray. 

To bless the Pagan's night — [they 
But, Lord, how weak, how cold were 

To Thy One glorious Light ! 



LORD, WHO SHALL BEAR THAT 
DAT. 

(Ant.— Dr. Boyce.) 

Lord, who shall bear that day, so dread. 
so splendid, [o'er 

"When we shall see thy Angel, hov'ring 
This sinful world, with hand to heav'n 
extended, [Time's no more ?t 
And hear him swear by Thee that 
When Earth shall feel thy fast consum- 
ing ray — [that day ? 
"Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear 

"When through the world thy awful calL 

hath sounded — 
"Wake, all ye Dead, to judgment 

wake, ye Dead !"t [rounded, 

And from the clouds, by seraph eyes sur- 

The Saviour shall put forth his'radiant 

head ;§ [pass away — 1| 

While Earth and Heav'n before Him 
Who, mighty God, oh who shall bear 

that day? 

"When, with a glance, th* Eternal Judge 

shall sever 

Earth's evil spirits from the pure and 

bright, [forever !" 

And say to those, "Depart from me 

To these, " Come, dwell with me in 

endless light IIT 

the sea and upon the earth, lifted up his hand 
to heaven, and swaro by Him that lireth forever 
and ever. .... that there should be time no 
longer."— JJev. 5. E, vy. 

1 "Awake, ye Pead, and come to judgment-" 

§ " They shall see tbe Son of Man coming in 
the clouds of heaven— and all the angels with 
him." — Matt. xxiv. 30, and xxv. 31. 

II " From whose facethe earth and the heaven 
fled away-"— -Reu. xx. 11. 

IT " And before Him shall be gathered aU 
nations, and He shall separate them one from 
another. ... * 




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SACEED SON-GS. 



317 



"WTien each and all in silence take their 

way — 
Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear 

that day f 



OH, TBA.CH MB TO LOVE THEE. 
(AiK.— Haydn.) 

Oh, teach me to love Thee, to feel what 

thou art, [heart 

Till, iill'd with the one sacred image, my 

Shall all other passions disown ; 
Like some pure temple, that shines apart, 

Keserved for Thy worship alone. 

In joy and in sorrow, through praise and 

through blame, [same, 

Thus still let me, living and dying the 

In Thy service bloom and decay — ■ 
Like some lone altar, whose votive £ame 

In holiness wasteth away. 

Though bom in this desert, and doom'd 

by my birth [dearth. 

To pain and affliction, to darkness and 

On Thee let my spirit rely — 
Like some rude dial, that, fix'd on earth. 

Still looks for its light from the sky. 



WEEP, CHILDKEIT OP ISEAEL. 

(Am.— Stevenson.) 

"Weep, weep for him, the Man of God — * 
In yonder vale he sunk to rest ; 

But none of earth can point the sod t 
That flowers above his sacred breast. 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 

His doctrine fell like Heaven's rain,J 
His words refresh'd like Heaven's 
dew — 
Oh, ne'er shall Israel see again 
A Chief, to God and her so true. 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 

" Then shall the Xing' say unto them on 
his ri^ht hand, Como, ye blessed of my Fa- 
ther, inherit the kiagdbin prepared for you, 
&c. 

" Then shiiU He sny also unto them on the 
left hand, Depart from me, ye cnrscd, &e. 

" And these shall go away into everlasting 
pnnishment; but the rigliteous into life eter- 
nal "—llatt. XXV. 3-3, et sc.q. 

* " And the cliildren of Israel wept for Moses 
in the plains of Moab." — Deut. xxxiv. 8. 

t " And he buried him in a valley in the land 
of Moab ; . . . . but no man linoweth of his 
sepulchre unto this da,j.' —Ihid. ver. 6. 



Eemember ye his parting gaze, 
His farewell song by Jordan's tide. 

When, full of glory and of days. 

He saw the promised land — anddied.§ 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 

Yet died he not as men who sink. 
Before our eyes, to souUess clay ; 

But, changed to spirit, like a wink 
Of summer lightning, pass'd away, fl 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 



LIKE MOElSriIfG, WHEIT HEE 

EAELY BEEEZE. 
(Air.— Beethoven.) 

Like morning, when her early breeze 
Breaks up the smface of the seas, 
That, in those furrows, dark with night, 
Her hand may sow the seeds of light— 

Thy Grace can send its breathings o'er 
The Spirit, dark and lost before, 
And, iresh'uiug all its depths, prepare 
For Truth divine to enter there. 

Till David touch'd his sacred lyre, 
In silence lay th' unbreathing wire ; 
But when he swept its chords along, 
Ev'n Angels stoop'd to hear that song. 
So sleeps the soul, till Thou, oh Lord, 
Shalt deign to touch its lifeless chord — 
TUl, waked by Thee, its breath shall rise 
In music, worthy of the skies ! 



COME, TE DISCON"SOLATB. 

(Air.— German.) 

Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you 

languish. 

Come, at God's altar fei-vently kneel ; 

Here bring your wounded hearts, here 

tell your anguish — [not heal. 

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can- 

J "My doctrine shall drop as the rain, my 
speech shall distil as the dew." — Moses' Song, 
Deut. xxxii. 2. 

§ " I have caused thee to see it -with thine 
eyes, but thoushaltnot go over thither. "—i)mt 
xxxiv. 4. 

II "As he was going to embrace Elea^er and 
Joshua, and was still discoursing with them, a 
cloud stood over him on the sudden, and ho dis- 
appeared in a certain valley, although ho Ti-roto 
in the Holy Books that he died, which was done 
out of fear, lest they should venture to say that, 
because of his extraordinary virtue, he went to 
God.'' — Josephits, book iv., chap viii. 



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318 



MOOEE'S "VTORKS. 



Joy of the desolate, Light of the stray- 
ing, [and pure, 
Hope, when all others die, fadeless 
Here speaks the Comforter, in God's 
name saying — [cannot cure." 
"Earth has no son-ow that Heaven 

Go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings 

us, [reveal, 

What charm for aching hearts he can 

Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope 

sings us — [not heal." 

" Earth has no sorrow that God can- 



AWAKE, AEISE, THY LIGHT IS 
COME. 

(AiK.— Stevenson.) 
AWAKi'^, arise, thy light is come ; * 

The nations, that before outshone thee, 
JSTow at thy feet lie dark and dumb — 

The gloiy of the Lord is on thee ! 

Arise — the Gentiles to thy ray. 

From cv'ry nook of earth shall cluster; 

And king^ and princes haste to pay 
Their homage to thy rising lustre. t 

Lift up thine eyes around, and see. 
O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters. 

Thy exiled sons return to thee, [ters.i 
To thee return thy home-sick daugh- 

And camels rich, from Midian's tents. 
Shall lay their treasures down before 

And Saba bring her gold and scents, [thee; 
To fill thy ah: and sparkle o'er thee. § 

See, who are these that, like a cloud, || 
Are gathering ii-om all earth's domin- 
ions. 
Like doves, long absent, when allow'd 
Homeward to shoot their trembling 
pinions. 

* " Arise, shine ; for thy light is come, and 
the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee."— 
Isaiah, Ix. 

t " And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, 
and kings to the brightness of thy rising."— /fc. 

t " liift up thine eyes round about, and see ; 
alithev gather themselves together, they come 
to thee : thy sons shall come from afar, and thy 
daughters shall be nursed at thy side."— Jsaia/t, 
Ix. 

§ " The multitude of camels shall cover thee; 
the dromedaries of Midian and Ephah ; all tbey 
fromSheba shall come; they shall bring gold 
and incense."— 16. 

II "Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as 
the doves to their windows ? " — lb. 

U " Surely the isles shall wait for me, and 
the ships of Tarshish first, to bring thy sous 
from far, their silver and their gold with them." 
—lb. 



Surely the isles shall wait for me, IT 
The ships of Tarshish round wiU hover, 

To bring thy sons across the sea. 
And waft their gold and silver over. 

And Lebanon thy pomp shall grace — ** 
The fir, the piue, the palm victorious 

Shall beautify our Holy Place, [ous. 
And make the ground I tread on glori- 

No more shall Discord haunt thy ways,tf 
Nor ruin waste thy cheerless nation ; 

But thou shalt caU. thy portals, Praise, 
And thou shalt name thy walls. Sal- 
vation. 

The sun no moreshallmakethee bright, }J 
Nor moon shall lend her lustre to thee ; 

But God, Himself, shall be thy Light, 
And flash eternal glory through thee. 

Thy sun shall never more go down ; 

A ray, from Heav'n itself descended. 
Shall light thy everlasting crown — 

Thy days of mourning all are ended. § $ 

My own, elect, and righteous Land ! 

The Branch, forever green and vernal, 
"Which I have planted with this hand — 

Live thou shalt in Life Eternal. || || 



THEEB IS A BLEAK DESEET. 

(Am.— Crescentin.) 
There is a bleak Desert, where daylight 

grows weary 
Of wasting its smUe on aregion so dreary- 

"WTiat may that desert be ? 
'Tis Life, cheerless Life, where the few 
joys that come [their home. 

Are lost like that daylight, for 'tis not 

There is a lore Pilgrim, before whose 
faint eyes 

** " The glory of Lebanon shall come unto 
thee ; the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the box to- 
gether, to beautify the place of my sanctuary;' 
and I will make the place of my feet glorious." 
—76. 

tt " Violence shall no more be heard in tfey 
land, wasting nor destruction within thy bor 
ders : but thou shalt call thy walls, Salvation, 
and thy gates, Vvaise."— Isaiah, Ix. 

Jt "Thy sun shall be no more thy light by 
day ; neither for brightness shall the moo'n give 
light unto thee: but the Lord shall be unto 
thee an everlasting light, and thy Gou thy 
glory." — lb. 

§^ " Thy sun shall no more go down ; . . . . 
for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and 
the days of thy mourning shall be ended." — lb. 

nil "Thy people also shall be all righteous ; 
they shall inherit the land forever, the branch of 
my planting, the work of my hands." — lb. 



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SACRED SONGS. 



319 



The water he pants for but sparkles and 

flies — 
"WTio may that Pilg:iim be ? 
'Tis Man, hapless Man, tlu'ough this life 

tempted on [gone. 

By fair shining hopes, that in shining are 

There is a bright Fountain, through that 
Desert stealing, [ing— 

To pure lips alone its refreshment reveal- 
"What may that Fountain be ? 

Tis Trath, holy Truth, that, hke springs 
under ground, [found.* 

By the gifted of Heaven alone can be 

There is a fair Spirit, whose wand hath 
the spell [dwell — 

To point where those waters m secrecy 
Who may that Spirit be ? 

'Tis Faith, humble faith, who hath learn'd 
that, where'er [must be there. 

Her wand bends to worship, the Truth 



SINCE FIRST THY WORD. 

(Air.— Nicholas Freeman.) 

Since first Thy Word awaked my heart, 
Like new life dawmng o'er me, 

Where'er I turn mine eyes, Thou art, 
All light and love before me ; 

Naught else I feel, or hear, or see- 
All bonds of earth I sever — 

Thee, God, and only Thee 
I Uve for, now and ever. 

Lilte him whose fetters dropp'd away 

When light shone o'er his prison,! 
My spirit, touch'd by Mercy's ray, 

Hath from her chains arisen. 
And shall a soul Thou bidd'st be free, 

Return to bondage ? — never ! 
Thee, God, and only Thee 

I live for, now and ever. 



HARK! 'TIS THE BREEZE. 

(Air.— EouBSEAU.) 

Hark ! 'tis the breeze of twihght calling 
Earth's weary children to repose ; 

While, round the couch of Nature falling. 
Gently the night's soft curtains close. 

Soon o'er a world, in sleep reclining. 
Numberless stars, through yonder 
darli, 

* In sinping, the following line had better 
be adopfced: — 

"Can but by tiie gifted ol Heavea he found. 



Shall look, like eyes of Cherubs shining 
From out the veils that hid the Ark. 

Guard us, oh Thou, who never sleepest, 

Thou who, in silence throned above, 
Throughout all time, unwearied keepest 

Thy watch of Glory, Pow'r, and Love. 
Grant that, beneath Thine eye, securely. 

Our souls, awhile from Life withdrawn, 
May, in their darkness, stilly, purely. 

Like "sealed fountains," rest tiU dawn. 



WHERE IS YOUR DWELLING, YE 
SAINTED ? 

(Am.— Hasse.) 

Where is your dwelling, ye Sainted ? 

Through what Elysium more bright 
Than fancy or hope ever painted. 

Walk ye in glory and light ? 
Who the same kingdom inherits ? 

Breathes there a soul that may dare 
Look to that world of Spirits, 

Or hope tc dwell with you there ? 

Sages ! who, ev'n in exploring 

Nature through all her bnght wap. 
Went, like the Seraphs, adoring. 

And veil'd your eyes in the blaze — 
Martyrs ! who left for our reaping 

Truths you had sown in your blood — 
Sinners! whom long years of weeping 

Chasten'd from evil to good- 
Maidens ! who, like the young Crescent, 

Turning away your pale brows 
From earth, and the light of the Present, 

Look'd to your Heavenly Spouse — 
Say, through what region enchantedr 

Walk ye, in Heaven's sweet afr? 
Say, to what spirits 'tis granted, 

i3right souls, to dwell with you there? 



HOW LIGHTLY MOUNTS THE 

MUSE'S WING. 

(Air.— Anonymous.) 

How lightly mounts the Muse's wing, 

Whoso theme is in the skies — 
Like mourning larks, that sweeter sing 
The nearer Heav'n they rise. 

Though Love his magic lyre may tune, 
Yet ah, the flow'rs he round it wreathes, 

t " And, behold, the angel of the Lord came 
upon him. and a light shined in the nrifion, 
an.' his chains fell cflf from his hands 



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320 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



Were pluck'd beneath pale Passion's 
moon, 
"Whose madness in their odor breathes. 

How purer far the sacred lute, 

Round which Devotion ties 
Sweet flow'rs that tm-n to heav'nly fruit, 

And palm that never dies. 

Though War's high-sounding harp may 
Most welcome to the hero's ears, [be 

Alas, his chords of victory 
Are wet, all o'er, with human tears. 

How far more sweet their numbers run, 
Who hymn, like Saints above, 

Fo victor, but th' Eternal One, 
if trophies but of Love 1 



GO FORTH TO THE MOUNT. 

(Ant.— Stevenson.) 

Go forth to the Mount— bring the olive- 
branch home,* [is come ! 

And rejoice, for the day of om* Freedom 

From that time,t when the moon upon 
Ajalon's vale, 
Looking motionless down,t saw the 
kings of the earth, 

In the preseuce.of God's mighty Cham- 
pion, grow pale — mirth ! 
Oh, never had Judah an hour of such 

Go forth to the Mount— bring the ohve- 
branch home, [is come ! 

And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom 

Bring myrtle and palm— bring the 

boughs of each tree [the free. § 
That's worthy to wave o'er the tents of 
From that day, when the footsteps of 

Israel shone. 
With a light not their own, through 

the Jordan's deep tide. 
Whose waters shrunk back as the Ark 

glided on — 1| 
Oh, never had Judah an hour of such 
' pride ! 

* "And that they should publish and pro- 
claim in all their cities, and in Jerusalem, say- 
ing, Go forth unto the mount, and fetch olive- 
branches," &e., &c. — Neh viii. 15. 

t "For since the days of Joshi>a the son of 
Ifun unto that day had"not the children of Israel 
done so : and there was very great gladness.'' 
—Neh. viii 17. 

J "Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and 
thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon."— Jo«/i 
X. 12. 

i) " Fetch olive-branches, and pine-branches, 



Go forth to the Mount — ^bring the olive- 
branch home, 

And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom 
is come ! 



IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, 
HEREATFER. 

(Air.— Haydn.) 
Is it not sweet to think, hereafter, 

When the Spirit leaves this sphere. 
Love, with deathless wing, shall waft 
her [here "? 

To those she long hath mourn 'd for 

Hearts, from which 'twas death to sever, 
Eyes, this world can ne'er restore, 

There, as warm, as bright as ever, 
Shall meet us and be lost no more. 

When wearily we wander, asking 
Of earth and heav'n where are they, 

Beneath whose smile we once lay bask- 
ing, 
Bless'd, and thinking bliss would stay? 

Hope still lifts her radiant finger, 
Pointing to th' eternal Home, 

Upon whose portal yet they linger. 
Looking back for us to come. 

Alas, alas— doth Hope deceive us? 

Shall friendship— love— shall aU those 
ties 
That bind a moment, and then leave us. 

Be found again where nothing dies ? 
Oh, if no other boon were given, [stain. 

To keep our hearts from wrong and 
Who would not try to win a Heaven 

Where aU we love shall live again ? 



WAR AGAINST BABYLON. 

(Air.— NovELLO ) 

"War against Babylon!" shout we 

around, H [furl'd; 

Be our banners through earth un- 

Rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the 

sound — ** 

and myrtle-branches, and palm-branches, and 
branches of thick trees, to make booths. "—iVe/i. 
viii. 15. 

11 " nd the priests that bare the ark of the 
covenant of the Loud stood firm on dij ground 
in the midst of Jordan, and all the Israelites 
passed over on dry ground." — Josh. iii. 17. 

U "Shout against her round about "—Jer. 1. 
15. 

'* "Setyo up a standard in the land, blow 
the trumpet among the nations, jirepare the 
nations against her, call together against hei 
the kingdoms," &c., &o.—Jer. li. 27. 



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THE SUMMBK FETE. 




321 



""War against Babylon!" shout 
through the world ! 
Oh thou, that dwellest on many waters,* 
Thy day of pride is ended now ; [ters 
And the dark cirrse of Israel's daugh- 
Breaks, like a thunder-cloud, over 
thy brow ! 
"War, war, war against Babylon ! 

Make bright the axrows, and gather the 



Set the standard of God on high : 
Swarm we, hke locusts, o'er all her 
fields, 
" Zion " our watchword, and " venge 
ance '' our cry ! 
TTo ! wo ! — the time of thy visitation f 
Is come, proud Land, thy doom ia 
cast— 
And the black surge of desolation 
Sweeps o'er thy guilty head, at last I 
War, war, war against Babylon i 



THE SUMMER F£TE. 



TO THE HON"OEABLE MRS. NOR- 
TON'. 

For the groundwork of the following 
Poem I am indebted to a memorable 
Fete, given some years since, at Boyle 
Farm, the seat of the late Lord Henry 
Fitzgerald. In commemoration of that 
evening — of which the lady to whom 
ihese pages are inscribed was, I well re- 
collect, one of the most distinguished 
ornaments — I was induced at the time 
to write some verses, which were after- 
wards, however, thrown aside unfinish-j 
cd, on my discovering that the same 
task had been undertaken by a noble 
poet,§ whose playful and happy jcu- 
d'csjyrit on the subject has since been 
pubhshed. It was but lately, that, on 
linding the fragments of my own sketch 
among my papers, I thought of found- 
ing on them such a description of an 
imaginary Fete as might furnish me 
with situations for the introduction of 
music. 

Such is the origin and object of the 
following Poem, and to Mrs. Xorton 
it is, with every feeling of admiration 

* " Oh thou that dwellest nponmnny waters, 
.... thine end is come." — Jer. li. 13. 

t "Make brifrht the arrows; gather the 
Bliields, .... set up the standard upon the walls 



and regard, inscribed by her father's 
warmly attached friend, 

THOMAS MOORE. 
Sloperton Cottage, 
November, 1831. 



THE SUMMER FETE. 

TThere are ye now, ye summer days. 

That once inspired the poet's lays ? 

Bless'd time ! ere England's nymphs 
and swains, 

" For lack of sunbeams, took to coals — 
" Summers of light, undimm'd by rains, 
" Whose only mocking trace remains 

" In watering-pots and parasols." 

Thus spoke a young Patrician maid, 
As, on the morning of that Fete 
Which bards unborn shall celebrate, 
She backward drew her curtain's shade, 
And, closing one half-dazzled eye, 
Peep'd with the other at the sky — 
Til' important sky, whose light or gloom 
"Was to decide, this day, the doom 
Of some few hundred beauties, wits. 
Blues, Dandies, Swains, and Exquisitea 

of Babvlon."— Jer. li. 11, 12. 

; " "\Vo unto them ! for their day is oome 
the time of tlieir visitation ! "~Jer. 1, 27. 

fc Lord Francis Egerton. 




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322 



MOOEE'S "VTORKS. 



Faint were her hopes ; for June had now 

Set in with all his usual rigor ! 
Young Zephyr yet scarce knowing how 
To nurse a bud, or fan a bough, 

But Eurus in perpetual vigor; 
And, such the biting summer air, 
That she, the nymph now nestling 

there- 
Snug as her own bright gems recline. 
At night, within their cotton shrine — 
Had, more than once, been caught of late 
Kneeling before her blazing grate. 
Like a young worshipper of hre. 

With hands uphfted to the flame, 
Whose glow, as if to woo them nigher, 

Through the white fingers flushing 
came. 

But oh ! the light, th' unhoped-for light, 
That now illumed this morning's hea- 

Hp sprung liinthe at the sight, [ven ! 
Though— hark!— the clocks but strike 
eleven, 

And rarely did the nymph surprise 

Mankind so early with her eyes. 

Who now will say that England's sun 
(Like England's self, these spendthrift 
days) 

His stock of wealth hath near outrun. 
And must retrench his golden rays — ■ 

Pay for the pride of sunbeams past, 

And to mere moonshine come at last ? 

" Calumnious thought !" lanthe cries, 

While coming mu-thMt up each glance, 
And, prescient of the ball, her eyes 

Already had begun to dance : 
For brighter sun than that which now 
Sparkled o'er London's spires and tow- 
ers, 
Had never bent from heaven his brow 

To kiss Firenze's City of Flowers. 
What must it be — ^if thus so fair 
'Mid the smoked groves of Grosvenor 

Square — 
What must it be where Thames is seen 
Ghding between his banks of green, 
j While rival villas, on each side, 
' Peep from their bowers to woo his tide, 
And, like a Turk between two rows 
Of Harem beauties, on he goes — 
A lover, loved for ev'n the gi-ace 
With which he slides from their embrace. 
In one of those euchanted domes, 

One, the most flow'ry, cool, and bright 
Of all by which that river roams, 
* ArchunedeB. 



The Fete is to be held to-night — 
That Fete ah-eady link'd to fame. 

Whose cards, in many a fair one's sighi 
(Whenlook'd for long, atlast they came,) 

Seem'd circled with a fairy light ; — 
That Fete to which the cull, the flower 
Of England's beauty, rank and power, 
From the young spinster, just come out, 

To the old Premier, too long in — 
From legs of far-descended gout. 

To the last new-moustachio'd chin^ 
All were convoked by Fashion's spells 
To the small chcle where she dwells, 
Collecting nightly, to alliu-e us, 

Live atoms, which, together hurl'd, 
She, like another Epicurus, [World." 

Sets dancing thus, and calls "the 

Behold how busy in those bowers 
(Like May-flies, in and out of flowers,) 
The countless menials swarming nm. 
To furnish forth, ere set of sun. 
The banquet-table richly laid 
Beneath yon awning's lengthen'd shadci 
Where fruits shall tempt, and wines en- 
tice. 

And Luxury's self, at Gunter's call, 
Breathe from her summer-throne of ice 

A spirit of coolness over all. 

And now th' important horn- drew nigh 
When, 'neath the flush of evening's sky, 
The west end" world" for mirth let loose, 
And moved, as he of Syracuse* 
Ne'er dreamt of moving worlds, by force 
Of four-torse power, had all combined 
Through Grosvenor Gate to speed their 
course, 
Leaving that portion of mankind. 
Whom thej' call ' Nobody," behind;— 

No star for London's fea^'ts ♦^o-'lay. 
No moon of beauty, new this M^y, 
To lend the night her crescent r&r I— 
Nothing, in short, for ear or eye, ' 
But veteran belles, and wits gone h^. 
The relics of a past beau-moude, 
A world, like Cuvier's, long dethroneC 1 
Ev'n Parhament this evening nods 
Beneath th' harangues of minor godsi, 

On half its usual opiate's share j 
The great dispensers of repose, 
The first-rate furnishers of prose 

Being all call'd to — prose elsewhere. 

Soon as through Grosvenor's lordly 
square- 1 
That last impr«,gnable redoubt, 
t I aic Tiot certaiE whethe; the Dc 7\'agers ot 




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THE SUMMEE FETE. 



323 



Where, guarded with Patrician care, 

Primeval Error still holds out — 
Where never gleam of gas must dare 

'Gainst ancient Darkness to revolt, 
Nor smooth Macadam hope to spare 

The dowagers one single jolt ;— 
Where, far too stately and sublime 
To profit by the lights of time, 
Let Intellect march how it will, 
They stick to oU and watchmen still : — 
Soon as through that illustrious square 

The first epistolary beU, 
Soundmg by fits upon the air, 

Of parting pennies rung the knell ; 
Wam'd by that tell-tale of the hours. 

And by the daylight's westering beam. 
The young lanthe, wno, with flowers 

Half-crown'd, had sat in idle di-eam 
Before her glass, scarce knowing where 
Her fingers roved through that brighthair. 

While, all capriciously, she now [brow, 

Dislodged some cm-1 from her white 
And now again replaced it there ;— 
As though her task was meant to be 
One endless change of ministry — 
A routing-up of Loves and Graces, 
But to plant others in their places. 

Meanwhile— what strain is that which 
floats [notes 

Through the smaU boudoir near— like 
Of some young bird, its task repeating 
For the nest linnet music-meeting ? 
A voice it was, whose gentle sounds 
StQl kept a modest octave's bounds, 
Nor yet had ventured to exalt 
Its rash ambition to B alt, 
That point towards which when ladies 

rise. 
The wise man takes his hat and — flies. 
Tones of a harp, too, gently play'd, 

Came with this youthful voice com- 
muning, 
Tones true, for once, without the aid 

Of that inflictive process, tuning — 
A process which must oft have given 
Poor Milton's ears a deadly wound ; 
So pleased, among the joys of Heav'n, 

He specifies " harps ever tuned."* 
She who now sung this gentle strain 

Was our young njonph's still younger 
sister— 

this Square have yet yielded to the innovations 
of Gas aud Police, but at the tirao when the 
above lines were written, they still obstinately 
persevered in their old refjiine ; and would imt 
suffer themselves to be either well guarded or 
well lighted. 



Scarce ready yet for Fashion's train 
In their light legions to enUst her, 
But counted on, as sure to l)ring 
Her force into the field next spring. 

The song she thus, like Jubal's shell, 
Gave forth " so sweetly and so well," 
Was one in Morning Post much famed, 
From a divine collection, named, 

" Songs of the toilet "—every Lay 
Taking for subject of its Muse, 

Some branch of feminu^e array. 
Some item, with full scope, to choose, , 
From diamonds down to dancing shoes; 
Prom the last hat that Herbault's handa 

Bequeath'd to an admiring world, 
Down to the latest flounce that stands 
f Like Jacob's ladder — or expands 

Far forth, tempestuously unfm'l'd. 

Speaking of one of these new Lays, 
The Morning Post thus sweetly sa_ys : — 
"Not all that breathes from Bishop's 
lyre, [ceives, 

" That Bamett dreams, or Cool;e con 
" Can match for sweetness, strength, or 
fire, 

"This line Cantata upon Sleeves. 
"The very notes themselves reveal 

" The cut of each new sleeve so well , 
"Aflat betrays the Imbecilles,\ 

"Light fugues the flying lappet ■; tell ; 
" WhUe rich cathedral chords awa/.o 
"Our homage for the Manchcs d 
Eve que." 

'Twas the first op'ning song— the Lay 
Of all least deep in toUet-lore, 

That the yoimg nymph, to while a'>vay 
The tiring hour, thus warbled o'"" 

SONG. 
Array thee, love, array thee, love^ 

In aU thy best an-ay thee ; 
The sun's below, the moon's above- 

And Night and Bliss obey thee. 
Put on thee all that's bright and rare, 

The zone, the wreath, the gem, 
Not so much gi-acing charms so fair, 

As borrowing grace from them. 
Array thee, love, array thee, love, 

In all that's bright an-ay thee ; 
The sun's below — the moon's above— 

And Night and BUss obey thee. 

* "their irohlon Iinrps they took — _ 

Hnrps ever tu icd. ' Paradive Lost, book iii. 
f The name given to those large sleeves that 
h«ng loosely. 



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324 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Put on the plumes thy lover gave, 

The plumes, that, proudly dancing, 
Proclaim to all, where'er they wave, 

Victorious eyes advancing. [ven 

Bring forth the robe, whose hue of hea- 

From thee derives such light, 
That Iris would give all her seven 

To boast but one so bright. 
Array thee, love, an-ay thee, love, 
&c. &c. (fee. 

.Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love. 

Through Pleasure's circles hie thee, 
And hearts, where'er thy footsteps move. 

Will beat, when they come nigh thee. 
Thy every word shall be a spell. 

Thy every look a ray, 
And tracks of wond'ring eyes shall tell 

The glory of thy way ! 
Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love. 

Through Pleasure's circles hie thee, 
And hearts, where'er thyfootsteps mt)ve, 

Shall beat when they come nigh thee. 

Now in his Palace of the West, 

Sinking to slumber, the bright Day, 
Like a tired monarch fann'd to rest, 
Mid the cool airs of Evening lay ; 
While round his couch's golden rim 
The gaudy clouds, like courtiers, 
crept — 
Struggling each other's light to dim, 

And catch his last smile ere he slept. 
How gay, as o'er the gliding Thames 

The golden eve its lustre pom-'d, 
Shone out the high-born knights and 
dames 
Now gi'oup'd around that festal board; 
i. living mass of plumes and flowers. 
Is though they'd robb'd both birds and 

bowers^ 
I peopled rainbow, swarming through 
A'"ith habitants of every hue ; 
While ai the sparkling juice of France 
High in the crystal brimmers flow'd, 

Each suuset ray that mix'd by chance 

With the wine's sparkles, show'd [dance. 

How sunbeams may be taught to 

If not in written form express'd, 
'Twas known, at least, to every guest, 
That, though not bidden to parade 
Their scenic powers in masquerade, 
(A pastime little found to thrive 

In the bleak fog of England's skies, 
Where wit's the thing we best contrive, 

As masqueraders, to disguise,) 
It yet was hoped— and well that hope 



Was answer'd by the young and gay — 

That, in the toilet's task to-day. 
Fancy should take her wildest scope ; — 
That the rapt milliner should be 
Let loose through fields of poesy. 
The tailor, in inventive trance. 

Up to the heights of Epic clamber, 
And all the regions of Romance 

Be ransack'd by the femtuc de chamhre. 

Accordingly, with gay Sultanas 
Rebeccas, Sapphos, Roxalauas — 
Circassian slaves whom Love would pay 

Half his maternal realms to ransom ;— 
Young nuns, M'hose chief religion lay 

In looking most profanely hand 
some ; — 
Muses in muslin — pastoral maids 
With hats from the Areade-ian shades, 
And fortune-tellers, rich, 'twas plain. 
As {ovt\mc-huntcrs form'd their train. 
With these, and more such female gi-oups, 
Were mix'd no less fantastic troops 
Of male exhibiters — aU willing 
To look, ev'n more than usual, killing ; — 
Beau-tyrants, smock-faced braggadocios, 
And brigands, charmingly ferocious ; — 
M. P.'s" tm-n'd Turks, good Moslems 
then. 

Who, last night, voted for the Greeks ; 
And Friars, stanch No-Popery men, 

In close confab with Whig Caciques. 
But where is she— the nymph, whom late 

We left before her glass delaying, 
Like Eve, when by the lalce she sate. 

In the clear wave her charms survey- 
ing; 
And saw in that first glassy mirror 
The first fan* face that Im-eil to error. 

" Where is she V ask'st thou ? — watch 
all looks 

As cent'ring to one point they bear. 
Like suii -flowers by the sides of brooks, 

Turn'd to the sun— and she is there. 
Ev'n in disguise, oh never doubt 
By her own light you'd track her out : 
As when the moon, close shawl'd iufog. 
Steals, as she thinks, through heaven 

vicog, 
Though hid herself, some sidelong ray, 
At every step, detects her way. 
But not in dark disguise to-nigh j 
Hath our young heroine veil'd her 

light;— 
For see, she walks the eartti, Love's own, 

His wedded bride, by holiest vow 



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THE SUMMER F^TE. 



325 



Pledged in Olympus, and made known 

To mortals by the type whicli now 

Hangs glitt'ring on her snowy brow, 

That butterfly, mysterious trinket, 

"Which means the Soul, (tho' few would 

thmk it,) 
And sparkling thus on brow so white, 
Tells us we've Psyche here to-night I 

But hark ! some song hath caught her 
ears — [ne'er 

And, lo, how pleased, as though she'd 
Heard the Grand Opera of the Spheres, 

Her goddess-ship approves the air; 
And to a mere terrestrial strain, 
Inspired by naught but pink champagne. 

Her butterfly as gayly nods 
As though she" sat with all her train 

At some great concert of the Gods, 
"With Phnebus, leader— Jove director, 
And half the audience dmnk with nectar. 

Prom a male group the carol came — 
A few gay youths, whom round the 
board 
The last-tried flask's superior fame 

Had lured to taste the tide it poiu^d; 
And one, who, from his youth and lyre, 
Seem'd grandson to the Teian sire, 
Thus gayly sung, while, to his song, 
Replied "in chorus the gay throng:— 

SOXG. 
Some mortals there may be, so wise or 
so flue, [to see ; 

As in evenings Mke this no enjoyment 
But, as I'm not particular — wit, love, 
and wine, [cient for me. 

Are for one night's amusement sufii- 
Nay — humble and strange as my tastes 
may appear— [thank Heaven, 
If driv'n to the worst, I could manage. 
To put up with eyes such as beam round 
me here, [days out of seven. 

And such wine as we're sipping, six 
So pledge me a bumper — your sages pro- 
found [patent plan : 
May be blest, if they will, on their own 
But as we are not sages, why — send the 
cup round— [we can. 
We must only be happy the best way 

A reward by some king was once offer'd, 

we're told, [mankind ; 

To whoe'er could mvent a new bUss for 

But talk of new pleasm-es ! — give me but 

the old, [ones they find. 

And I'll leave your inventors ail new 



Or should I, m quest of fr-esh realms of 

bliss, [day 

Set sail in the pinnace of Fancy soraa 

Let the rich rosy sea I embark on be this. 

And such eyes as we've here bo the 

stars of my way ! [gels, on high, 

In the mean time, a bumper— your An- 

May have pleasures unknown to life's 

limited span ; [flask fly — 

But, as we are not Angels, why— let the 

We must only be happy all ways that 

we can. 



N"ow nearly fled was sunset's light, 

Leaving but so much of its beam 
As gave to objects, late so bright. 

The coloring of a shadowy dream ; 
And there was still where Day had set 

A flush that spoke him loath to die — 
A last link of his glory yet. 

Binding together earth and sky. 
Say, why is it that twilight best 
Becomes even brows the loveliest? 
That dimness, with its soft'niug touch. 

Can bring out grace, unfelt before. 
And charms we ne'er can see too much, 

When seen but half enchant the more I 
Alas, it is that every joy 
In fullness finds its worst alloy. 
And half a bliss, but hoped or guess'd, 
Is sweeter than the whole possess'd ;— 
That Beauty, when least shone upon, 

A creature most ideal grows ; 
And there's no light from moon or sun 

Like that Imaguiation throws ; — 
It is, alas, that Fancy shrinks 

Ev'n from a l)right reality. 
And tm-ning inly, feels and" thinks 

Far heav'nlier things than e'er will be 

Such was th' effect of twihght's horn* 

Onthefairgroupsthat,rouudandround 
From glade to grot, from bank to bow'r, 

JJ^ow wander'd through this fairy 
ground ; 
And thus did Fancy— and champagne - 

Work on the sight, their dazzUug spells, 

Till nymphs that look'd, at noonday, 

plain, [belles ; 

Jfow brighten'd, in the gloom, to 
And the brief interval of time, 

'Twixt after dinner and before. 
To dowagers brought back their prime, 

And shed a halo round two-score. 

Meanwhile, new pastimes for the eye, 
The ear, the fancy, quick succeed; 



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326 



MOOKE'S "WORKS. 



And now along the waters fly 

Light gondoles, of Venetian breed, 
■With knights and dames, who, calm re- 
clined, 
Lisp out love-sonnets as they glide- 
Astonishing old Thames to find 
Such doings on his moi-tal tide. 

So bright was still that tranquil river, 
"With the last shaftfrom Daylight'squiver, 
That many a group, in turn, were seen 
jEmbarking on its wave serene ; 
lAnd, 'mong the rest, in chorus gay, 
A band of mariners, from th' isles 
Of sunny Greece, all song and smiles, 
As smooth they floated, to the play 
Of their oafs cadence, sung this lay : — 

TRIO. 
Our home is on the sea, boy, 
Our home is on the sea ; 
"When Nature gave 
The ocean-wave, 
She mark'd it for the Free. 
"Whatever storms befall, boy, 
"Whatever storms befall, 
The island bark 
Is Freedom's ark. 
And floats her safe through all. 

Behold yon sea of isles, boy, 
Behold yon sea of isles. 

Where ev'ry shore 

Is sparkling o'er 
"With Beauty's richest smiles. 
For us hath Freedom claim'd, boy, 
For us hath Freedom claim'd 

Those ocean-nests 

Where Valor rests 
His eagle wing untamed. 

And shall the Moslem dare, boy, 
And shall the Moslem dare. 

While Grecian hand 

Can wield a brand, 
To plant his Crescent there ? 
No— by our fathers, no, boy, 
No, by the Cross we show — 

From Maina's rills 

To Thracia's hills 
All Greece re-echoes "No !" 



Like pleasant thoughts that o'er the 
mind 
A minute come, and go again, 

* In England the partition of this opera of 
Eossini was transferred to the slory of Peter 
the Hermit; by which means the indecorum 



Bv'n so, by snatches, in the wind, 
Was caught and lost that choral 
strain. 

Now full, now faint upon the ear. 

As the bark floated far or near. 

At length when, lost, the closing note 
Had down the waters died along. 

Forth from another fairy boat, 
Freighted with music, came this 
song : — 

SONG. 

Smoothly flowing through verdant 
vales. 

Gentle river, thy current runs, 
Shelter'd safe from winter gales, 

Shaded cool from summer suns. 
Thus our Youth's sweet moments glide, 

Fenced with flow'ry shelter round ; 
No rude tempest wakes the tide, 

All its path is fairy ground. 

But, fair river, the day will come, 

"When, woo'd by whisp'riug groves in 

vain, [home. 

Thou'lt leave those banks, thy shaded 

To mingle with the stonny main. 
And thou, sweet youth, too soon wilt 
pass 

Into the world's unshelter'd sea, 
"Where, once thy wave hath mix'd, alas, 

All hope of peace is lost for thee. 

Next turn we to the gay saloon. 
Resplendent as a summer noon, [lights, 

Where, 'neath a pendent wreath of 
A Zodiac of flowers and tapers — 
(Such as in Russian ball-rooms sheds 
Its glory o'er young dancers' heads) — 

Quadrille performs her mazy rites, 
And reigns supreme o'er slides and 

capers ; — 
Working to death each opera strain. 

As, with a foot that ne'er reposes, 
She jigs through sacred and pr( fane. 

From " Maid and Magpie " up to 



Wearing out tunes as fast as shoes. 
Till fagg'd Rossini scarce respires ; 

Till Mayerbeer for mercy sues, 
And Weber at her feet expnes. 

And now the set hath ceased— the bows 
Of fiddlers taste a brief repose, 

of giving such names as "Moise," "Pharaon," 
&c. , to the dances selected from it (as was done 
iu Paris) has been avoided. 



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THE SUMMEE PETE. 



327 



While light along the painted floor, 

Arm -u-ithiu arm, the couples stray, 
Talking their stock of nothings o'er, 

TiU— nothing's left, at last, to say. 
When, lo ! — most opportunely sent — • 

Two Exquisites, a he and she. 
Just brought from Dandyland, and 
meant 

For Fashion's grand Menagerie, 
Enter'd the room — and scarce were there, 
"WhenaU flock'd round them, glad to 

stare 
At any monsters, any where. 

Some thought them perfect, to their 

tastes ; 
While others hinted that the waists 
(That in particular of the he thing) 
Left far too ample room for breathing : 
Whereas, to meet these critics' wishes, 

The isthmus there should be so small, 
That Exquisites, at last, like fishes. 

Must manage not to brea,the at all. 
The female (these same critics said,) 

Though orthodox from toe to chin, 
Yet lack'd that spacious width of head 

To hat of toadstool much akin— 
That build of bonnet, whose extent 
Should, like a doctrine of dissent, 

Puzzle church-doors to let it in. 

However— sad as 'twas, no doubt, 
That nymph so smart should go about, 
With head unconscious of the place 
It ought to fill in Infinite Space- 
Yet all allow'd that, of her kind, 
A prettier show 'twas hard to find ; 
While of that doubtful genus, " di-essy 

men," [men. 

The male was thought a first-rate speci- 
Such Savans, too, as wish'd to trace 
The manners, habits, of this race- 
To know what rank (if rank at all) 
'Mong reas'ning things to them should 

fall— ^ 
What sort of notions heaven imparts 
To high-built heads and tight-laced 

hearts, 
And how far Soul, which, Plato says, 
Abhors restraint, can act in stays — 
Might now, if gifted with discerning, 
Find opportunities of learning: 
As these two creatures — from their pout 
And frown, 'twas plain— had just fall'n 

out; 

* It is hnrdly necessary to remind the reader 
that this Duct is a parody of the often-trans- 



And all their little thoughts, of course. 
Were stirring in full fret and force ; 
Like mites, through microscope 
A world of nothings magnified. 

But mild the vent such beings seek. 
The tempest of their souls to speak: 
As Opera swains to fiddles sigh. 
To fiddles fight, to fiddles die, 
Even so this tender couple set 
Their well-bred woes to a Duet. 

WALTZ DUET.* 



Long as I waltz'd with only thee. 

Each bhssful Wednesday that went by, 
Nor stylish Stultz, nor neat Nugeo 
Adom'd a youth so blest as I. 
Oh! ah! ah! oh! 
Those happy days are gone— hcighol 

SHE. 

Long as with thee I skimm'd the gi-ound 

Nor yet was scorn'd for Lady June, 
No blither nymph tetotimi'd round 
To CoUinet's immortal strain. 
Oh ! ah ! &c. 
Those happy days are gone— heigho ! 

HE. 

With Lady Jane now whirl'd about, 

I know no bounds of time or breath ; 

And, should the charmer's head hold out. 

My heart and heels are hers tiU death. 

Oh!ah!«fec. [we'll go. 

Still round and round through life 

SHE. 

To Lord Fitznoodle's eldest son, 
A youth renown'd for waistcoats 
smart, 
I now have given (excuse the pim) 
A vested interest in my heart. 
Oh! ah ! <fcc. [go. 

Still round and round with him I'U 

HE. 

What if, by fond remembrance led 
Again to wear our mutual chain. 
For me thou cutt'st Fitzuoodle dead. 
And I levant from Lady Jane. 
Oh! ah! <tc. 
Still round and round again we'll ga 

SHE, 

Though he the Noodle honors give, 
And thine, dear youth, are not so high, 

lateJ and parodied ode of Horace, "Doneo 
graluseram tibi," &-C. 



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328 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



"With thee in endless -n-altz I'd live, 
With thee, to Weber's Stop- Waltz, 
Oh ! ah ! &c. [die ! 

Thus round and round through lil'e 
we'll go. 

lExeu7it waltzing. 



While thus, like motes that dance away 

Existence in a summer ray, 

These gay things, bom but to quadrille. 

The circle of their doom Mill— 

(That dancing doom, whose law decrees 

That they should live, on the alert toe, 
A life of ups-and-downs, liiie keys 

Of Broadwood'sin a long concerto : — ) 
While thus the fiddle's spell, within, 

Calls up its realm of restless sprites, 
Without, as if some Mandarin 

Were holding there his Feast of Lights, 
Lamps of all hues, fi-om walks and 

bowers, 
Broke on the eye like kindling flowers, 
Till, budding into light, each tree 
Bore its full fruit of brilliancy. 

Here shone a garden — lamps all o'er, 

As though the Spirits of the Au* 
Had tak'n it iu their heads to pour 

A shower of summer meteors there ; — 
While here a lighted shrubb'ry led 

To a small lake that sleeping lay, 
Cradled in foliage, but, o'erhead. 

Open to heaven's sweet breath and 
ray; 
While round its rim there burning stood 

Lamps, with young flowers beside 
them bedded, ' [borhood ; 

That shrunk from such warm neigh- 
And, looking bashful in the flood, 

Blush'd to behold themselves so 
wedded. 

Hither, to this embower'd retreat. 
Fit but for nights so still and sweet ; 
Nights, such as Eden's calm recall 
In its first lonely hour, when all 

So silent is, below, on high. 

That if a star falls down the sky, 
You almost think you hear it fall — 
Hither, to this recess, a few. 

To shun the dancers' wild'ring noise, 
And give an hour, ere night-time flew. 

To Music's more ethereal joys, 
Came with their voices— ready all 
As Echo, waiting for a call — 
In hymn or ballad, dirge or glee. 
To weave then: mingling minstrelsy. 



And, first, a dark-eyed nymph, array'd— 
Like her, whomArthath deathless made 
Bright Mona L:sa* — with that Waid 
Of hair across the brow, and one 
Small gem that in the centre shone — 
With face, too, in its form resembung 

Da Yinci's Beauties— the dark eyes, 
Now lucid, as through crystal trembimg, 

Now soft, as if suffused with sighs-^ 
Her lute, that hung beside her, took, 
And, bending o'er it with shy look. 
More beautiful, in shadow thus. 
Than when with life most luminous, 
Pass'd her light finger o'er the chords. 
And sung to them these mournful 
words : 



SONG. 

Bring hither, bring thy lute, while day 

is dying ; [song ; 

Here w'ill I lay me, and list to thy 

Should tones of other days mix with its 

sighing, [so long, 

Tones of a light heart, now banish'd 

Chase them away— they bring but pain, 

And let thy theme be wo again. 

Sing on, thou mournful lute — day is fast 

going, [away ; 

Soon will its light from thy chords die 

One little gleam in the west is still 

glowing, [thy lay. 

When that hath vanish'd, farewell to 

Mark, how it fades ! — see, it is fled ! 

Now, sweet lute, be thou, too, dead. 



The group, that late, in garb of Greeks, 

Suug their light chorus o'er the tide — 
Fonns, such as up the wooded creeks 

Of Helle's shore at noonday glide. 
Or, nightly, on her glist'ning sea. 
Woo the bright waves with melody — 
Now link'd their triple league again 
Of voices sweet, and sung a strain. 
Such as, had Sappho's tuneful ear 

But caught it, on the fatal steep. 
She would have paused, entranced, to 
hear. 

And, for that day, deferr'd her leap. 



SONG AND TRIO. 
On one of those sweet nights that oft 
Their lustre o'er th' ^gean fling, 

* The celebrated portrait by Leonardo da 
Vinci, which lio is said to have occupied foul 
jears in painting. — Vasari, vol. vii. 




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THE SUMMER F£TE. 



Beneath my casement, low and soft, 

I heard a Lesbian lover sing ; 
A.nd, list'ning both with ear and thought. 
These sounds upon the night-breeze 
caught^ 
" Oh, happy as the gods is he, 
" "Who gazes at this hour on t'jee I" 

The song was one by Sappho sung. 
In the first love-di"eams of her lyre, 

"When words of passion from her tongue 
Fell like a shower of living fire. 

And stiU, at close of ev'ry strain, 

I heard these burning words again — 
" Oh, happy as the gods is he, 
" Who listens at this hour to theol" 



Once more to Mona Lisa tum'd 
Each asldngeye— nor tum'd in vain; 

Though the quick, transient blush that 
biuTi'd 
Bright o'er her cheek, and died again, 

Show'd with what inly shame and fear 

"Was utter'd what all loved to hear. 

Tet not to sorrow's languid lay 
Did she her lute-sonij now devote ; 

But thus, with voice that, like a ray 
Of southern sunshine, seem'd to float — 
So rich with climate was each note — 

Call'd up in every heart a dream 

Of Italy, with this soft theme : — 



SOXG. 

Oh, where art thou dreaming, 

On laud, or on sea ? 
In my lattice is gleaming 

The watch-light for thee ; 
And this fond heart is glowing 

To welcome thee home. 
And the night is fast going 

But thou art not come: 

^o, thou com'st not I 

'Tistho time when night-flowers 

Should wake from their rest; 
'Tis the hour of all hom-s, 

"When the lute singetb best. 
But the flowers are half sleeping 

TiU thy glance they see ! 
And the hush'd lute is keeping 

Its music for thee. 

Tet, thou com'st not! 



Scarce had the last word left her lip. 
When a light, boyish form, with trip 
Fantastic, up the" green walk came, 
Prank'd in gay vest, to which the flame 
Of every lamp he pass'd, or blue, 



Or green, or crimson, lent its hue; 
As though a live chameleon's skin 
Ho had despoil'd to robe him in. 
A zone he wore of clatt'ring shells. 

And from his lofty cap, where shone 
A peacock's plume, there dangled bella 

That rung as he came dancing on. 
Close after him, a page— in dress 
And shape, his miniature express — 
An ample basket, fill'd with store 
Of toys and tiinkets, laughing bore ; 
Till, having reach'd this verdant seat. 
He laid it at his master's feet, 
"Who, half in speech and half in song, 
Chanted this invoice to the throng : — 

SOlfG. 
"Who'll buy ?— 'tis FoUy's shop, who'll 
buy? 
■We've toys to suit aU ranks and ages ; 
Besides our usual fools' supply, 

"We've lots of plaj-tbings, too, for sages. 
For reasoners, here's a juggler's cup, 

That fullest seems when nothing's in 

And nine-pins set, like systems, up, [it ; 

To be knock'd down the folfowing 

rmnute. [buy? 

THio'U buy ?— 'tis Folly's shop, who'll 

Gay caps we here of foolscap ma-ke, 

For bards to wear in dog-day weather , 
Or bards the bells alone may take. 

And leave to wits the cap and feather. 
Tetotums we've for patriots got, 

"Who court the mob with antics hum- 
Like thehsthe patiiot's dizzy lot, [ble ; 

A glorious spin, and then— a tumble. 
Who'll buy, &c., &c. 
Here, wealthy misers to inter, 

"We've shrouds of neat post-obit paper; 
"While, for their heirs, we've <j;wicA;silver, 

That, fast as they can wish, will caper. 
For aldermen we've dials true, 

That tell no hour but that of dinner ; 
For coiurtly parsons sermons new. 

That suit alike both saint and smner. 
"Who'll buy, &c., &c. 
N^o time we've now to name our terms, 

But, whatsoe'er the whims that siezo 
This oldest of all mortal firms, [you. 

Folly and Co., will try to please you. 
Or, should you wish a darker hiie 

Of goods than we can recommend yon, 
"WTiy then (as we with lawyers do) 

To Knavery's shop next door we'll 
send you. 

"Who'll buy, &o. (fee, 



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330 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



While thus the blissful momenta roll'd, 

Moments of rare and fleeting 'Ight, 
That show themselves, like graimi of gold 

In the mine's refuse, few and bright ; 
Behold where, opening far away, 

The long Conservatory's range, 
Stripp'd of the flowers it wore all day. 

But gaining lovelier in exchange. 
Presents, on Dresden's costliest ware, 
A supper, such as Gods might share. 

Ah, much-loved Supper ! — blithe repast 
Of other times now dwindhng fast, 
Since Dinner far into the night 
Advanced the march of appetite ; 
Deploy'd his never-ending forces 
Of various vintage and three courses, 
And, ]ike those Goths who play'd the 

dickeus 
With Rome and all her sacred chickens. 
Put Supper and her fowls so white, 
Legs, wings, and drumsticks, aU. to 



Kow waked once more by vdne — whose 

tide 
Is the ti-ue Hippocrene, where glide 
The Muse's swans with happiest wing, 
Dipping their bills before they sing — 
The minstrels of the table greet 
The list'ning ear with desct^nt sweet : — 

SONG AND TRIO. 

THE LEVEE AND COTJCnEE. 

Call the Loves around. 

Let the whisp'ring sound 
Of their wings be heard alone. 

Till soft to rest 

My Lady blest 
At this bright hour hath gone. 

Let Fancy's beams 

Play o'er her dreams, 
Till, touch'd with light all through, 

Her spirit be 

Like a summer sea, 
Shining and slumb'ring too. 
And, while thus hush'd she lies, 
Let the whispei-'d chonis rise— 
"Good-evening, good-evening, to our 
Lady's bright eyes." 

But the day-beam breaks, 

See, our Lady wakes ! 
Call the Loves around once more, 

Like stars that wait 

At Morning's gate. 
Her first steps to adore. 



Let the veil of night 

From her dawning sight 
AU gently pass away, 

Like mists that flee 

From a summer sea, 
Leaving it full of day. 
And, while her last dream flies. 
Let the whispei-'d chorus rise— 
"Good-morning, good-morning, to oat 
Lady's bright eyes." 

SONG. 

If to see thee be to love thee, 

If to love thee be to prize 
Naught of earth or heav'n above thee, 

Nor to hve but for those eyes : 
If such love to mortal given. 
Be wrong to earth, be wrong to heav'n, 
'Tis not for thee the fault to blame. 
For from those eyes the madness came. 
Forgive but thou the crime of loving. 

In this heart more pride 'twill raise 
To be thus wrong, with thee approving, 

Than right, with all a world to praise 



But say, while light these songs resound, 
What means that buzz of whisp'ring 

round, 
From lip to lip — as if the Power 
Of Mystery, in this gay hour. 
Had thrown some secret (as we fling 
Nuts among children) to that ring 
Of rosy, restless lips, to be 
Thus scrambled for so wantonly I 
And, mark ye, still as each reveals 
The mystic news, her hearer steals 
A look tow'rds yon enchanted chair. 

Where, like the Lady of the Mask, 
A nymph, as exquisitely fair 

As Love himself for bride could ask, 
Sits blushing deep, as if aware 
Of the wing'd secret circling there. 
Who is this nymph ? and what, oh Muse, 

What, in the name of all odd things 
That woman's restless brain pursues. 

What mean these mystic whisperings ? 

Thus runs the tale : — yon blushing maid. 
Who sits in beauty's light array'd. 
While o'er her leans a tall young Dervise, 
(Who from her eyes, as all observe, is 
Learning by heart the Mai-riage Service,) 
Is the bright heroine of our song, — 
The Love-wed Psyche, whom so long 
We've miss'd among this mortal train. 
We thought her wing'd to heaven again. 



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EYENIN-GS IN- GEBECB. 



331 



But no— earth still demands her smile ; 
Her fi-iends, the Gods, must wait awhile. 
And if, for maid of heavenly birth, 

A young Dulie's proffer'd heart and 
hand 
Be things worth waiting for on earth, 

Both are, this hour, at her command. 
To-night, in yonder half-lit shade, 

For love concerns expressly meant, 
The fond proposal first was made, 

And love and silence blushed con- 
sent. 
Parents and friends (all here, as Jews, 
Enchanters, housemaids, Turks, Hin- 
doos,) 
Have heard, approved, and bless'd the 

tie; 
And now, hadst thou a poet's eye, 
Thou might'st behold, in th' air above. 
That brilliant brow, triumphani, Love, 
Holding, as if to drop it down 
Gently iipon her curls, a crown 
Of Ducal shape — but, oh, such gems ! 
Pilfer'd from Peri diadems. 
And set in gold like that which shines 
To deck the Fairy of the Mines: 
In short, a crown all glorious — such as 
Love orders when he makes a Duchess. 



But see, 'tis mom in heaven ; the Sua 
Up the bright orient hath begun 
To canter his immortal team; 

And, though not yet arrived in sight, 
His leader's nostrils send a steam 
Of radiance forth, so rosy bright 
As makes their onward path all light. 
What's to be done ? il'Sol will be 
So deuced early, so must we ; 
And when the day thus shines outright, 
Ev'n dearest friends must bid good 
night. [ing, 

So farewell, scene of mirth and mask- 
Now almost a by-gone tale ; 
Beauties, late in lamp-light basking. 

Now, by daylight, dim and pale; 
Harpers, yawning o'er your harps. 
Scarcely knowing flats from sharps ; 
Mothers who, while bored you keep 
Time by nodding, nod to sleep ; 
Heads of air, that stood last night 
Cr^2^e, crispy, and upright, 
But have now, alas ! one sees, a 
Leaning like the tower of Pisa ; 
Fare ye well— thus sinks away 

All that's mighty, all that's bright-, 
Tyre and Sidon had their day. 
And ev'n a Ball— liaa but its night ! 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



1827. 



In thus connecting together a series 
jf Songs by a thread of poetical naiTa- 
iive, my chief object has been to com- 
bine Recitation with Music, so as to en- 
able a greater number of persons to join 
in the pertbrmance, by enlisting, as 
readers, those who may not feel willing 
or competent to take a part as singers. 

The Island of Zea, where the scene is 
laid, was called by the ancients Ceos, 
and was the birthplace of Simonides, 
Bacchylides, and other eminent persons. 
An account of its present state may be 
found in the Travels of Dr. Clarke^ who 



says that " it appeared to him to be the 
best cultivated of any of the Grecian 
Isles."— Vol. vi. p. 174. 

T. M. 



EVENINGS m GREECE. 



FIRST EVENING. 

' The sky is bright — the breeze is fair. 
"And the mamsail flowing, fuU and 



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332 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



'' Our farewell -word is woman's pray'r, 

" And the hope before us — Liberty ! 

" Farewell, farewell. 

" To Greece we give oui- shining blades, 

"And our hearts to you, young Zean 

Maids ! 

'' The moon is in the heavens above, 

"And the wind is on the foaming sea — 
*' Thus shines the star of woman's love 
" On the glorious strife of Liberty 1 
" Farewell, farewell. 
'' To Greece we give our shining blades, 
■" And our hearts to you, young Zean 
Maids !" 



Thus sung they from the bark, that now 
Turn'd to the sea its gallaut prow, 
Beariug within it hearts as brave 
As e'er sought Freedom o'er the wave ; 
And leaving on that islet's shore, 

Where still the farewell beacons bum. 
Friends, that shall many a day look o'er 

The long, dim sea for their return. 



"J'irgin of Heaven ! speed their way — 

Oh, speed their way, — the chosen 
flow'r. 
Of Zea's youth, the hope and stay 

Of parents in their wintry hour. 
The love of maidens, and the pride 
Of the young, happy, blushing bride, 
Whose nuptial wreath has not yet died — 
All, all are in that precious bark, 

Which now, alas, no more is seen — 
Though every eye still turns to mark 

The moonUght spot where it had been. 
Vainly you look, ye maidens, sires. 

And mothers, your beloved are 
gone ! — 
Ifow may you quench thos^ signal fires. 

Whose light they long look'd back 

upon [flame 

From their dark deck — watching the 

As fast it faded from their view, 
With thoughts, that, but for manly 
shame, [you. 

Had made them droop and weep like 
Home to your chambers ! home, and pray 
For the bright coming of that day. 
When, bless'd by Heaven, the Cross 
shall sweep 

*"Nerium Oleander. In Cyprus it retains 
5t8 ancient name, Khododaphno, and the Cypri- 
ots adorn tlieii" Cluirches with the flowers on 
feast-days."— /oMDioi of Dr. Sibthorve, Wal- 
pole's Turkey. f Id! 

J Lonicera Caprifolium, used by the girls of 
Patmos for garlands. 



The Crescent from the iEgean deep. 
And your brave waniors, hast'ningbacX 
Will bring such glories in their track, 
As shall, for many an age to come. 
Shed light around their name and home. 

There is a Fount on Zea's isle. 

Round which, in soft luxuriance, smile 

All the sweet flowers, of every kind. 

On which the sun of Greece looks 

Pleased as alover on the crown [down, 
His mistress for her brow hath twined. 
When he beholds each flow'ret there. 
Himself had wish'd her most to wear ; 
Here bloom'd the laurel-rose,* whose 
wreath [shrines. 

Hangs radiant round the Cyprioi 
And here those bramble-flowers that 
breathe 

Their odor into Zante's wines :— t 
The splendid woodbine, that, at eve, 

To grace their floral diadems. 
The lovely maids of Patmos weave : — t 

And that fair plant, whose tangleJ 
stems 
Shine like a JSTereid's hair, ^ when spread, 
Dishevell'd, o'er her azure bed ; — 
All these bright children of the clime, 
(Each at its own most genial time. 
The SHmmer, or the year's sweet piime,) 
Like beautiful earth-stars, adorn 
The Valley, where that Fount is bom: 
While round, to grace its cradle green, 
Groups of Velani oaks are seen, 
Tow'ring on every verdant height — 
Tall, shadowy, in the evening light, 
Like Genii, set to watch the birth 
Of some enchanted child of earth — 
Fair oaks, that over Zea's vales, 

Stand with their leafy pride unfurl'd ; 

While Commerce, from her thousand 

sails, [world !|i 

Scatters their fruit throughout the 

'Twas here — as soon as prayer and sleep 
(Those truest friends to all who weep) 
Had Ughten'd every heart, and made 
Ev'n sorrow wear a softer shade — 
'Twas here, in this secluded spot, 

Amid whose breathings calm and 
sweet 
Grief might be sooth'd, if not forgot, 

5 Cuscuta europtea. " From the twisting 
and twining of tuo stems, it is compared by 
the Greeks to the dishevelled hair of the Nere- 
ids."— TFaipoZeV Turkey. 

II " The produce of the island in these acorns 
alone amounts annually to fifteen thousand 
quintals."— Cterfce's Travels. 




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ETEN-IKGS m GREECE. 



The Zean nymphs resolved to meet 
Each evening now, by the same light 
That saw their farewell tears that night; 
4.nd try, if sound of lute and song, [ers 

If wand'riug 'mid the moonlight flow- 
In various talk, could charm along 

With lighter step, the ling'ring hours, 
Till tidings of that Bark should come, 
Or Victory waft their warriors home I 

When first they met— the wonted smile 
Of greeting having gleam'd awhile — 
'Twould touch ev'n Moslem heart to see 
The sadness that came suddenly 
O'er their young brows, when they look'd 

round 
Upon that bright, enchanted ^oimd ; 
And thought, how many a time, with 

those 
"Who now were gone to the rude wars. 
They there had met, at evening's close. 
And danced tiU mom outshone the 

stars ! 

But seldom long doth hang th' eclipse 

Of son-ow o'er such youthM breasts — 
The breath from her own blushing lips, 

That on the maiden's mirror rests, 
Not swifter, lighter from the glass, 
Than sadness from her brow doth pass. 
Soon did they now, as round the Well 

They sat, beneath the rising moon— 
And some, with voice of awe, would tell 
Of midnight fays, and nj^mphs who dwell 

In holy founts — while some would tune 
Their idle lute.^, that now had lain. 
For days, without a single strain ; — 
And others, from the rest apart, 
With laugh that told the lighten'd heart, 
Sat, whisp'ring in each other's ear 
Secrets, that all in turn would hear ; — 
Soon did they find this thoughtless play 
So swiftly steal their griefs away, 

That many a nymph, though pleabcd 
the while, 

Eeproach'd her own forgetful smile. 
And sighed to think she could be gay. 

Among these maidens there was one, 
Who to Leucadia* late had been — 

Had stood, beneath the evening sun. 
On its white tow'ring cliffs, and seen 

* Now Santa Maura — the island, from whose 
cliffs Sappho leaped into the sea. 

t " The precipice, -which is fearfully dizzy, is 
about one hundred and fourteen feet from the 
water, which is of a profound depth, as ap- 
pears from the dark-blue color and the edtly 
that plays round the pointed and projecting 
rocks." — Ooodisson's Ionian Isles, 



The very spot where Sappho sung 
Her swau-Hke music, ere she sprung 
(Still holding, iu that fearful leap. 
By her loved lyre) into the deep, 
And dying quench'd the fatal fire, 
At once, of both her heart and lyre. 

Mutely they listen'd all — and well 
Did the young travell'd maiden tell 
Of the dread height to which that steep 
Beetles above the eddying deep — t 
Of the lone sea-birds, wheeling round 
The dizzy edge with mournful soimd — 
And of those scented lilies t found 
Still blooming on that fearful place- 
As if call'd up by Love, to grace 
Th' immortal spot, o'er which the last 
Bright footsteps of his martyr pass'd ! 

While fresh to ev'ry listener's thought 
These legends of Leucadia brought 
AU that of Sappho's hapless flame 
Is kept alive, still watch'd by Fame — 
The maiden, tuning her soft lute, 
While all the rest stood round her, mute, 
Thus sketch'd the Janguishment of soul. 
That o'er the tender Lesbian stole ; 
And, in a voice, whose thrilling tone 
Fancy might deem the Lesbian's own. 
One of those fervid fragments gave, 

Which still,— like sparkles of Greek 
Fire, 
Undjnng, ev'n beneath the wave, — 

Bm-n on through Time, and ne'er ex- 
pire. 

SOiN-G. 
As o'er her loom the Lesbian Maid 

In love-sick languor hung her head. 
Unknowing where her fingers stray'd, 

She weeping tum'd away, and said, 
" Oh, my sweet Mother — 'tis in vain — 

" I cannot weave, as once I wove — 
" So wUder'd is my heart and brain 

" With thinking of that youth I love 1"§ 
Again the web she tried to trace. 

But tears fell o'er each tangled thread: 
While, looking in her mother's face, 

Who watchful o'er her lean'd, she said, 
" Oh, my sweet Mother— 'tis in vam — 

" I cannot weave, as once I wove — 

J Seo Mr. Goodisson's very interesting de- 
scription of all these circumstances. 

§ 1 have attempted, in these four lines, to 
give some idea ot that beautiful fragment of 
Sappho beginning, T\vKela judrep, wliich repro. 
sents so truly (ns AVurtou remarks) "the lan- 
guor and fistlessness of a person deeply ii 
love " 




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334 



MOORE'S "WO.i^KS. 



" So -n-ildcr'd is my heart and brain 
" With thinking of that you'r. J love ! " 

A silence foUow'd this sweet aii,. 

As each in tender musing sto'.d, 
Thinking, with lips that moved ii prayer, 

Of Sappho and that fearful flood : 
"While some, who ne'er tUl now had known 

How much their hearts resembled hers, 
Felt as they made her griefs their own, 

That tlic!/, too,were Love'sworshippers. 

At length a murmur, all but mute, 
So faint it was, came from the lute 
Of a young melancholy maid, 
Whose fingers, all uncertain play'd 
From chord to chord, as if in chase 

Of some lost melody, some strain 
Of other times, whose faded trace 

She sought among those chords again. 
Slowly the half-forgotten theme 

(Though bom in feelings ne'er forgot) 
Came to her memory — as a beam 

Falls broken o'er some shaded spot; — 
And while her lute's sad symphony 

Fill'd up each sighing pause between ; 
And Love himself might weep to see 

What ruin comes where he hath been — 
As wither'd still the grass is found 
Where fays have danced their merry 
round— 

Thus simply to the list'ning throng 

She breathed her melancholy song : — 



SOl^G. 



Weeping for thee, my love, through the 

long day. 
Lonely and wearily life wears away. 
Weeping for thee, my love, through the 

long night- 
No rest in darkness, no joy in light ! 
Ifaught left but Memory, whose dreary 

tread [all lies dead- 

Sounds through this ruin'd heart, where 
Wakening the echoes of joy long fled ! 



'Of many a stanza, this alone 

Had 'scaped oblivion — like the one 

Stray fragment of a wreck, which 

thrown. 
With the lost vessel's name, ashore, 
Tells who they were that live no more. 

* This word is defrauded here, I suspect, of 
a syllable; Dr. Clarke, if I recollect right, 
makes It " Balalaika." 

i "I saw above thirty parties engaged 1p 



Wii3'A thus the heart is in a vein 

Of tc-:ider thought, the simplest strain 

Can touch it with peculiar power — 

As when the air is warm, the scent 
Of the most wild and rustic flower 

Can fill the whole rich element — 
And, in such moods, the homeUest tone 
That's link'd with feelings, once our 

own — 
With friends or joys gone by — will be 
Worth choirs of loftiest harmony ! 

But some there were, among the group 

Of damsels there, too Ught of heart 
To let their spirits longer droop, 

Ev'n under music's melting art ; 
And one upspringing, with a bound. 
From a low bank of ilowers, look'd round 
With eyes that, though so full of light, 

Had still a trembling tear within; 
And, while her fingers, in swift flight, 

Flew o'er a fairy mandolin. 
Thus sung the song her lover late 

Had sung to her— the eve before 

That joyous night, when, as of yore, 
All Zea niet, to celebrate 

The Feast of May, on the sea-snore. 



SOKG. 

When the Balaika* 

Is heard o'er the sea, 
I'll dance the Eomaika 

By moonlight with thee. 
If waves then, advancing, 

Should steal on our play. 
Thy white feet, in dancing, 

Sh-all chase them away.f 
When the Balaika 

Is heard o'er the sea, 
Thou'lt dance the Eomaika, 

My own love, vdth me. 

Then, at the closing 

Of each merry lay, 
How sweet 'tis, reposing, 

Beneath the night ray! 
Or if, declining, 

The moon leave the sMes, 
We'll talk by the shinmg 

Of each other's eyes. 

Oh then, how featly 
The dance we'll renew, 

dancing the Eomaika upon the sand ; in some 
of these groups, the girl who led them chased 
the retreating Vk'a.Ye."— Douglas on the Modern 
Greeks. 



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EVENmGS m GKBECE. 



335 



Trsading po fleetly 

lis Light mazes through :* 
Till stars, lociking o'er us 

From beaven's high bow'rs, 
Would change their bnght chorus 

For one dance of ours ! 
When the Balaika 

Is heard o'er the sea, 
Thou'lt dance the Romaika, 

My own love, with me. 



Hov changingly forever veers [tears ! 
The Heart of yo\ith, 'twixt smiles and 
Ev'n db in April, the light vane 
Now points to sunshine, now to ram. 
Instant this lively lay dispeU'd 

The shadow from each blooming brow, 
And Dancing, joyous Dancing, held 

Full empire o'er each fancy now. 

But say — what shall the measure be ? 

" Shall we the old Romaika tread," 
(Some eager ask'd) " as anciently 

" 'Twas by the maids of Delos led, 
" When, slow at first, then circling fast, 
" As the gay spirits rose — at last, 
" "With hand in hand, like links enlock'd, 

" Through the light air ihey seem'd to 
flit 
"In labyrinthine maze, that mock'd 

" The dazzled eye that follow' d it?" 
Some call'd aloud "the Fountain 
Dance !"— 

"While one young, dark-eyed Amazon, 
Whose step was air-like, and whose 
glance 

Flash' d, like a sabre in the sun. 
Sportively said, " Shame on these soft 
" And languid strains we hear so oft. 
" Daughters of Freedom ! have not we 

" Leam'd from our lovers and our sires 

'' The Dance of Greece, while Greece 

was free — [lyres, 

" That Dance, where neither flutes nor 
" But sword and shield clash on the ear 
" A music tyrants quake to hear U 
" Heroines of Zea, arm with me, 
"And dance the dance of Victory !" 

* " Iq danciug the Romaika (says Mr. Doug- 
las) they begin in slow and solema step till 
they have g-aiiieil the time ; but by degrees the 
air becomes more sprightly; the conductress 
of the dance soraetimes setting to her partner, 
sometimes dnvting before the rest, and leading 
them through the most rapid revolutions ; some- 
times crossing under the hands, which are held 
up to let her pass, and giving as much liveliness 
and intricacy as she can to the figures, into 
which she cond nets her companions, while their 
business is to follow her in all her movements, 



Thus saying, she, with playful grace, 
Loosed the wide hat, that o'er her face 
(From AnatoUat came the maid) 

Hung, shadowing each sunny charm • 
And, with a fair young armorer's aid, 

Fixing it on her rounded arm, 
A mimic shield with pride display'd ; 
Then, springing towards a grove thaj 
spread 

Its canopy of foliage near, 
Pluck'd off a lance-Uke twig, and said, 
" To arms, to arms !" while o'er her head 

She waved the hght branch, as a spear. 

Promptly the laughing maidens all 
Obey'd their Chief's heroic call ;— 
Round the shield-arm of each was tied 
Hat, turban, shawl, as chance might 
The grove, their verdant armory, [be ; 
Falchion and lance§ alike supplied; 
And as their glossy locks, let free, 
Fell down their shoulders carelessly. 
You might have dream'd you saw a 
throng 
Of youthful Thyads, by the beam 
Of a May moon, bounding along 
Peneus' silver-eddiedll stream! 

And now they stepp'd, with measured 

tread. 
Martially, o'er the shining field ; 
N"ow, to the mimic combat led, 
(A heroine at each squadron's head,) 
Struck lance to lance and sword to 

shield : 
While still, through every varying feat. 
Their voices, heard in contrast sweet 
With some, of deep but soften'd sound. 
From lips of aged sires around, 
"Who smihng watch'd their children's 

play- 
Thus sung the ancient Pyrrhic lay :— 



SOIfG. 
"Raise the buckler— poise the lance— 
"Now here — now there — retreat — ad- 
vance !" 
without breaking the chain, or losing the 
measure." 

f For a description of the Pyrrhic Dance, 
see De Guvs, <fcc.— It appears from Apuleius 
(lib. X ) that this war-danco was, among the 
ancients, sometimes performed by females. 

] See the contume of the Greek women of 
Katolia in Castellan's Moeurs des Othomans. 

5 The sword was the weapon chiefly used it 
this dance. 

il Homer, II. ii. 753. 




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336 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Such were the sounds, to which the war- 
rior boy [Greece was free ; 
Danced in those happy days, when 
When Sparta's youth, ev'n in the hour of 
joy, [victory. 
Thus Irain'd their steps to war and 
" Raise the buckler — poise the lance — 
" Now here — now there — retreat— ad- 
vance !" 
Such was the Spartan waniors' dance. 
" Grasp the falchion— gird the shield— 
" Attack— defend— do all, but yield." 

Thus did thy sons, oh Greece, one glori- 
ous night, [sea 
Dance by a moon like this, till o'er the 
That morning dawn'd by whose immor- 
tal light 
They nobly died for thee and liberty !* 
" Raise the buckler — poise the lance — 
"I^ow here — now there — retreat — ad- 
vance ! " 
Such was the Spartan heroes' dance. 



Scarce had they closed this martial lay 
When, flinging their light spears away, 
The combatants, in broken ranks, 

All breathless from the war-held fly; 
And down, upon the velvet banks 

And flow'ry slopes, exhausted lie. 
Like rosy huntresses of Thrace, 
Resting at sunset from the chase. 

" Fond ghls !" an aged Zean said — 
One who, himself, had fought and bled. 
And now, with feelmgs, half delight, 
Half sadness, watch'dtheir mimic fight — 
"Fond maids ! who thus with War can 

jest— 
" Like Love, in Mars's helmet dress'd, 
" When, in his childish innocence, 

"Pleased with the shade that helmet 
flings, 
" He thinks not of the blood, that thence 

" Is dropping o'er his snowy wings. 
"Ay — true it is, young patriot maids, 

" If Honor's arm still won the fray, 
"If luck but shone on righteous blades. 

"War were a game for gods to play ! 
*'But, no, alas ! — hear one, who well 

"Hath track'd the fortunes of the 
brave— 

* It is said tliat Leonidas and his compan- 
ions employed themselves, on the eve of the 
battle, in music and the gymnastic exercises 
of their country. 

'. " This morning we paid our visit to the 



" Hear me, in mournful ditty, teU 
" What glory waits the patriot's 
grave :" — 



SON-G. 
As by the shore, at break of day, 
A vanquish'd Chief expiring lay. 
Upon the sands, with broken sword, 

He traced his farewell to the Free; 
And, there, the last unfinish'd word 

He dying wrote was "Liberty !" 

At night a Sea-bird shriek'd the knell 
Of him who thus for Freedom fell ; 
The words he wrote, ere evening came, 

Were cover'd by the sounding sea ; — 
So pass away the cause and name 

Of him who dies for Liberty ! 

That tribute of subdued applause 
A charm'd, but timid, audience pays. 

That munnur, which a minstrel draws 
From hearts, that feel, but fear to 
praise, 

Follow'd this song, and left a pause 

Of silence fifcer it, that hung 

Like a fix'd spell on every tongue. 

At length, a low and tremulous sound 
Was heard from mid.st a gi-oup, that 
A bashful maiden stood, to hide [round 
Her blushes, while the lute she tried — 
Like roses, gath'ring round to veil 
The song of some young nightingale. 
Whose trembling notes steal out between 
The cluster'd leaves, herself unseen. 
And. while that voice, in tones that more 

Through feeling than through weak- 
ness err'd, 
Came, with a stronger sweetness, o'er 

Th' attentive ear, this strain was 
heard :— 



SONG. 



I SAW, from yonder silent cave. 

Two fountains running, side by side ! 
The one was Mem'ry's hmpid wave. 

The other cold Oblivion's tide.t 
" Oh Love \" said I, in thoughtless mood, 

As deep I drank of Lethe's stream, 
" Be all my sorrows in this flood 

" Forgotten like a vanish'd dream !" 

Cave of Trophonius, and the Fountains of 
Memory and Oblivion, just upon the water of 
Hercyna, which flows through stupendous 
rocks." — "Williams's Travels in Greece. 




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EVHOTNGS m GREECE. 



But who could bear that gloomy blank, 

Where joy was lost as well as pain ? 
Quickly of Mem'ry's fount I drank, 

And brought the past all back again ; 
And said, " Oh Love ! whate'er my lot, 

"Still let this soul to thee be true — 
•' Rather than have one bUss forgot, 

" Be aU my pains remember'd too I" 

The group that stood around, to shade 
The blushes of that l)ashful maid, 
Had, by degrees, as came the lay 
More strongly forth, retired away, 
Iiike a fair shell, whose valves divide, 
To show the fairer pearl inside : 
For such she was— a creature, bright 

And delicate as those day-flow'rs. 
Which, while they last, make up, ia light 

And sweetness, what they want in 
hours. 

So rich upon the ear had grown 
Her voice's melody — its tone 
Gathering new courage, as it found 
An echo in each bosom round — 
That, ere the nymph, with downcast eye 
Still on the chords, her lute laid hy, 
" Auother Song," all lips exclaim'd. 
And each some matchless fav'rite named; 
While blushing, as her fingers ran 
O'er the sweet chords, she thus began : — 

SONG. 
Oh, Memory, how coldly 

Thou paintestjoy gone by: 
Like rainbows, thy pictures 

But mournfully shine and die. 
Or, if some tints thou keepest. 

That former days recall, 
As o'er each line thou weepest, 

Thy tears efface them all. 

But, Memory, too truly 

Thou paintest grief that's past , 
Joy's colors are fleeting. 

But those of Sorrow last. 
And, while thou bring'st before us 

Dark pictures of past ill. 
Life's evening, closing o'er us, 

But makes them darker still. 



So went the moonlight hours along, 
In this sweet glade ; and so, with song 

* This superstitious custom of the Thessa- 
lians exists also, as Tietro della Vallo tells us, 
amons the Persians. 

t An ancient city of Zea, the walls of which 
wp.re of marble. Its remains (says Clarke) 



And witching sounds— not such as they, 
T'he cymbalists of Ossa, play'd, 

To chase the moon's eclipse away,* 
But soft and holy — did each maid 

Lighten her heart's eclipse awhile, 

And win back Sorrow to a smile. 

Not far from this secluded place. 

On the sea-shore a ruin stood; — 
A relic of th' extinguish'd race. 

Who once look'd o'er that foamy floo4, 
When fair Iou]is,t by the light 
Of golden sunset, on the sight 

Of mariners who sail'd that sea, 
Rose, like a city of chrysolite, 

Call'd from the wave' by witchery 
This ruin — now by barb'rous hands 

Debased into a motley shed. 
Where the once splendid column stands 

Inverted on its leafy head — 
Form'd, as they tell, in times of old, 

The dwelhng of that bard, whose lay 
Could melt to tears the stem and cold, 

And sudden, 'mid their mu'th, th« 
gay— 
Simonides,t whose fame, through years 
And ages past, still bright appears — 
Like Hesperus, a star of tears ! 

'Twas hither now — to catch a view 

Of the white waters, as they play'd 
Silently in the light— a few 

Of the more restless damsels stray'd ; 
And some would linger 'mid the scent 

Of hanging foliage, that perfumed 
The ruin'd walls ; while others went. 

Culling whatever flow'ret bloom'd 
In the lone leafy space between. 
Where gilded chambers once had been. ; 
Or, turning sadly to the sea. 

Sent o'er the wave a sigh uublest 
To some brave champion of the Free- 
Thinking, alas, how cold might be. 

At that still hour, his place of rest ! 

Meanwhile there came a sound of song 
From the dark nuns— a faiat strain. 

As if some echo, that among 

Those minstrel halls had slumber'd long, 
Were murm'ring into life again. 

But, no— the nymphs knew well the 
tone— 
A maiden of their train, who loved, 

"extend irom the shore, quite into a valley 
watered liy the streams of a fountain, whence 
loulis received its name.'' 

I Zea was the birthplace of this poet, whose 
verses are by Catullus called "tears." 



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338 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



Like the night-bird, to sing alone, 
Had deep into those ruius roved, 

And there, all other thoughts forgot, 
"Was -n-arbling o'er, in lone delight, 

A lay that, on that very spot. 
Her lover sung one moonlight night : 



so:n"G. 

Ah ! •where are they, who heard, in for- 
mer hours, [bow'rs ? 
The voice of Song in these neglected 

They are gone — all gone ! 
The youth, who told his pain in such 
sweet tone, [their own — 

That all, who heard him, wish'd his pain 
He is gone — he is gone ! 

And she, who, while he sung, sat list'n- 
ing by, [sweet to die — 

And thought, to strains like these 'twere 
She is gone— she too is gone ! 

'Tis thus, ia future hours, some bard will 

say [this lay— 

Of her, who hears, and him, who sings 

They are gone— they both are gone ! 



The moon was now, from Heaven's steep, 

Bending to dip her silv'ry um 
Into the bright and silent deep— 
And the young nymphs, on their re- 
turn 
From those romantic ruins, found 
Their other playmates, ranged around 
The sacred Spring, prepared to tune 
Their parting hymn,* ere sunk the moon, 
To that fair Fountain, by whose stream 
Then- hearts hadform'd so many a dream. 

Who has not read the tales, that teU 
Of old Eleusis' sacred Well, 
Or heard what legend-songs recount 
Of Syra, and its holy Fount,! 
Gushing, at once, fi-om the hard rock 

Into the laps of living flowers^ 
"WTiere village maidens loved to flock, 

On summer-nights, and, like the hours, 
Link'd in harmonious dance and song, 

* These " Soncrs of the Well," as they were 
called araona: the ancients, still exist in Greece. 
De Omja tells us that he has seen "the youiiff 
women in Prince's Island, asseinbleil in the 
evening at a public well, suddenly strike up a 
dance, Vhile others sung in concert to them." 

t " The inhabitants of Syra, both ancient and 
modern, may bo considered as the worshippers 
of water. The old foitntain, at which the 
nymphs of the island assembled in the earliest 



Charm'd the unconscious night along; 
"WTiiJe holy pilgrims, on their way 

To Delos' isle, stood looking on, 
Enchanted with a scene so gay, 

If or sought their boats, tUl morning 
shone ? 

Such was the scene this lovely glade 
And its fair inmates now display'd, 
As round the Fount, in linked ring, 

They went, in cadence low and light 
And thus to that enchanted Spring 

Warbled their FareweU for the night; 



SOS-G. 

Here, while the moonlight dim 
Falls on that mossy brim. 
Sing we our Fountain Hymn, 

Maidens of Zea ! 
Nothing but Music's straia, 
When Lovers part in pain. 
Soothes, till they meet again. 

Oh, Maids of Zea ! 

Bright Fount, so clear and cold. 
Round which the nymphs of old 
Stood, with their locks of gold. 

Fountain of Zea ! 
If ot even Castaly, 
Famed though its streamlet be, 
Miumurs or shines like thee. 

Oh, Fount of Zea! 

Thou, while our hymn we sing, 
Thy silver voice shall bring, 
Answering, answering. 

Sweet Fount of Zea ! 
For, of all rills that run, 
Sparkling by moon or smi, 
Thou art the fairest one, 

Bright Fount of Zeal 

Ifow, by those stars that glance 
Over heaven's still expanse. 
Weave we our mirthful dance. 

Daughters of Zea ! 
Such as, in former days, 
Danced they, by Dian's rays, 

ages, exists in its original state ; the same ren- 
dezvous as it was formerly, whether of love and 
gallantry, or of gossiping and tale-telling. It 
is near to tlie town, and the most limpid watei 
gashes continually from the solid rock. It is 
regarded by the inhabitants with a degree of 
religious veneration ; and they preserve a tra- 
dition, that tlie pilgrims of o'ld time, in their 
way to Uelos, resorted hither for purification.'' 
—Clarke. 




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EYEIflNGS IN" GEEECB. 



"WTiere the Eurotas strays,* 
Oh, Maids of Zea ! 

But when to merry feet 
Hearts with no echo beat, 
Say, can the dance be sweet? 

Maidens of Zea ! 
'So, naught but Music's strain, 
"When lovers part in pain, 
Soothes, till they meet again, 

Oh, Maids of Zea! 



SECOND EVENING. 



SONG. 



"When evening shades are falling 

O'er Ocean's sunny sleep, 
To pilgrims' hearts recalling 

Their home beyond the deep j 
"When, rest o'er all descending, 

The shores with gladness smUe, 
And lutes, their echoes blending, 

Are heard from isle to isle, 
Then, Mary, Star of the Sea,t 
We pray, we pray to thee ! 

The noonday tempest over, 

Now Ocean toils no more, 
And wings of halcyons hover, 

Where all was strife before. 
Oh thus may life, in closing 

Its short tempestuous day, 
Beneath heaven's smile reposing. 

Shine aU its storms away; 
Thus, Mary, Star of the Sea, 
"We pray, we pray to thee ! 

On Helle's sea the light grew dim, 

As the last sounds of that sweet hynm 

Floated along its azure tide — 
Floated in light, as if the lay 
Had mix'd with sunset's fading ray. 

And light and song together diecl. 
So soft through evening's air had 

breathed 
That choir of youthful voices, wreathed 
In many-linked harmony, 
That boats, then hurrying o'er the sea, 
Paused, when they reach'd this fairy 

shore. 
And linger'd tiU the strain was o'er. 

* " Qualis in Eurotno ripis, aut per juga Cyn- 
Exercet Diana cboros." — Virqil. Ithi. 



Of those young maids who've met to 
fleet [hours, 

In song and dance this evening's 
Far happier now the bosoms beat, 

Than when they last adorn 'd these 
bowers ; 
For tidings of glad sound had come, 

At break of day, from the fair isles— • 
Tidings like breath of life to some— 
That Zea's sons would soon wing home, 

Crown'd with the light of Yic'try'a 
smiles. 
To meet that britrhtest of all meeds 
That wait on high, heroic deeds, 
When gentle eyes that scarce, for tears. 

Could trace the warrior's parting 
track. 
Shall, like a misty morn that clears. 
When the long-absent sun appears, 

Shine out, all bliss, to hail him back. 

How fickle still the youthful breast ! — 

More fond of change than a young 
moon, 
ISTo joy so new was e'er possess'd 

But Youth wouldleave for newer soon. 

These Zean nymphs, though bright the 

spot, [play, 

Where first they held their evening 
As ever fell to fairy's lot 

To wanton o'er by midnight's ray, 
Had now exchang'd that shelter'd scene 

For a wide glade beside the sea — 
A lawn, whose soft expanse of green 

Turn'd to the west sun smilingly, 
As though, in conscious beauty bright, 
It joy'd to give him light for light. 

And ne'er did evening more serene 
Look do\vn from heav'n on lovelier scsne 
Calm lay the flood around, while fleet. 

O'er the blue shining element, 
Light barks, as if with fairy feet [went, 

That stirr'd not the hush'd waters, 
Some that, ere rosy eve fell o'er 

The blushing wave, with mainsail free, 
Had put forth from the Attic shore, 

Or the near Isle of Ebony ; — 
Some, Hydriot barks, that deep in cavei 

Beneath Colonna's pillar'd cliffs. 
Had all day lurk'd, and o'er the waves 

Now shot their long and dart-like 
skiffs. 
Wo to the craft, however fleet, [meet. 
These sea-hawks in their course shall 
Laden with juice of Lesbian vines, 

f One of the titles of the Virrin :— " Manr " 
lumiuatrix. sive Stella Maris.' —/«ft •. 





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340 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Or rich from N"axos' emery mines ; 
For not more sm-e, when owlets flee 
O'er the dark crags of Pendelee, 
Doth the uight-falcou mark his prey, 
Or pounce on it more fleet than they. 

And what a moon now lights the glade 
Where these yomig island nymphs are 
met! 
Full-orb'd, yet pure as if no shade 
Had touch'd its vu-gin lustre yet ; 
And freshly bright, as if just made 
By Love's own laands, of new-born light 
fcitorn irom his mother's star to-night. 

On a bold rock, that o'er the flood 
Jutted from that soft glade, there stood 
A Chapel, fronting tow'rds the sea, — 
Built in some by-gone century, — 
Where, nightly, as the seaman's mark. 
When waves rose high or clouds were 

dark, 
A lamp, bequeath'd by some kind Saint, 
Shed o'er the wave its glimmer faint. 
Waking in way-worn men a sigh 
And pray'r to heav'n as they went by. 
'Twas there, around that rock-built shiine 

A group of maidens and their sires 
Had stood to watch the day's decline, 

And, as the light fell o'er their lyres, 
Sung to the Queen-Star of the Sea 
That soft and holy melody. 

But lighter thoughts and lighter song 
Now woo the coming hours along: 
^or, mark where smooth the herbage lies. 

Yon gay pavilion, curtain'd deep 
With silken folds, through which, bright 
eyes. 

From time to time, are seen to peep ; 
WMle twiukUng lights that, to and fro, 
Beneath those veils, like meteors, go. 

Tell of some spells at work, and keep 
Young fancies chain'd in mute susjiense. 
Watching what next may shine from 

thence. 
Not long the pause, ere hands unseen 

That mystic curtain backward drew. 
And all, that late but shone between, 

In half-caught gleams, now biu'st to 
A picture 'twas of the early days [view. 
Of glorious Greece, ere yet those rays 
Of rich, immortal Mind were hers 
That made mankind her worshippers ; 
While, yet unsung, her landscapes shone 
With gloiy lent by Heaven alone ; 

* " Violet-crowned Athens."— Pindar. 

t The whole of this scene was suggested by 



Kor temples crown'd her nameless hUls, 
Nor Muse immortalized her rills ; 
Nor aught but the mute poesy 
Of sun, and stars, and shining sea 
Illumed that land of bards to be. 
While, prescient of the gilted race 

That yet would realm so blest adorn, 
Nature took pains to deck the place 

Where glorious Art was to be bom. 

Such was the scene that mimic stage 

Of Athens and her hills portray'd ; 
Athens, in her first, youthful age. 

Ere yet the simple violet braid,* 
Which then adom'd her, had shone dowB 
The glory of earth's loftiest crown. 
While yet undream'd, her seeds of Art 

Lay sleeping in the marble mine — 
Sleeping till Genius bade them start 

To all but life, in shapes divine ; 
Till deified the quarry shone 
And all Olympus stood in stone ! 

There, in the foreground of that scene, 

On a soft bank of living green, 

Sat a young nymph, with her lap full 

Of newly gather'd flowers, o'er which 
She graceful lean'd, intent to cull 

All that was there of hue most rich, 
To form a wreath, such as the eye 
Of her young lover, who stood by. 
With palette mingled fresh, might choose 
To fix by Painting's rainbow hues. 

The wreath was form'd; the maiden 
raised 

Her speaking eyes to his, while he — 
Oh «of upon the flowers now gazed, 

But on that bright look's witchery. 
While, quick as if but then the thought, 
Like light, had reach'd his soul, h« 

caught 
His pencil up, and, warm and true 
As life itself, that love-look drew : 
And, as his raptur'd task went on. 
And forth each kindluig feature shone, 
Sweet voices, through the moonlight air, 

From lips as moonlight fresh and pure. 
Thus hail'd the bright dream passing 
there, 

And sung the Birth of Portraiture.! 



SONG. 

As once a Grecian maiden wove 
Her garland 'mid the summer bow'rs, 

Pliny's acconnt of the artist Pausias and his 
mistress Glyoera, lib. xxxv. c. 40. 



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BVENTN-GS m GREECE. 



34, 



There stood a youth, with eyes of love, 
To watch her while she wreath'd the 
flow'rs. 

The youth was skilFd in Painting's art, 
But ne'er had studied woman's brow, 

Kor Imew what magic hues the heart 
Can shed o'er nature's charms, till 



Blest be Love, to whom we owe 
All that's fair and bright below. 

His hand had pictured many a rose, 

And sketch'd the rays that light the 
brook ; 
But what were these, or what were those. 

To woman's blush, to woman's look? 
" Oh, if such magic pow'r there be, 

"This, this," he cried, "is aU my 
prayer, 
" To paint that living light T see, 

' ' And fix the soul that sparkles there. " 

His prayer, as soon as breathed, was 
heard ; [warm. 

His palette, touch'd by Love, grew 
And Painting saw her hues transferr'd 

Prom lifeless flow'rs to woman's form. 
Still as from tint to tint he stole, 

The fan- design sJione out the more, 
And there was now a life, a soul, 

"WTiere only colors glow'd before. 

Then first carnations leam'd to speak, 

And lilies into life were brought ; 
"While, mantling on the maiden's cheek, 

Young roses kindled into thought. 
Then hyacinths their darkest dyes 

Upon the locks of Beauty threw ; 
And violets, transform'd to eyes, 

Inshrined a soul within their blue. 

CHORUS. 

Blest be Love, to whom we owe 
AU that's fair and bright below. 
Song was cold and Painting dim 
Till Song and Painting leam'd from him. 



Soon as the scene had closed, a cheer 
Of gentle voices, old and young. 

Rose from the groups that stood to hear 
This tale of yore so aptly sung ; 

* The traveller Shaxr meutions a beautiful 
rill in Barbary, whicli is received iuto a large 
basiu called Shrub wee krnb, " Drink and 
away,"— there being great danger of meeting 
with thieves and assassins in such places. 

t The Arnliian shepherd has a peculiar 
ceremony in vreauing the yomig camel : when 
the proper time arrives, he turns the camel 



And while some nymphs, in haste to tell 
The workers of that fairy speU [been, 
How crown'd with praise their task had 
Stole in behind the curtain'd scene. 
The rest, in happy converse stray'd— 

Talking that ancient love-tale o'er— 
Some, to the groves that skirt the glade. 

Some, to the chapel by the shore, 
To look what hghts were on the sea. 
And think of th' absent sUentlyo 

But soon that summons, knovm so well 

Through bow'r and hall in Eastern 

lands, [bell. 

Whose sound, more sure than gong or 

Lovers and slaves aUke commands, — 

The clapping of young female hands. 

Calls back the groups from rock and held 

To see somenew-form'd scene reveal'd ;— 

And fleet and eager, down the slopes 

Of the green glade, like antelopes, 

When, in then* thirst, they hear the sound 

Of distant rills, the light nymphs bound. 

Far different now the scene — a waste 
Of Libyan sands, by moonlight's ray, 

An ancient well, whereon were traced 
The warning words, for such as stray 
Unarmed there, " Drinlv and away !"* 

While, near it, fr-om the night-ray 
screen'd. 
And like his bells, in hush'd repose, 

A camel slept — young as if woan'd 
When last the star, Canopus, rose.f 

Such was the back-ground's silent 
scene ; — 

While nearer lay, fast slnmb'ring too, 
In a rude tent, with brow serene, 

A youth whose cheelvs of way-worn hue 
And pilgrim-bonnet, told the tale 
That he had been to Mecca's Yale : 
Haply in pleasant dreams, ev'n now 

Thinking the long-wish'd hom- is come 

When, o'er the well-known porch at 
homo. 
His hand shall hang the aloe bough — 
Trophy of his accomplish'd vow.f 
But brief his dream — for now the call 

Of the camp-chiefs from rear to van, 
" Bind on your burdens,''ij wakes up all 

towards the rising star, Canopus, and says. 
" Do you see Cauopus i from this moment you 
taste not another drop of milk." — liichardmn. 

t " Whoever returns from a pilgrimage to 
Mecca hangs this plant (the mitre-shaped Aloe) 
over his street-door, as a token of his having 
performed this holy journey." — HasselqviH. 

§ This form of notice to the caravans to pro- 



lllHlllllHIIIIllRllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllSllHllllllllllllllllll" 




342 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The widely slumb'ring caravan ; 
And thus meanwhile, to greet the ear 

Of the young pilgrim as he wakes, 
The song of one who, ling'ring near, 

Had watch'd his slumber^ cheerly 
breaks. 



SONG. 
Up and march ! the tunbrel's sound 
Wakes the slumb'ring camp around ; 
Fleet thy hour of rest hath gone. 
Armed sleeper, up, and on ! 
Long and weary is our way 
O'er the burning sands to-day ; 
But to pilgi-im's homeward feet 
Ev'n the desert's path is sweet. 

When we lie at dead of night, 
Looking up to heaven's light. 
Hearing but the watchman's tone 
Faintly chanting, " God is one,"* 
Oh what thoughts then o'er us come 
Of our distant village home, 
Where the chant, when ev'ning sets, 
Sounds from all the minarets. 

Cheer thee ! — soon shall signal lights, 
Kindling o'er the Red Sea heights, 
Kindling quick from man to man, 
Hail our coming caravan :t 
Think what bliss that hour will be ! 
Looks of home again to see, 
And our names again to hear 
Murmur'd out by voices dear. 



So pass'd the desert dream away, 
Fleeting as his who heard this lay. 
Nor long the pause between, nor moved 

The spell-bound audience from that 
While still, as usual. Fancy roved [spot; 

On to the joy that yet was not ; — 
Fancy, who hath no present home, 
But builds her bower in scenes to come, 
Walking forever in a light 
That flows from regions out of sight. 

But see, by gradual dawn descried, 
A mountain realm — rugged as e'er 
Upraised to heav'n its summits bare, 

Or told to earth, with frown of pride, 

pare for marching was applied by Hafiz to the 
necessity of relinquishing the pleasures of this 
world, and preparing for death :— " For me 
what room is tliere for pleasure in the bower of 
Beauty, when every moment the bell makes 
proclamation, ' Bind on your burdens ? ' " 

* The watchmen, in the camp of the cara- 
vans, go their rounds, crying one after another, 
"God is one," itc, &c. 



That Freedom's falcon nest was there, 
Too high for hand of lord or king 
To hood her brow, or chain her wing. 

'Tis Maina's land — her ancient hills, 

The abode of nymphsj — her countless 
rills 

Ajid torrents, in their downward dash. 
Shining, like silver, through the shade 

Of the sea-pine and flow'ring ash- 
All with a truth so fresh portray't* 

As wants but touch of life to be 

A world of warm reality. 

And now, light bounding forth, a baL... 

Of mountaineers, all smiles, advance- 
Nymphs with their lovers, hand in hand, 

Link'd in the Ariadne dance ;§ 
And while, apart from that gay throng, 
A minstrel youth, in varied song. 
Tells of the loves, the joys, the ills 
Of these wild children of the hills. 
The rest by tm-ns, or fierce or gay. 
As war or sport inspires the lay, [strings. 
Follow each change that wakes the 
And act what thus the lyrist sings .-— 

SONG. 
No life is hke the mountaineer's. 

His home is near the sky. 
Where, throned above this worldt, he 

Its strife at distance die. [hears 

Or, should the sound of hostile drum 
Proclaim below, " We come — we come,'' 
Each crag that tow'rs in air 
Gives answer, " Come who dare !" 
WMle, like bees, from dell and dingle, 
Swift the swarming warriors minglt*, 
And their cry " Hurra !" will be, 
" Hurra, to victory !" 

Then, when battle's hour is over, 

See the happy mountain lover. 

With the nymph, who'U soon be bride, 

Seated blushing by his side, — 

Every shadow of his lot 

In her sunny smile forgot. 

Oh, no life is like the mountaineer's. 

His home is near the sky, , 
Where, throned above this world, he 

Its strife at distance die. [hears 

t " It was customary," says Ir^\ in, " to light 
up fires on the mountains, within view of Cos- 
seir, to give notice of the approach of the cara- 
vans that came from the Nile." 

t virginibus bacchata Laconis 

Taygeta. Virg 

§ See, for an account of this dance, De Guy's 
Travels. 



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J!jV JJiiVUsi^iib 



iSTor only thus through summer suns 
His blithe existence cheerly runs — 
Ev'n winter, bleak and dim, 
Brings joyous hours to him ; 
"When, his rifle behind him flinging. 
He watches the roe-buck springing, 
And away, o'er the hills away 
Ke-echoes his glad "hurra." 

Then how blest, when night is closing, 
By the kindled hearth reposing, 
To his rebeck's drowsy song. 
He beguiles the hour along ; 
Or, provoked by meny glances. 
To a brisker movement dances. 
Till, weary at last, in slumber's chain, 
He dreams o'er chase and dance again, 
Dreams, dreams them o'er again. 



As slow that minstrel, at the close. 
Sunk, while he sung, to feigu'd repose, 
Aptly did they, whose mimic art 

Follow'd the changes of his lay. 
Portray the lull, the nod, the start. 

Through which, as faintly died away 
His lute and voice, the minstrel pass'd, 
TiU voice and lute lay hush'd at last. 

But now far other song came o'er 

Their startled ears — song that at first, 
As solemnly the night-wind bore 

Across the wave its mournful burst, 
Seem'd to the fancy, like a dhge 

Of some lone spirit of the sea, 
Singing o'er Helle's ancient surge 

The requiem of her Brave and Free. 

Sudden, amid their pastime, pause 
• The wond'iing nymphs ; and, as the 

sound 
Of that strange music nearer draws, 

"With mute inquiring eye look round, 
Asking each other what can be 
The source of this sad minstrelsy ? 
Jfor longer can they doubt, the song 
Comes from some island-bark, which 
now 
Courses the bright waves swift along. 
And soon, perhaps, beneath the brow 
Of the Saint's Eock will shoot its prow. 

Instantly aU, with hearts that sigh'd 
'Twixt fear's and fancy's influence. 
Flew to the rock, and saw from thence 
A red-sail'd pinnace tow'rds them ghde, 
"Whose shadow, as it swept the spray, 
Scatter'd the moonlight's smiles away. 
Soon as the mariners saw that throng 



From the cliff gazing, young and old, 
Sudden they slack'd their sail and song, 
And, while their pinnace idly roll'd 
On the light surge, these tidings told:-- 

'Twas from an isle of mournful name. 
From Missolonghi, last they came — 
Sad Missolonghi, sorrowing yet 
O'er him, the noblest Star of Fame 

That e'er in life's young glory set ! — ' 
And now were on their mournf'jl way, 

"Wafting the news through Helle's 

isles ;— [ray, 

Kews that would cloud ev'n Freedom's 

And sadden Yict'ry 'mid her smiles. 
Their tale thus told, and heard, with pain. 
Out spread the galliot's wings again ; 
And, as she spread her swift career. 
Again that Hymn rose on the ear — 
" Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ^ 

As oft 'twas sung, in ages flown, 
Of him, the Athenian, who, to shed 

A tyrant's blood, pour'd out Ms own. 



SOXG. 



"Thott art not dead — thou art not 
No, dearest Harmodius, do. [dead !"* 

Thy soul, to realms above us fled, 

Though, like a star, it dwells o'erhead. 
Still lights this world below. 

Thou art not dead — thou art not dead 5 
1^0, dearest Harmodius, no. 

Through isles of light, where heroes 
And flow'rs ethereal blow, [tread. 

Thy god-like Spirit now is led, 

Thy lip, with life ambrosial fed. 
Forgets all taste of wo. 

Thou art not dead— thou art not dead ! 
No, dearest Harmodius, no. 

The myrtle, round that falchion spread 
"Which struck the immortal blow, 

Throughout all time, with leaves un- 
shed^ 

The patriot's hope, the tyrant's dread— 
Eound Freedom's shrine shall grow. 

Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 
No, dearest Harmodius, no. 

"Where hearts like thine have broke a 
bled, 

Though quench'd the vital glow, 
Their mem'ry lights a flame, instead, 
"Which, e'en from out the narrow bed 

Of death its beams shall throw. 

* *t\Tof ' 'Apuo5c' ovnoi rt6vr)KOf 




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344 



MOORE'S "W^ORKS. 



Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 
No, dearest Harmodius, no. 

Thy name, by myriads sung and said, 

From age to age shall go, 
Long as the oak and iyy wed, 
As bees shall haunt Hymettus' head, 

Or Helle's waters flow. 
Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 

ISIo, dearest Harmodius, no. 



'Mong those who linger'd list'ning 
there, — 

List'ning, with ear and eye, as long 
As breath of night could tow'rds them 
bear 

A murmur of that mournful song, — 
A few there were, in whom the la/ 

Had call'd up feelings far too sad 
To pass with the brief strain away, 

Or turn at once to theme more glad ; 
And who, in mood untuned to meet 

The light laugh of the happier train, 
Wander'd to seek some moonlight seat 
Where they might rest, in converse 
sweet, [again. 

TiU vanish'd smiles should come 

And seldom e'er hath noon of night 
To sadness lent more soothing light. 
On one side, in the dark bhie sky. 
Lonely and radiant, was the eye 
Of Jove himself, while, on the other, 

'Mong tiny stars that round her 

gleam 'd, [ther 

The young moon, like the Roman mo- 

Among her living "jewels," beam'd. 

Touch'd by the lovely scenes around, 
A pensive maid — one who, though 
young, 
Had known what 'twas to see unwound 
The ties by which her heart had 
clung — 
■Waken'd her soft tamboura's sound, 
And to its faint accords thus sung : — 

SOifG. 

Calm as, beneath its mother's eyes, 

In sleep the smiling infant lies. 

So, watch'd by all the stars of night, 

Yon landscape sleeps in light. 

And while the night-breeze dies away, 

Like relics of some faded strain, 
Loved voices, lost for many a day. 

Seem whisp'ring round again, [shed 
Oh youth ! oh Love ! ye dreams, that 
8uch glory once — where are ye fled ? 



Pure ray of light that, down the sky. 

Art pointing, like an angel's wand. 
As if to guide to realms that lie 

In that bright sea beyond : 
"Who knows but, in some brighter deep 

Than ev'n that tranquil, moonht main, 
Some land may he, where those who 

Shall wake to smile again ! [weep 



With cheeks that had regain'd theit 
power [eye^ 

And play of smiles, — and each bright 
Like violets after morning's shower. 

The brighter for the tears gone by. 
Back to the scene such smiles should 
grace [trace, 

These wand'ring nymphs their path re- 
And reach the spot, with rapture new. 
Just as the veils asimder flew. 
And a fresh vision burst to view. 

There, by her own bright Attic flood. 
The blue-eyed Queen of "Wisdom 

stood ; 
N"ot as she haunts the sage's dreams, 

With brow unveil' d, divine, severe ; 
But soften'd, as on bards she beams. 

When fresh from Poesy's high sphere, 
A music, not her own, she brings. 
And, thi-ough the veil which Fancy flingg 
O'er her stem features, gently sings. 

But who is he— that urchin nigh, 

With quiver on the rose-trees hung. 
Who seems just dropp'd from yonder 

sky, 

And stands to watch that maid, with eye 

So full of thought, for one so young ? — 

That child— but, silence ! lend thine ear, 

And thus in song the tale thou'lt hear : — 



SONG. 



As Love, one summer eve, was straying, 

Who should he see, at that soft hour, 
But young MineiTa, gravely playing 

Her flute within an olive bow'r. 
I need not say, 'tis Love's opinion 

That, grave or merry, good or ill. 
The sex all bow to his dominion. 

As woman vriU be woman still. 

Though seldom yet the boy hath giv'n 
To learned dames his smiles or sighs, 

So handsome Pallas look'd, that ev'n, 
Love quite forgot the maid was wise. 

Besides, a youth of his discemiug 
Knew weU that, by a shady rill. 




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ETEmN"GS m GKEECB. 



345 



At sunset hour, •wliate'er her learning, 
A woman will be woman still. 

Her flute te praised in terms ecstatic, — 

Wishing it dumb, nor cared how 
soon ;— 
For "Wisdom's notes, howe'er chromatic. 

To Love seem always out of tune. 
But long as he found face to flatter, 

The nymph found breath to shake and 
thrill; 
As, weak or wise — it doesn't matter — 

"Woman, at heart, is woman still. 

Love changed his plan, with warmth 
exclaiming, 

" How rosy was her lip's soft dye !" 
And much that flute, the flatt'rer, blam- 

For twisting lips so sweet awry, [ing, 
The nymph look'd down, beheld her 

Reflected in the passing rill, [features 
And started, shock'd— for, ah, ye crea- 
tures! 

Ev'n when divine, you're women still. 
Quick from the lips it made so odious, 

That graceless flute the Goddess took. 
And, while yet fill'd with breath melo- 
dious, 

Flung it iuto the glassy brook ; 
"Where, as its vocal life was fleeting 

Adown the current, famt and shrill, 
'Twas heard in plaintive tone repeating, 

" Woman, alas, vain woman still I" 



An interval of dark repose — 
Such as the summer Mghtning knows, 
'Twixt flash and flash, as still more bright 
The quick revealment comes and goes, 
Op'ning each time the veils of night, 
To show, within, a world of light — 
Such pause, so brief, now pass'd between 
This last gay vision and the scene, 

"Which now its depth of Mght disclosed. 
A bow'r it seem'd, an Indian bow'r, 

Within whose shade a nymph reposed. 
Sleeping away noon's sunny hour — 
Lovely as she, the Sprite, who weaves 
Her mansion of sweet Durva leaves, 
And there, as Indian legends say. 
Dreams the long summer hours away. 
And mark, how charm' d this sleeper 



With some hid fancy— she, too, dreams ! 
Oh for a wizard's art to tell 

The wonders that now bless her sight ! 
'Tis done — a truer, holier spell 
Than e'er from wizard's hp yet fell 

Thus* brings her vision all to light: — 



SON-G. 

"Who comes so gracefully 

' ' Gliding along, 
" "While the blue rivulet 

" Sleeps to her song ; 
" Song, richly vying 
" With the faint sighing 
"Which swans, in dying, 

" Sweetly prolong ?" 

So sung the shepherd-boy 

By the stream's side, 
Watching that fairy boat 

Down the flood glide, 
Like a bird winging. 
Through the waves bringing 
That Syren, singing 

To the hush'd tide. 

•' Stay," said the shepherd-boy, 

"Fairy-boat, stay, 
" Linger, sweet minstrelsy, 

" Lmger a day." 
But vain his pleading, 

Past him, unheeding, 
Song and boat, speeding, 

Glided away. 

So to our youthful eyes 

Joy and hope shone ; 
So, while we gazed on them. 

Fast they flew on ; — 
Like flow'rs, declining 
Ev'n in the twining, 
One moment shining, 

And, the next, gone ! 

Soon as the imagined dream went by, 
Uprose the nymph, with anxious eye 
Tum'd to the clouds, as though some 
boon 
She waited from that sun-bright dome. 
And marvell'd that it came not soon 
As her young thoughts would have it 
come. 

But joy is in her glance ! — the wing 

Of a white bird is seen above ; 
And oh, if round his neck he bring 

The long-wish'd tidings from her love, 
N"ot half so precious in her eyes 

Ev'n that high-omen'd bird* would be, 
"Who dooms the brow o'er which he flies 

To wear a crown of Royalty. 

She had, herself, last evening, sent 

A winged messenger, whose flight 
Through the clear, roseate element, 
* The Huma. 




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346 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



She watch'd till, less'ning out of sight, 
Far to the golden West it went, 
Wafting to him, her distant love, 

A missive in that language wrought 
Which flow'rs can speak, when aptly 
wove. 

Each hue a word, each leaf a thought. 

And now— oh speed of pinion, known 

To Love's light messengers alone ! 

Ere yet another ev'ning takes 

Its farewell of the golden lakes. 

She sees another envoy fly, [sty. 

With the wish'd answer, through the 



SONG. 



Welcome, sweet bird, through the sun- 
ny air winging, 
Swift hast thou come o'er the far- 
shining sea, [bringing 
Like Seba's dove, on thy snowy neck 
Love's written vows from my lover to 
me. [number !— 
Oh, in thy absence, what hours did I 
Saying oft, " Idle bu-d, how could he 
rest?" [slumber. 
But thou art come at last, take now thy 
And lull thee in dreams of aU thou 
lov'st best. 

Tet dost thou droop — even now whUe I 

utter [away; 

Love's happy welcome, thy pulse dies 

Cheer thee, my bird— were it life's ebb- 

_ ing flutter, [stay. 

This fondling bosom should woo it to 

Butno— thou'rt dying— thy last task is 

over— 

Farewell, sweet martyr to Love and 

to me ! [from my lover, 

The smiles thou hast waken'd by rews 

WUl now all be turn'd into weeping 

for thee. 



WhUe thus the scene of song '^eir Vi?A 
For the sweet summer season) pass'a, 
A few presiding nymphs, whose care 
' Watch'd over all, invisibly. 
As do those guardian sprites of air, 

Whose watch we feel, but cannot see, 
Had from the circle— scarcely niiss'd, 

Ere they were sparkling there again— 
Ghded, like fairies, to assist [plain, 

Their handmaids on the aoonhght 
Where, hid by interceptin'- aade 

F'-or- ■ 'ot:t, «t-rav yxdi:..>o . ourious eyes. 



A feast of fruits and wines was laid — 
Soon to shine out, a glad sm-prise ! 

And now the moon, her ark of light 

Steering through Heav'n, as though 
she bore 
In safety, through that deep of night. 
Spirits of earth, the good, the bri^t, 

To some remote immortal shore, 
Had half-way sped her glorious way. 

When, round reclined on hiUocks 
green. 
In groups, beneath that tranquil ray. 

The Zeans at their feast were seen. 
Gay was the picture— ev'ry maid 
Whom late the lighted scene display'd, 
Still in her fancy garb array'd ; — 
The Arabian pilgrim, smiling here 

Beside the nymph of India's sky ; 
While there the Mainiote mountaineer 
Whisper'd in young Minerva's ear. 

And urchin Love stood laughing by. 

Meantime the elders round the board, 
By mirth and wit themselves made 
young, 
High cups of juice Zacynthian pour'd. 
And, while the flask went round, thus 
sung: — 



SONG. 



Up with the sparkling brimmer, 

Tip to the crystal nm ; 
Let not a moonbeam glimmer 

'Twixt the flood and brim. 
When hath the world set eyes on 

Aught to match this light, 
Which, o'er om- cup's horizon, 

Dawns in bumpers bright ? 

Truth in a deep well lieth — 

So the wise aver : 
Er.l: Truth the fact denieth — 

Water suits not her, 
No, her abode's in brimmers. 

Like this mighty cup — 
Waiting till we, good swimmers,. 

Dive to bring her up. 



Thus circled round the song of glee. 
And all was tuneful mirth the while, 
Save on the cheeks of some, whos: 
smile, 
As fixd they gaze upon the sea, 
Turns into paleness suddenly 1 



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EVBNmGS IN GREECE. 



34? 



"What see they there ? a bright blue light 
That, like a meteor, gliding o'er 

The distant wave, grows on the sight, 
As though 'twere wing'd to Zea's 
shore. 

To some, 'mong those who came to gaze. 

It seem'd the night-light, far away, 
Of some lone fisher, by the blaze 

Of pine torch, luring on his prey ; 
While others, as, 'twixt awe and mirth. 

They breathed the bless'd Panaya's* 
name, 
Yow'd that such light was not of earth, 

But of that drear, ill-omen'd flame, 
"Which mariners see on sail or mast, 
"When Death is coming in the blast. 
"While marv'Iing thus they stood, a maid, 

"Who sat apart, with downcast eye, 
Nor yet had, like the rest, survey'd 

That coming light which now was nigh. 
Soon as it met her sight, with cry 

Of pain-like joy, " 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! " 
Loud she exclaim'd, and, hurrying by 

The assembled throng, rush'd tow'rds 
the sea. 

At burst so wild, alarm' d, amazed, 
All stood, like statues, mute, and gazed 
Into each other's eyes, to seek [meek 1 
What meant such mood, in maid so 

Till now, the tale was known to few, 
But now from lip to lip it flew : — 
A youth, the flower of all the band, 

"Who late had left this sunny shore, 
When last he kiss'd that maiden's hand, 

Ling'ring, to kiss it o'er and o'er, 
By his sad brow too plainly told 

Th' ill-omen'd thought which cross'd 

him then, [hold. 

That once those hands should loose their 

They ne'er would meet on earth again ! 
In vain his mistress, sad as he. 
But with a heart from Self as free 
As gen'rous woman's only is, 
Veil'd her own fears to banish his : — 
"With frank rebuke, but still more vain. 

Did a rough warrior, who stood by. 
Call to his mind this martial strain. 

His favorite once, ere Beauty's eye 

Had taught his soldier-heart to sigh : — 

SONG. 
MARcn ! nor heed those arms that hold 
thee, 

*The name which the Greeks give to the 
VireiJi Mary. 



Though so fondly close they come ; 
Closer still will they enfold thee, 

"When thou bring'st fresh laurels home, 
Dost thou dote on woman's brow ? 

Dost thou live but in her breath ? 
March !— one hour of victory now 

"Wins thee woman's smile till death. 

Oh, what bliss, when war is over, 

Beauty's long-miss'd smile to meet. 
And, when wreaths our temples cover. 

Lay them shining at her feet ! 
"Who would not, that hour to reach, 

Breathe out life's expiring sigh, — 
Proud as waves that on the beach 

Lay their war-crests down, and die. 

There ! I see thy soul is burning- 
She herself, who clasps thee so. 
Paints, ev'n now, thy glad returning, 
And, while clasping, bids thee go. 
One deep sigh, to passion given. 

One last glowing tear, and then- 
March !— nor rest thy sword, till Heaven 
Brings thee to those arms again. 



Even then, ere loath their hands could 
part, 
A promise the youth gave, which bore 

Some balm unto the maiden's heart. 
That, soon as the fierce fight was o'er, 

To home he'd speed, if safe and free- 
Nay, ev'n if dying, still would come. 

So the blest word of " Yictory ! " 
Might be the last he'd breathe at home. 

" By day," he cried, " thou'lt know my 
bark ; [dark, 

" But, should I come through midnight 

" A blue light on the prow shall tell 

" That Greece hath won, and all is well ' " 

Fondly the maiden, every night. 
Had stolen to seek that promised light ; 
Nor long her eyes had now been tum'd 
From watching, when the signal burn'd. 
Signal of joy -for her, for all — 

Fleetly the boat now nears the land. 
While voices, from the shore-edge, call 

For tidings of the long-wish'd band. 

Oh the blest hour, when those who've been 
Through peril's paths by land or sea, 

Lock'd in our arms again are seen 
Smiling in glad security ; 

"When heart to heart we fondly strain, 
Questioning quickly o'er and o'er - 

Then hold them off, to gaze again 




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348 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And ask, though answer'd oft before, 
If they, indeed, are ours once more ? 

Such is the scene, so full of joy. 
Which welcomes now this warrior-boy, 
As fathers, sisters, friends all run 
Bounding to meet him — aU but one, 
Who, slowest on his neck to fall. 
Is yet the happiest of them all. 

And now behold him, circled round 
With beaming faces at that board. 
While cups, with laurel foliage crown'd, 
Are to the coming wai-riors pour'd, — 
Coming, as he, their herald, told. 
With blades from vict'iy scarce yet cold, 
With hearts untoueh'd by Moslem steel, 
And wounds that home's sweet breath 
will heal. 

'•'Ere mom," said he,— and while he 
spoke, [pale, 

Tum'd to the east, where, clear, and 
The star of dawn already broke— 
"We'll greet on yonder wave their 
sail !" 
Then, wherefore part ? all, all agree 
To wait them here, beneath this 
bower ; 
And thus, while ev'n amidst their glee, 
Each eye is tum'd to watch the sea. 
With song they cheer the anxious hour. 

SONG. 

"Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine !" said the 
cup-loving boy, [earth, 

As he saw it spring bright from the 
And call'd the young Genii of Wit, Love, 
and Joy, 
To witness and hallow its birth. 
The Iruit was fall-grown, like a ruby it 
Aamed, 



Till the sunbeam that kiss'd it look'd 
pale: 
'"Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" ev'iy 
Spirit exclaim'd, 
" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail 1" 

First, fleet as a bu'd, to the summons 

Wit flew, [broke, 

WMle a light on the vine-leaves there 

In flashes so quick and so brilliant, all 

knew [spoke. 

'Twas the light from his lips as he 

" Bright tree ! let thy nectar but cheer 

me," he cried, 

" And the fovmt of Wit never can fail:" 

" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine !" hills and 

valleys reply, 

«'HaiJ, hail to the Wine- tree, all hail I'> 

Kext, Love, as he lean'd o'er the plant to 
admire 
Each tendril and cluster it wore. 
From his rosy mouth sent such a breath 
of desire. 
As made the tree tremble all o'er. 
Oh, never did flow'r of the earth, sea, or 
Such a soul-giving odor inhale : [sky, 
" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine !" all re- 
echo the cry, 
" Hail, hail to the Wine- tree, all hail 1'' 

Last, Jov, without whom even Love and 
Wit die, [his ray ; 

Came to crown the bright hour with 
And scarce had that mirth-waking tree 
met his eye, [say ; — 

When a laugh spoke what Joy could not 
A laugh of the heart, which was echoed 
around 
TiU, like music, it sweU'd on the gale; 
"'Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" laugh- 
ing myriads resound, 
" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail I" 



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LEGEKDART BALLADS. 349 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



TO THE MISS FEILDINGS, 

THIS VOLUME 18 IN8CKIBBD, 
BT THEIB FAITHFUI. FRIEND AND SERVANT, 

THOMAS MOOEE. 



THE VOICE. 

It came o'er her sleep, like a voice of 

those days, [her ways ; 

"WTien love, only love, was the light of 
And, soft as in moments of bliss long 

ago, [below. 

It whisper'd her name from the garden 
"Alas," sigh'd the maiden, ''how fancy 

can cheat ! [whisper thus sweet ; 
"The world once had lips that coiild 
" But cold now they slumljer in yon fatal 

deep, [too could sleep!" 

" Where, oh that beside them this heart 

She sunk on her pillow — but no, 'twas in 
vain [afl'a.a! 

To chase the illusion, that Yoice cme 

She flew to the casement — but, hush'd 
as the grave, [and wave. 

In moonlight lay slumbering woodland 

"Oh sleep, come and shield me," in an- 
guish she said, [of the Dead !" 

" From that call of the buried, that cry 

And sleep came around her — but, start- 
ing, she woke, [spoke ! 

For still from the garden that spirit Yoice 

"I come," she exclaim' d, "be thy home 

where it may, 
"On earth or in heaven, that call I obey;" 
Then forth through the moonlight, with 

heart beating fast 
And loud as a death-watch, the pale 

maiden pass'd. 

Still round her the scene all in loneliness 

shone ; [her on ; 

And still, in the distance, that Yoice led 



But whither she wander' d, by wave ot 

by shore, [no more. 

]N"one ever could tell, for she came back 

1^0, ne'er came she back — but the watch- 
man who stood [ows the flood, 

That night in the tow'r which o'ershad- 

Saw dimly, 'tis said, o'er the moon-light- 
ed spray, [away. 

A youth on a steed bear the maiden 

CUPID AND PSYCHE. 

They told her that he, to whose vows 

she had listen'd 

Througjh night's fleeting hours, was a 

Spirit unbless'd ; — [glisten'd, 

Unholy the eyes, that beside her had 

And evil the hps she in darkness had 

press'd. 

''When next in thy chamber the bride- 
groom recliueth, 
" Bring near him thy lamp, when in 
slumber he lies ; 
"And there, as the light o'er his dark 
features shineth, [all thy sighs !" 
"Thou'lt see what a demon hath won 

Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, 
yet fearing, [with her light ; 

"WTien calm lay the sleeper she stole 
And saw— such a vision!— no image ap- 
pearing [so bright 
To bards in their day-dreams, was evei 

A youth, but just passing from child- 
hood's sweet morning, [ cent ray; 
While round him still linger d its kmo- 

Though gleams, from beneath his shut 
eyelids gave warning 



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iiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiliniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiKiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiUM^^^^^ 




350 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Of snmmer-noon lightnings that i:n- 
der them lay. 

His brow had a grace more than mortal 

around it, [mine, 

"WTiile, glossy as gold from a fairy-land 

His sunny hair hung, and the flowers 

that crown'd it [garden divine. 

Seem'd fresh from the Ijreeze of some 

Entranced stood the bride, on that mir- 
acle gazing, [now ; 
What late was but love is idolatry 
But, ah — iu her tremor the fatal lamp 
raising— [his brow. 
A sparkle flew from it and dropp'd on 

All's lost— with a start from his rosy 

sleep waking, [of fire ; 

The Spuit flash'd o'er her his glances 

Then, slow from the clasp of her snowy 

arms breaking, [than ire : 

Thus said, ui a voice more of sorrow 

" Farewell— what a dream thy suspicion 

hath broken ! [cross'd ; 

" Thus ever Affection's fond vision is 

" Dissolved are her spells when a doubt 

is but spoken, [lost !" 

" And love, once distrusted, forever is 



Bears rudely away his last farewell in 
death — 
" Sweet Hero, I die for thee !" 



HERO AN'D LBAJ^DER. 

"The night- wind is moaning with 

mournful sigh, [sky, 

" There gleameth no moon in the misty 

"No star over Helle's sea; 
" Yet, yet, there is shining one holylight, 
" One love-kindled star through the deep 
of night, 
" To lead me, sweet Hero, to thee !" 

Thus saying, he plunged in the foamy 

stream, 
Stni fixing his gaze on that distant beam 

E"o eye but a lover's could see ; 

Ind still, as the surge swept over his 

head, [dead, 

" To-night, " he said tenderly, " living or 

" Sweet Hero, I'll rest with thee !" 

But fiercer around him the wild waves 
speed ; [need. 

Oh, Love ! in that hour of thy votary's 
Where, where could thy Spirit be ? 

Ee struggles— he sinks— while the hur- 
ricane's breath 

* The ancients had a mode of divination 
Bomowhat similar to this ; and we find the 
Emperor Adrian, wheu he went to consult the 



THE LEAF AND THE FOUNTAIN. 
" Tell me, kind Seer, I pray thee, 
" So may the stars obey thee, 

" So may each airy 

" Moon-elf and fairy 
" Nightly their homage pay thee ! 
" Say, by what spell, above, below, 
" In stars that wink or flow'rs that blow, 

" I maj^ discover, 

" Ere night is over, 
" Whether my love loves me or no, 
" Whether my love loves me." 

" Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee 
" Hath charms no gold could buy thee ; 
Its stem enchanted, 



" By moon-elves planted, 
Ul all thou seek'st supply t 
' Climb to yon boughs that highest grow 



WUl all thou seek'st supply thee. 
., J ' 'Wgl . 

Bring thence their fairest leaf below • 
"And thou'lt discover, 
" Ere night is over, 
"Whether thy love loves thee or no, 
" Whether thy love loves thee." 

" See, up the dark tree going, 

" With blossoms round me blovdng, 

" From thence, oh Father, 

" This leaf I gather, 
" Fairest that there is growing 
" Say, by what sign I now shall know 
" If in this leaf lie bUss or wo • 

" And thus discover, 

" Ere night is over, 
" Whether my love loves me or no, 
" Whether my love loves me." 
" Fly to yon fount that's welling, 
"Where moonbeam ne'er had dwelling, 

"Dip in its water 

"That leaf, oh Daughter, 
"And mark the tale 'tis telling;* 
" Watch thou if pale or bright it grow, 
"List thou, the while, that fountain's 

" And thou'lt discover [flow, 

" Whether thy lover, 
" Loved as he is, loves thee or no, 
" Loved as he is, loves thee." 
Forth flew the nymph, delighted, 
To seek that fount benighted ; 
But, scarce a minute 

Fountain of Castalia, plucking a bay-leaf and 
dipping it into the sacred water. 




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LBGBN"DAKY BALLADS. 



351 



The leaf lay in It, 
"WTien, lo, its bloom was blighted ! 
And as she ask'd, with voice of wo — 
List'ning, the while, that fountain's 
flow — 

" ShaU. I recover 

" My truant lover?" 
The fountain seem'd to answer, " !N"o ;" 
The fountain answer' d, "K"o." 



CEPHALUS AKD PROCRIS. 
^ ntJNTER once in that grove reclined, 

To shun the noon's bright eye, 
And oft he woo'd the wandeiing wind, 

To cool his brow with its sigh. 
"While mute lay ev'n the wild bee's hum, 

JTor breath could stir the aspen's hair. 

His song was still, "Sweet air, oh 

come !" [Ah: !" 

WhUe Echo answer'd, "Come, sweet 

But, hark, what sounds from the thicket 
rise! 

"WTiat meaneth that rustling spray ? 
" 'Tis the white-hom'd doe," the Hunter 
cries, 

" I have sought since break of day.'* 
Quick o'er the simny glade he springs, 

The arrow flies from his sounding bow, 
"Hilliho— hilUho !" he gayly sings, 

"While Echo sighs forth,' " Hilliho !" 

Alas, 'twas not the white-hom'd doe 

He saw in the rastling grove. 
But the bridal veil, as pure as snow, 

Of his own young wedded love. 
And, ah, too sure that arrow sped, 

For pale at his feet he sees her lie ; — 
" I die, I die," was all she said, 

"While Echo murmur'd, " I die, I die!" 



YOUTH AND AGE.* 

" Tell me, what's Love ?" said Toufeh, 

one day, 
To drooping Age, who cross'd his way. — 
" It is a sunny hour of play, 
" For which repentance dear doth pay ; 

"Eepentance! Eepentance ! 
" And this is Love, as wise men say." 

"Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth 

once more, 
Fearful, yet fond, of Age's lore.— 

* The air to which I have adapted these 
■words was composed liy Mrs. Arkwright to 
Mome old verses, ' Tell me what's love, kind 



" Soft as a passing summer's wind : 
""Wouldst know the bhght it leaves be« 
hind ? 
" Repentance ! Repentance ! 
"And this is Love— when love is o'er." 

"Tell me, what's Love?" said Youtlj 



Trusting the bliss, but not the pain.— 
" Sweet as a May tree's scented air— 
"Mark ye what bitter fruit 'twill bear, 

"Repentance ! Repentance ! 
"This, this is Love — sweet Youth, 

beware." 

Just then, young Love himself came by, 
And east on Youth a smiling eye ; 
"Who could resist that glance's ray ? 
In vain did Age his warning say, 

"Repentance ! Repentance !" 
Youth laughing went with Love away. 

THE DYING "WARRIOR. 

A WOUNDED Chieftain, lying 
By the Danube's leafy side, 

Thus faintly said, in dying, 
" Oh ! bear, thou foaming tide, 
" This gift to my lady-bride !" 

'Twas then, in life's last quiver, 
He flung the scarf he wore 

Into the foaming river, 
"Which, ah too quickly, bore 
That pledge of one no more ! 

"With fond impatience burning, 
The Chieftain's lady stood. 

To watch her love returning 
In triumph down the flood. 
From that day's field of blood. 

But, field, alas, ill-fated » 

The lady saw instead 
Of the bark whose speed she waited, 

Her hero's scarf, all red 

"With the drops his heart had shed. 

One shriek— and all was over — 
Her life-pulse ceased to beat ; 

The gloomy waves now cover 
That bridal-flower so sweet, 
And the scarf is her winding sheet ' 



THE MAGIC MIRROR. 

" Come, if thy magic Glass have pow'r 
" To call up forms we sigh to see : 

shepherd, pray ? " and it has boen luy object to 
retain aa much of the structure and phraseology 
of the original words as possible. 




^'^^^^' 




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352 



MOORE'S -WORKS. 



'• Show me my Love, in that rosy bow'r, 
" "Where last she pledged her truth to 
me." 

The "Wizard show'd him his Lady bright, 

"Where lone and pale in her bow'r she 

lay ; [ Knight, 

"True-hearted maid," said the happy 

"She's thinking of one, who is far 

away." 

But, lo ! a page, with looks of joy, 
Brings tidings to the Lady's ear ; 

'"Tis," said the Knight, "the same 
bright boy, 
" Who used to guide me to my dear." 

The Lady now, from her fav'rite tree, 
Hath, smiling, pluck'd a rosy flow'r ; 

"Such," he exclaim'd, "was the gift 

that she [bow'r I" 

"Each morning sent me from that 

She gives her page the blooming rose, 

"With looks that say, " LUse lightning, 

fly !" [soothes her woes, 

"Thus,''' thought the Knight, "she 

"By fancying, stiU, her true-love 

nigh." 

But the page returns, and — oh, what a 
sight, 

For trusting lover's eyes to see !— 
Leads to that bow'r another Knight, 

As young, and, alas, as loved as he I 

** Such," quoth the Youth, " is "Woman's 
love !'' [bound. 

Then, darting forth, with farious 
Dash'd at the Mirror his iron glove, 

And strew'd it aU in fragments round. 



Such ills would never have come to pass. 
Had he ne'er sought that fatal view ; 

The "Wizard would still have kept his 

Glass, [true. 

^cd the Knight stiH thought his Lady 



THE PILGRIM. 

Still thus, when twilight gleam'd, 
Far off his Castle seem'd. 

Traced on the sky ; 
And still, as fancy bore him 
To those dim tow'rs before him. 
He gazed with wistful eye, 

Aid thought his home was nioh. 



" Hall of my Sires I" he said, 
"How long, with weary tread, 

" Must I toil on ? 
" Each eve, as thus I wander, 
" Thy tow'rs seem rising yonder, 
" But, scarce hath daylight cLone, 

" "When, like a dream, thou'rt gone ! 

So went the Pilgrim still, 
Down dale and over hill. 

Day after day ; 
That glimpse of home, so cheering^ 
At twilight still appearing. 
But still, with morning's ray. 

Melting, like mist, away ! 

"Where rests the PUgrimnow? 
Here, by this cypress bough, 

Closed his career ; 
That dream, of Fancy's weaving, 
No more his steps deceiving. 
Alike past hope and fear, 

The Pilgrim's home is here. 



THE HIGH-BORN^ LADTB. 

In vain all the Knights of the Under 
wald woo'd her, 
Though brightest of maidens, the 
proudest was she ; 
Brave chieftains they sought, and young 
minstrels they sued her. 
But worthy were none of the high- 
born Ladye. 

" "Whomsoever I wed," said this maid, 

so exceUing, [conquerors be ; 

" That Knight must the conqu'ror of 

" He must place me in halls lit for mon- 
arch s to dwell in ; — 

"ISTone else shall be Lord of the high- 
born Ladye !" 

Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn 

looking roimd her [degi-ee ; 

On Knights and on Nobles of highest 

"Who humbly and hopelessly left as they 

found her, [born Ladye. 

And worshipp'd at distance the high- 

At length came a Knight from a far 
land to woo her, [foam of the sea; 
"With plumes on his helm like the 
His vizor was down — but, with voice 
that thrill'd through her. 
He whisper'd his vows to the high 
bom Ladye. 
"Proud maiden! I come with high 
s to grace thee. 



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LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



353 



"In me the great conqu'ror of con- 
querors see ; [I'll place thee, 
" Enthroned in a hall fit for monarchs 

" And mine thou'rt forever, thou high- 
born Ladje ! " 

The maiden she smiled, and in jewels 
array'd her, [she ; 

Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt 
And proud was the step, as her bride- 
groom convey' d her 
In pomp to bis home, of that high- 
born Ladye. 

" But whither," she, starting, exclaims, 

" have you led me ? 

" Here's naught but a tomb and a dark 

cypress tree ; [ wouldst wed me f" 

" Is this the bright palace in which thou 

With scorn in her glance, said the 

high-born Ladye. 

*"Tis the home," he replied, " of earth's 

loftiest creatures " — [see ; 

Then hfted his helm for the fair one to 

But she sunk on the ground — 'twas a 

skeleton's features, [bom Ladye ! 

And Death was the Lord of the high- 



THE INDIAN" BOAT. 

'Twas midnight dark. 

The seaman's bark 
Swift o'er the waters bore him, 

When, thi-ough the night, 

He spied a light 
Shoot o'er the wave before him. 

" A sail ! a sail !" he cries ; 

"She comes from the Indian shore, 
" And to-night shall be our prize, 
" With her freight of golden ore : 

"Sail on ! saU on ! " 

When morning shone 
He saw the gold still clearer; 

But, though so fast 

The waves ho pass'd. 
That boat seem'd never the nearer. 

Bright daylight came. 

And stiU the same 
Rich bark before him floated ; 

While on the prize 

His wishful eyes 
Like any young lover's doted : 
" More sail ! more sail ! " he cries. 

While the waves o'ertop the mast : 
And his bounding gaUey flies. 
Like an arrow before the blast. 



Thus on and on. 

Till day was gone, [her, 

And the moon through heav'n did hie 

He swept the main. 

But aU in vain. 
That boat seem'd never the nigher. 

And many a day 

To night gave way, 
And many a mom succeeded : 

While still his flight. 

Through day and night. 
That restless mariner speeded. 
Who knows — who knows what seas 

He is now careering o'er? 
Behind, the eternal breeze, 
And that mocking bai'k, before ! 

For, oh, till sky 

And earth shall die, 
And their death leave none to me it, 

That boat must flee 

O'er the boundless sea. 
And that ship in vain pursue it. 



THE STRANGER. 

Come list, while I tell of the heart- 
wounded Stranger 
Who sleeps her last slumber in thig 
haunted ground ; 
Where often, at midnight, the lonely 
wood-ranger 
Hears soft fairy music re echo around. 

None e'er knew the name ol that heart- 
stricken lady. 
Her language, though sweet, none 
could e'er understand ; 
But her features so sunn'd, and her eye- 
lash so shady, [era land. 
Bespoke her a child of some far East- 

'Twas one summer night, when the vil- 
lage lay sleeping, [ears ; 
A soft strain of melody came o'er oui 
So sweet, but so mom-nful, half song and 
half weeping, [her tears. 
Like music that Sorrow had steep'd in 

We thought 'twas an anthem some angel 

had sung us ;— [from on high, 

But, soon as the day -beams had gush'd 

With wonder we saw this bright stranger 

among us, [the sky. 

All lovely and lone, as if stray'd from 

Nor long did her life for this sphere 

seem intended, [spirit-like hue, 

For pale was her cheek, with that 



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354 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



TThich comes when the day of this 
■world is nigh ended, [through. 
And light from another already shines 
Then her eyes, when she sung— oh, but 
once to have seen them — 
Left thoughts in the soul that can 
never depart; 
While her looks and her voice made a 
language between them, 
That spoke more than holiest words to 
the heart. 

But she pass'd like a day-dream, no skill 
could restore her— 



"WTiate'er was her sorrow, its raiii 

came fast; 
She died with the same spell of mystery 

o'er her, [the last. 

That song of past days on her lips to 

N"or ev'n in the grave is her sad heart 
reposing — 
Still hovers the spirit of grief round 
her tomb ; 
For oft, when the shadows of midnight 
are closing. 
The same strain of music is heard 
through the gloom. 



A MELOLOGUE UPOIf MTIONAL MUSIC. 



ADYERTISEMEKT. 

These verses were written for a Bene- 
fit at the Dublin Theatre, and were 
spoken by Miss Smith, with a degi'ee of 
success which they owed solely to her 
admirable manner of reciting them. I 
wrote them in haste ; and it very rarely 
happens that poetry, which has cost but 
little labor to the writer, is productive 
of any great pleasure to the reader. Un- 
der this impression, I certainly should 
not have published them if they had not 
found their way into some of the news- 
papers, with such an addition of errors 
to their own original stock, that I 
thought it but fair to limit their respon- 
sibihty to those faults alone which really 
belong to them. 

, With respect to the title which I have 
invented for this Poem, I feel even more 
than the scruples of the Emperor Tibe- 
rius, when he humbly asked pardon of 
the Roman Senate for using " the out- 
landish term, monopoly." But the truth 
is, having written the Poem with the 
sole view of serving a Benefit, I thought 
that an unintelligible word of this kind 
would not be without its attraction for 
the multitude, with whom, " If 'tis not 



sense, at least 'tis Greek." To some oi 
my readers, however, it may not be su- 
perfluous to say, that by "Melologue,'' 
I mean that mixtm-e of recitation and 
music, which is frequently adopted in 
the performance of CoUins's Ode on the 
Passions, and of which the most strik- 
ing example I can remember is the pro- 
phetic speech of Joad in the Athalie of 
Racme. T. M. 



MELOLOGUE. 

A SHORT Stkatn of Music fkom the Orches- 

TKA. 

There breathes a language, known and 

felt [zone ; 

Par as the pm-e ah- spreads its living 

"Wherever rage can rouse, or pity melt. 

That language of the soul is felt and 

known. 

From those meridian plains, 

Where oft, of old, on some high 

tow'r, [strains. 

The soft Peruvian pour'd his midnight 

And cali'd his distant love with such 

sweet pow'r, 

That, when she heard the lonely lay, 




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MELOLOGUE. 



X)5 



2^ ot ■worlds could keep her from bis arms 

a\Tay — * 
To the bleak dimes of polar night, 
^Yhere bUthe, beneath a sunless sky, 
The Lapland lover bids his reindeer fly. 
And sings along the length'niug waste 
of snow, 
Gayly as if the blessed light [brow ; 
Of vernal Phcebus bm'u'd upon his 
Oh Music ! thy celestial claim 
Is still resistless, still the same ; 
And, faithful as the mighty sea 
To the pale star that o'er its realm pre- 
The spell-bound tides [sides. 

Of human passion rise and fall for thee ! 

GUEEK Aiit. 

List ! 'tis a Grecian maid that sings, 
While, from Ilissus' silv'ry springs, 
She draws the cool lymph in her grace- 
ful um ; [solving. 
And by her side, in Music's charm dis- 
Some patriot youth, the glorious past 
revolving, [return ; 
Dreams of bright days that never can 
When Athens nursed her olive bough, 
With hands by tyrant pow'r un- 
chain'd ; 
And braided for the muse's brow 
A wreath by tyrant touch im- 
stain'd. 
When heroes trod each classic field 
Where coward feet now faintly fal- 
ter; 
When ev'ry arm was Freedom's shield, 
Andev'ry heart was Freedom's altar ! 

FLOUIUSH of TUUiirETS. 

Hark, 'tis the sound that charms 

The war-steed's wak'ning ears ! — 
Oh ! many a mother folds her arms 
Round her boy-soldier when that call 

she hears ; [fears, 

And, though her fond heart sink with 
I>; proud to feel hisyoung pulse bound 
With valor's fever at the sound. 
See, from his native hills afar 
The rude Uelvetiau flies to war ; 
Careless for what, for whom he fights. 
For slave or despot, wrongs or riglits ; 

A couqueror oft— a hero never — 
Yet lavish of his life-blood still. 
As if 'twere like his mountain riH 

And gush'd forever 1 

* " A certniii S^)anial•d, ono night late, met 
au Iiidimi woman lu tlio streets of" Cozco, and 
would have taken lior to his Iiome, but she cried 
out, ' For God's sake. Sir, let me go ; for that 
pipe, which you hear iu yonder tower, calls mo 



Yes, Music, here, even here, 

Amid this thoughtless, vague career, 

Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous 

pow'r. — [the rocks 

There's a wild air which olt, among 

Of his own loved land, at evening hour, 

Is heard, when shepherds homeward 

pipe their flocks, [his mind 

Whose every note hath power to thrill 

With tend'rest thoughts ; to bring 

around his knees ^ 

The rosy children whom he left behind, 

And fill each little angel eye 

With speaking tears, that ask him 

why [like theso. 

He wander'd from his hut for scenes 

Vain, vain is then the trumpet's brazen 

roar ; [he hears ; 

Sweet notes of home, of love, are all 

And the stem eyes, that look'd for blood 

before, [selves in tears. 

litovf melting, mournful, lose them- 

SWISS AlK.— " EaNZ DE3 VaCHES." 

But, wake the trumpet's blast again. 
And rouse the ranks of warrior-men ! 
Oh War, when Truth thy arm employs, 
And Freedom's spirit guides the labor- 
ing storm, [low'd form, 
'Tis then thy vengeance takes a hal- 
And, like Heaven's lightnuig, sacredly 
destroys. [sphere, 
Nor, Music, through thy breathing 
Lives there a sound more grateful to 
the ear 
Of Him who made all harmony, 
Than the bless'd sound of fetters 
breaking, [ing 
And the first hymn that man, awak- 
From Slavery's slumber, breathes to 
Liberty. 

Spauish Chorus. 

Hark ! from Spain, indignant Spain, 
Bursts the bold, enthusiast strain, 
Like morning's music on the air ; 
And seems, in every note, to swear 
By Saragossa's ruin'd streets, 

By brave Gerona's deathfid story. 
That, while one Spaniard's life-blood 
beats, [giory. 

That blood shall stain the conqu'ror's 

with great passion, and I cannot refuse the 
summons ; U)r love constrains me to go, that I 
may be his wife, and he my husband.' "—Oar- 
cilasso de la Vega, ia Sir Paul Kycaut's transla 
tion. 



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356 



MOOKE'S WOEKS. 



Spanish Air.— "Ya Desperto." 

But ah ! if vain the patriot's zeal, 
If ueither valor's force nor wisdom's light 
Can break or melt that blood-cemented 
seal, [rope's right— 

Which shuts so close the book of Eu- 
What song shall then in sadness tell 



Of broken pride, of prospects shaded, 
Of buried hopes, remember'd Avell, 

Of ardor quench'd, aud honor faded ? 

"What muse shall mourn the deathless 

brave, 

In sweetest dirge at Memory's shrine ? 

"What harp shall sigh o'er Freedom's 

Oh Erin, Thine 1 [grave H 



SET OF GLEES, 



MUSIC BY MOORE. 



THE MEETIN"G OP THE SHIPS. 

"When o'er the silent seas alone, 
For days and nights we've cheerless gone, 
Oh they who've felt it know how sweet, 
Some sunny mom a sail to meet. 

Sparkling at once is ev'ry eye, 
" Ship ahoy ! ship ahoy !" our joyful cry; 
While answering back the" sounds we 
hear [what cheer!" 

" Ship ahoy ! ship ahoy ! what cheer ? 

Then sails are back'd, we nearer come, 
Kiud words are said of friends and home; 
And soon, too soon, we part with pain, 
To sail o'er silent seas again. 



HIP, HIP, HURRA! 

Come, fill round a bumper, fill up to the 

brim, [not to him ; 

He who shiiaks from a bumper, I pledge 

" Here's the girl that each loves, be her 

eye of what hue [true." 

'• Or lustre, it may, so her heart is but 
Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, 
hurra! 

Come, charge high again, boys, nor let 

the full wine 
Leave a space in the brimmer, where 

daylight may shine ; 



"Here's the friends of our youth— 

though of some we're bereft, 
•' May the finks that are lost but endear 
what are left !'' [hurra ! 

Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra. 

Once more fiU a bumper — ne'er talk of 

the hour; [pow'r. 

On hearts thus united old Time has no 

" May our lives, tho', alas ! like the wino 

of to-night, 
" They must soon have an end, to the 
last flow as bright." [hurra ! 

Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra. 

Quick, quick, now, I'll give you, sinca 
Time's glass will run 

Ev'n faster than ours doth, three bump- 
ers in one ; 

" Here's the poet who sings— here's the 
warrior who fights — 

" Here's the statesman who speaks, in 
the cause of men's rights !" 
Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, 
hurra! 

Come, once more, a bumper !— then 

drink as you please, 
Tho', who could fill half-way to toast 

such as these ? 
"Here's our next joyous meeting — and 

oh when we meet, 
"May our wine be as bright and our 

union as sweet !" 'hi\:n'i;? 

Charge (drinkaV liy, nip, hurra, 




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SET OF GLEES. 



357 



HUSH, HUSH. 

" Hush, hush !"— how Trell 

That sweet word sounds, 
"When Love, the little sentinel, 

"Walks his night-rounds ; 
Then, if a foot but dare 

One rose-leaf cmsh, 
Myriads of voices in the air 

Whisper, " Hush, hush !" 

" Hark, hark, 'tis he !" 

The night-elves cry, 
And husla their fairy harmony, 

"While he steals by ; 
But if his silv'ry feet 

One dew-drop brush. 
Voices are heard in chorus sweet, 

"WMsp'ring. " Hush, hush I" 



THE PAETING BEFORE THE 
BATTLE. 

HE. 

On to the field, our doom is seal'd, 

To conquer or be slaves : 
This sun shall see our nation free, 

Or set upon our graves. 

SHE. 

Farewell, oh farewell, my love, 
May Heav'n thy guardian be. 

And send bright angels from above 
To bring thee back to me. 

HE. 

On to the field, the battle-field, 
"Where Freedom's standard waves, 

This sun shall see our tyrant yield, 
f^T shine upon our graves. 



THE "WATCHMAl^. 

A TKIO 
WATCHMAN. 

^_oi uvcelve o'clock— past twelve. 

Good night, good night, my dearest-^ 
How fast the moments fly ! 

•Tis time to part, thou hearest 
That hateful watchman's cry. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past one o'clock — past one. 

Yet stay a moment longer — 
, Alas ! why is it so, 



The wish to stay grows stronger, 
The more 'tis time to go? 

WATCHMAN. 

Past two o'clock — past two. 

l^ow wrap thy cloak about thee — 
The hours must sure go wrong, 

For when they're pass'd without thee^ 
They're, oh, ten times as long. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past three o'clock — past three. 

Again that dreadful warning ! 

Had ever time such flight ? 
And see the sky, 'tis morning— 

So now, indeed, good night. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past three o'clock — past three. 
Good night, good night. 



SAT, "WHAT SHALL WE DANCE ? 

Say, what shall we dance ? 
Shall we bound along the moonlight 

plain, 
To music of Italy, Greece, or Spaiu ? 

Say, what shall we dance? 
Shall we, like those who rove 
Through bright Grenada's grove, 
To the light Bolero's measures move ? 
Or choose the Guaracia's languishing 

lay, 
And thus to its sound die away ? 

Strike the gay chords, 
Let us hear each strain from ev'ry shore 
That music haunts, or young feet wan- 
der o'er, [measured time, 
Hark ! 'tis the light march, to whoso 
The Polish lady, by her lover led, 
Delights through gay saloons with step 
untired to tread, [walks. 
Or sweeter still, through moonlight 
"Whose shadows serve to hide 
The blush that's raised by him who 
Of love the while by her side ; [talks 
Then comes the smooth waltz, to whose 

floating sound 
Like dreams we go gliding around, 
Say, which shall we dance? wMch shall 
we dance ? 





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358 



MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



THE EVENIISrG GUK 

Rememb'rkst thou that setting sun, 

The last I saw with thee, 
Wlien loud we heard the ev'ning gun 

Peal o'er the twilight sea ? 
Boom ! — the sounds appeared to sweep 

Far o'er the verge of day, 
Till, into realms beyond the deep. 

They seem'd to die away. 



Oft, -when the toils of day are done^ 

In pensive dreams of thee, 
I sit to hear that ev'ning gun 

Peal o'er the sto'^iny sea. 
Boom ! — and while o'er billows curl'd, 

The distant sounds decay, 
I weep aud wish, from tlus rough 
world. 

Like them, to die away. 



BALLADS, SOXGS, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



ETC. 



TO-DAT, DEAREST ! IS OUES. 

To-day, dearest ! is ours ; 

"Why should Love carelessly lose It ? 
This life shines or lowers 

Just as we, weak mortals, use it. 
'Tis time euough,whenits flow'rs decay, 

To thinii of the thorns of Sorrow ; 
And Joy, if left on the stem to-day, 

May wither Ijefore to mon-ow. 

Then why, dearest ! so long 

Let the sweet moments fly over ? 
Though now, blooming and young. 

Thou hast me devoutly thy lover : 
Yet Time from both, in his silent lapse. 

Some treasure may steal or borrow ; 
""hy charms may be less in bloom, per- 

Or I less in love to-moiTow. [haps, 



vYHEN" ON THE LIP THE SIGH 
DELAYS. 

W"hen on the lip the sigh delays. 

As if 'twould linger there forever ; 
"WTien eyes would give the world to gaze. 

Yet still look down, and venture never; 

Wlien, though with fairest nymphs we 

rove, [any — 

There's one we dream of more than 
If all this is not real love, [ny ! 

'Tis something wondrous like It, Fan- 



To think and ponder, when apart, 

On all we've got to say at meeting ; 
And yet when near, with heart to heart. 

Sit mute, and listen to their beating : 
Too see but one bright object move. 

The only moon, where stars are 
many— 
If all this is not downright love, 

I prithee say what is, my Fanny ! 

"When Hope foretells the brightest, best, 

Though Eeason on the darliest reckons-. 
When Passion drives us to the west, 

Though Prudence to the eastward 
beckons ; 
When all turns round, below, above, 

And our own heads the most of any— 
If this is not stark, staring love, 

Then you and I are sages, Fanny. 



HEEB, TAKE MY HEAET. 

Here, take my heart — 'twill be safe in 

thy keeping, [o'er sea ; 

WhUe I go wand'ring o'er land and 

Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleep' 

ing, [thee f 

What need I care, so my heart is with 

If, in the race we are destined to run, 

love, [piest b^ 

They who have light hearts the hap 




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BALLADS, SOlfGS, ETC. 



It matters not -where 
rover, 



Then, happier still must be they who 

have none, love, [with thee. 

And that will be my case when mine is 

raay now be a 

[may see ; 

T care not how many bright eyes I 

Should Venus herself come and ask me 

to love her, [thee. 

I'd tell her I couldn't — my heart is with 

And there let it lie, growing fonder and 

fonder — [to me. 

For, even should Fortune turn truant 

Why, let her go — I've a treasure beyond 

her, [with thee ! 

As long as my heart's out at int'rest 



OH, CALL IT BY SOME BETTER 
NAME. 

Oh, caU it by some better name, 

For Friendship sounds too cold, 
"Wliile Love is now a worldly flame, 

"Whose shrine must be of gold ; 
And Passion, like the sun at noon, 

That burns o'er all he sees, 
Awhile as warm, will set as soon — 

Then, call it none of these. 

Imagine something purer far. 

More free from stain of clay 
Than Friendship, Love, or Passion are, 

Yet human still as they : 
And if thy lip, for love like this, 

No mortal word can frame, 
Go, ask of angels what it is, 

And call it by that name ! 



POOR WOUNDED HEART. 

Poor wounded heart, farewell ! 
Thy hour of rest is come ; 
Thou soon wilt reach thy home. 
Poor wounded heart, fareweU ! 
The pain thou'lt feel in breaking 

Less bitter far wiU be, 
Than that long, deadly aching. 
This life has been to thee. 

There — broken heart, farewell ! 
The pang is o'er — 
The parting pang is o'er; 
Thou now wilt bleed no more. 
Poor broken heart, fareweU ! 
1^0 rest for thee but dying- 
Like waves, whose strife is past, 
On death's cold shore thus lying. 
Thou sleep'st in peace at last- 
Poor broken heart, fareweU 1 



THE EAST INDIAIJ". 

Come, May, with aU thy flowers. 

Thy sweetly-scented thorn, 
Thy cooling ev'ning showers. 

Thy fragrant breath at mom : 
When May-flies haunt the willow. 

When May-buds tempt the bee, 
Then o'er the shining billow 

My love will come to me. 

From Eastern Isles she's winging 

Through wat'iy wilds her way, 
And on her cheek is bringing 

The bright sun's orient ray : 
Oh, come and court her hither. 

Ye breezes mild and warm — 
One winter's gale would wither 

So soft, so pure a form. 

The fields where she was straying 

Are blest with endless light. 
With zephyrs always playing 

Through gardens always bright;. 
Then now, sweet May ! be sweeter 

Than e'er thou'st been before ; 
Let sighs from roses meet her 

When she comes near our shore. 



POOR BROKEN" FLOWER. 

Poor broken flow'r ! what art can now 
recover thee ? [breath — 

Tom from the stem that fed thy rosy 
In vain the sunbeams seek 
To warm that faded cheek ; 
The dewi of heav'u, that once like balm 
feU over thee, [death. 

Now are but tears, to weep thy early 
So droops the maid whose lover hath 
forsaken her, — [lost as thou; 
Thrown from his arms, as lone and 
In vain the smiles of all 
Like sunbeams round her faU ; 
The only smile that could from death 
awaken her, [now. 

That smile, alas! is gone to others 



THE PRETTY ROSE-TREE. 

Being weary of love, 
I flew to the gi-ove. 

And chose me a tree of the fairest; 
Saying, " Pretty Rose-tree, 
"Thou my mistress shalt be, 

'•And I'll worship each bud thou bearest. 
" For the hearts of this world are hol- 
low 




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MOORE'S WOEKS. 



" And ficWe the smiles we follow ; 

*'And 'tis sweet, when all 

♦' Their witch'ries pall, 
" To have a pure love to fly to : 

" So, my pretty Rose-tree, 

" Thou my mistress shalt be, 
"And the only one now I shall sigh to." 

"WTien the beautiful hue 

Of thy cheek through the dew 

Of morning is bashfully peepmg, 
" Sweet tears," I shall say, 
(As I brush them away,) 

"At least there's no art in this weeping." 
Although thou shouldst die to-mor- 
row, 
'Twin not be from pain or sorrow : 
And the thorns of thy stem 
Are not like them 

"With which men wound each other: 
So, my pretty Rose-tree, 
Thou my mistress shalt be, 

And I'U ne'er again sigh to another. 



SHINE OUT, STARS! 

Shine out, Stars ! let Heav'n assemble 

Round us ev'ry festal ray, 
Lights that move not, lights that tremble, 

AU to grace this Eve of May. 
Let the flow'r-beds all lie waking, 

And the odors shut up there, 
From their downy prisons breaking, 

Fly abroad through sea and air. 

And would love, too, bring his sweetness, 

With our other joys to weave, 
Ou what glory, what completeness. 

Then would crown this bright May 
Eve! 
Shine out, Stars ! let night assemble 

Round us every festal ray, 
Lights that move not, lights that tremble, 

To adorn this Eve of May. 



THE TOUi^G MULETEERS OF 
GREN^ADA. 

Oh, the joys of our ev'ning posada, 

Where, resting at close of day. 
We, yoimg Muleteers of Grenada, 

Sit and sing the sunshine away; 
So merry, that even the slumbers. 

That round us hung, seem gone-, 
Till the lute's soft drowsy numbers 

Again beguile them on. 
Oh, the joys, &o. 



Then as each to his loved sultana 

In sleep still breathes the sigh. 
The name of some black-eyed Tnana 

Escapes our hps as we lie. 
Till, with mommg's rosy twinkle, 

Again we're up and gone— 
While the mule-beU's drowsy tinkl( 

Beguiles the rough way on. 
Oh, the joys of om- merry posada, 

Where, resting at close of day, 
We, young Muleteers of Grenada, 

Thus sing the gay moments away. 



TELL HER, OH, TELL HER. 

Tell her, oh, tell her, the lute she left 

lying L there; 

Beneath the green arbor, is still lying 

And breezes, like lovers, around it are 

sighmg, [pi-ay'r. 

But not a soft whisper replies to their 

TeU her, oh, teU her, the tree that, in 
going, [set, 

Beside the green arbor she playlully 
As lovely as ever is blushing and blow- 
ing, [it yet. 
And not a bright leaflet has fall'n iiom 

So while away from that arbor forsaken, 
Themaidenis wandering, stillletherbe 

As true as the lute, that no sighing can 

waken, [the tree ! 

And blooming forever, xmchanged as 



NIGHTS OF MUSIC. 
Nights of music, nights of loving. 

Lost too soon, remembei-'d long. 
When we went by moonlight roving, 

Hsarts all love,' and lips all song. 
When this faithful lute recorded 

All my spirit felt to thee ; 
And that smile the song rewarded — 

Worth whole years of fame to me ! 

Nights of song, and nights of splendor 

Fill'd with joys too sweet to last — 
Joys that, like the stai'Mght, tender. 

While they shone, no shadow cast. 
Though all other happy hours 

From my fading mem'ry fly, 
Of that starlight, of those bowers, 

Not a beam, a leaf shall die I 



OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE. 

Our first young love resembles 
That short but brilliant ray, 



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SON^GS, BALLADS, ETC. 



3G1 



WTiich smiles, and weeps, and trembles 
Through April's earliest day. 

And not all life before us, 
Howe'er its lights may play. 

Can shed a lustre o'er us 
Like that first Apiil ray. 

Our summer sun may squander 

A blaze serener, grander ; 

Our autumn beam 

May, like a dream 

Of heav'n, die calm awayj 

But, no — let life before us 

Bring all the light it may, 
Twill ne'er shed lustre o'er us 
Like that first youthful ray. 



BLACK AN"D BLUE EYES. 

The brilliant black eye 

May in triumph let fly ['em ; 

All its darts without caring who feels 
But the soft eye of blue, 
Though it scatter wounds too, 

Is much better pleased when it heals 
Dear Fanny ! ['em — 

But the sott eye of blue, 
Though it scatter woimds too, 

Is much better pleased when it heals 'em. 

The black eye may say, 

" Come and worship my ray — 

" By adoring, perhaps, you may move 
But the blue eye, half bid, [me !" 
Says, from under its lid, 

" I love, and am yom-s, if you love me!" 
Yes, Fanny! 
The blue eye, half hid. 
Says, from under its lid, 

" I love, and am yours, if you love me !" 

Come, tell me, then, why, 

In that lovely blue eye, 
Not a chaim of its tint I discover; 

Oh, why should you wear 

The only blue pair 
That ever said " No ' to a lo\er ? 

Dear Fanny ! 

Oh, why should you wear 

The only blue pair 
That ever said " No " to a lover ? 



DEAR FANNY. 

" She has beauty, but still you must 

keep your heart cool ; 

" She has wit, but you mustn't be 

caught so:" [fool, 

Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a 



And 'tis not the first time I have 

Dear Fanny ! [thought so, 

'Tis not the first time I have thought so, 

"She is lovely, then love her, nor let 

the bliss fly ; [season :'' 

"'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing 

Thus Love has advised me, and who 

will deny [Reason, 

That Love reasons much better than 

Dear Fanny ? 
Love reasons much better than Reason, 



FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM. 

From life without freedom, say, who 

would not fly ? [would not die ? 

For one day of freedom, oh! who 

Hark ! — hark ! — 'tis the tmmpet 1 the 

call of the brave, [the slave. 

The death-song of tyrants, the dirge of 

Our country lies bleeding — haste, haste 

to her aid ; [invade. 

One arm that defends is worth hosts that 

In death's kindly bosom our last hope 

remains— [no chains. 

The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has 

On, on to the conibat, the heroes that 

bleed [deed. 

For virtue and mankind are heroes in- 

And oh, ev'n if Freedom from this world 

be driven, [in heaven. 

Despair not— at least we shall find lier 



HERE'S THE BOWER. 

Here's the bower she loved so much, 

And the tree she planted ; 
Here's the harp she used to touch — 

Oh, how that touch enchanted : 
Roses now unheeded sigh ; 

Where's the hand to wreathe them ? 
Songs around neglected lie ; 

Where's the lip to breathe them? 
Here's the bower, &c. 

Spring may bloom, but she we loved 

Ne'er shall feel its sweetness ; 
Time, that once so fleetly movwd. 

Now hath lost its fleetness. 
Years were days, when here sbo straydi 

Days were moments near he ; 
Heav'n ne'er form'd a bright© aiaid. 

Nor Pity wept a deai'er ! 

Here's the bower, &t 




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MOOEB'S WORKS. 



I SA"^ THE MOOX RISE CLEAR. 

A FINLAND LOVE SONG. 

I SAW the moon rise clear 

O'er hills and vales of snow, 
"Not told my fleet reindeer 

The track I wish'd to go. 
Yet quick he bounded forth ; 

For well my reindeer knew 
I've but one path on earth— 

The path which leads to you. 

The gloom that winter cast 

How soon the heart forgets, 
"When Summer brings, at last, 

Her sun that never sets ! 
So dawn'd my love for you ; 

So, fix'd through joy and pain, 
Than summer sun more true, 

'TwiU never set again. 



LOVE AJ^B THE SUIT-DIAL. 

roTJNG Love found a Dial once, in a 

dark shade, [beam play'd; 

Where man ne'er had wander'd nor sun- 
" "Why thus in darkness lie," whisper'd 

young Love, 
"Thou, whose gay hours in sunshine 

should move ?" 
" I ne'er," said the Dial, " have seen the 

warm sun, [are one." 

" So noonday and midnight to me. Love. 

Then Love took the Dial away from the 
shade, [warmly play'd. 

And placed her where Heaven's beam 
There she reclined, beneath Love's gaz- 
ing eye, [hours flew by. 
"While, mark'd all with sunshine, her 
"Oh, how," said the Dial, "can any 
fan* maid, [the shade ?" 
"That's born to be shone upon, rest in 

But night now comes on, and the sun- 
beam's o'er, [more. 
And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no 
Alone and neglected, while bleak rain 
and winds [she finds 
Are storming around her, with sorrow 
That Love had but number' d a few sunny 
hours, — [showers ! 
Then left the remainder to darkness and 



LOVE AND TIME. 

Tis said — but whether true or not 

Let bards declare who've seen'em- 
That Love and Time have only got 



One pair of wings between 'em. 

In courtship's first delicious hour, 

The boy full oft can spare 'em ; 

So, loit'ring in his lady's bower. 

He lets the grey-beard wear 'em. 

Then is Time's hour of play ; 

Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 

But short the moments, short as bright, 

"When he the wings can bon-ow ; 
If Time to-day has had his flight. 

Love takes his turn to-morrow. 
Ah ! Time and Love, your change is 

The saddest and most trying, [then 
"When one begins to limp again, 

Aud t'other takes to flying. 
Then is Love's hour to stray ; 
Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 



But there's a nymph, whose chains I 

And bless the silken fetter, [feel, 

Who knows, the dear one, how to deal 

"With Love and Time much better. 
So well she checks their wanderings. 

So peacefully she pairs 'em. 
That Love with her ne'er thinks of wings, 

And Time forever wears 'em. 
This is Time's holiday ; 
Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 



LOVE'S LIGHT SUMMER-CLOUD. 

Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us — 
Touth may wither, but feeling will 
last ; [us, 

All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er 
Love's fight summer-cloud only shaU 
Oh, if to love thee more [cast. 
Each hour I number o'er, 
If this a passion be 
"Worthy of thee, 
Then bo happy, for thus I adore thee. 
Charms may wither, but feeling shall 
last ; [thee, 

All the shadow that e'er shall fall o"er 
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly 
shall cast. 

Rest, dear bosom, no son-ow shall paiu 
thee, [steal ; 

Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou 
Beam, bright eyefid, no weeping shall 
stain thee. 
Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel 
Oh, if there be a charm 
In love, to banish harm— 
If pleasure's truest spell 
Be to love well, 




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BALLADS, SOIfGS, ETC. 



363 



Then be happy, for thus I adore thee. 

Charms may wither, but feeling shall 

last: [thee, 

All the shadow that e'er shall fal! o'er 

Love's light summer-cloud sweetly 

shall cast. 



LOYB, -WAND'EII^G THROUGH 
THE GOLDEN" MAZE. 

Love, wand'ring through the golden 

Of my beloved's hair, [maze 

Traced every lock with fond delays, 

And, doting, lingei-'d there. 
And soon he found 'twere vain to ily; 

His heart was close confined, 
Por, every ringlet was a tie— 

A chain by beauty twined. 



MEERILT EYERY BOSOM 
BOUNDBTH. 

THE TYROLESE SONG OP IIBEKTT. 

Merrily every bosom boundeth. 

Merrily, oh I 
Where the song of Freedom soundeth, 
Menily, oh ! 
There the warrior's arms 

Shed more splendor ; 

There the maiden's charms 

Shine more tender ; 

Ev'ry joy the land surroundeth, 

Merrily, oh ! merrily, oh 1 

"Wearily every bosom pLueth, 

Wearily, oh ! 
Where the bond of slavery twineth, 
Wearily, oh! 
There the warrior's dart 

Hath no fleetness ; 

There the maiden's heart 

Hath no sweetness — 

Ev'ry flow'r of life declineth, 

Wearily, oh I wearily, ob ! 

Cheerily then from hill and valley, 

Cheerily, oh ! 
Like your native fountains sally, 
Cheerily, oh ! 
If a gloi-ious death, 
Won by bravery, 
Sweeter be than breath 
Sigh'd iti slavery, 
Bound tlie flag of Freedom rally. 
Cheerily oh ! cheerily, oh ! 



REMEMBER THE TIME. 
the castilian maid. 

Remember the time, in La Mancha's 
shades, 
When our moments so blissfully flew ; 
When you caU'd me the flower of Cas- 
tilian maids, 
And I blush'd to be call'd so by you ; 
When I taught you to warble the gay 
seguadille. 
And to dance to the light castanet ; 
Oh, never, dear youth, let you roam 
where you will, 
The delight of those moments forget. 

They tell me, you lovers from Erin's 
green isle. 
Every hour a new passion can feel ; 
And that soon, in the light of some love- 
lier smile, 
You'll forget the poor maid of Castile. 
But they know not how brave in the 
battle you are, [rove ; 

Or they never could think you would 
For 'tis always the spu-it most gallant in 
war 
That 13 Cftjuiaat and truest in love. 



OH, SOOIT RETURIT. 

Our white sail caught the ev'ning ray. 

The wave beneath us seem'd to l.ium, 
When all the weeping maid could say 

Was, " Oh, soon return !" [driven, 
Thi-ough many a chme our ship was 

O'er many a billow rudely thrown; 
Now chill'd beneath a northern heaven, 

Now sunn'd in summer's zone : 
And still, where'er we bent our way, 

When evening bid the west wave bum, 
I fancied stiU I heard her say, 

" Oh, soon return !" 

If ever yet my bosom found [thee, 

Its thoughts one moment tum'd fi-om 
'Twas when the combat raged around, 

And brave men look'd to me. 
But though the war-field's wild alarm 

For gentle Love was all unmeet, 
He lent to Glory's brow the charm. 

Which made even danger sweet. 
And stiU, when vict'ry's calm came o'er 

The hearts where rage had ceased to 
bum. 
Those parting words I heard once more, 

" Oh, soon retum !— Oh, soon retmii l* 




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" J^ 



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364 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



LOYB THEE? 

Love thee ?— so well, so tenderly 

Thou'rt loved, adored by me, 
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, 

Were worthless without thee. 
Though brimm'd with blessings pure 

Life's cup before me lay, [and rare, 
Unless thy love were mingled there, 

I'd spurn the draught away. 
Love thee? — so well, so tenderly 

Thou'rt loved, adored by me, 
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty. 

Are worthless without thee. 

Without thy smile, the monarch's lot 

To me were dark and lone, 
While, with it, ev'n the humblest cot 

Were brighter than his throne. 
Those worlds, for which the conqu'ror 
sighs, 

For me would have no charms; 
My only world thy gentle eyes — 

My throne thy circhng arms 1 
Oh, yes, so well, so tenderly 

Thou'rt loved, adored by me, 
Whole realms of light and Mberty 

Were worthless without thee. 



ONE DEAR SMILE. 

CoFLnsT thou look as dear as when 

First I sighed for thee ; 
Couldst thou make me feel again 
Every wish I breathed thee then, 

Oh, how blissful life would be 1 
Hopes, that now beguiling leave me, 

Joys, that lie in slumber cold — [me 
AH would wake, couldst thou but give 

One dear smile like those of old. 

No— there's nothing left us now 

But to mourn the past ; 
Vain was every ardent vow — 
Never yet did "heaven allow 

Love so warm, so wild, to last. 
Not even hope could now deceive me — 

Like itself looks dark and cold : 
Oh, thou never more canst give me 

One dear smile like those of old. 



TBS, YES, WHEN THE BLOOM. 

Yes, yes, when the bloom of Love's 

boyhood is o'er, [decay ; 

He'll turn into friendship that feels no 

And, though Time may take from him 
the wings he once wore, 



The charms that remain will be bright 

as before, [Ayiug away. 

And he'll lose but his young trick of 

Then let it console thee, if Love should 
not stay, 
That Friendship our last happy mo- 
ments will crown : [ens away. 
Like the shadows of morning, Love less- 
While Friendship, like those at the clos- 
ing of day, [goes down. 
WiU linger and lengthen as lii'e's sun 



THE DAY OF LOVE. 

The beam of morning trembling 
Stole o'er the mountain brook, 

With timid ray resembling 
Affection's early look. 
Thus love begins — sweet morn of love 1 

The noontide ray ascended, 
And o'er the valley's stream 

Diffused a glow as splendid 
As passion's riper dream. 
Thus love expands — warm noon of love ! 

But evening came, o'ershading 

The glories of the sky, 
Like faith and fondness fading 

From passion's alter'd eye. 
Thus love decUnes— cold eve of love! 



LUSITANIAN WAR-SONG. 

The song of war shall echo through our 
mountains, 
Till not one hateful link remains 
Of slavery's lingering chains ; 
Till not one tyrant tread our plains, 

Nor traitor lip pollute our fountains. 
No ! never till that glorious day 
Shall Lusitania's sous lie gay. 
Or hear, oh Peace, thy welcome lay 

Resounding through her sunny moun- 
tains. 

The song of war shall echo through om 
mountains. 
Till Victory's self shall, smiling, say, 
" Your cloud of foes hath pass'd away, 
" And Freedom comes, with new-bom 
ray, [ftmntains." 

"To gild your vines and light your 
Oh, never till that glorious day 
Shall Lusitania's sons be gay. 
Or hear, sweet Peace, thy welcome lay. 
Resounding through her sunny moun- 
tains. 




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iP-^IV--^ 



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BALLADS, SOIfGS, ETC. 



THE YOUNG ROSE. 

The young rose I give thee, so dewy 
and bright, [bird of night, 

"Was the flow'ret most dear to the sweet 

"Who oft, by the moon, o'er her blushes 
hath hung, [he sung. 

And thrill'd every leaf with the wild lay 

Oh, take thou this young rose, and let 
her life be [from thee ; 

Prolong'd by the breath she will borrow 

For, while o'er her bosom thy soft notes 
shall thrill, [ing her still. 

Bhe'U think the sweet night-bird is court- 

^HEN MIDST THE GAT I MEET. 

When midst the gay I meet 

That gentle smUe of thine. 
Though still on me it turns most sweet, 

I scarce can call it mine : 
But when to me alone 

Your secret tears you show, 
Oh, then I feel those tears my own. 

And claim them while they flow. 
Then still with bright looks bless 

The gay, the cold, the free ; 
Give smUes to those who love you less, 

But keep your tears for me. 

The snow on Jura's steep 

Can smile in ma,ny a beam. 
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep, 

How bright soe'er it seem. 
But, when some deep-felt ray 

"Whose touch is lire, appears, 
Oh, then the smile is warm'd away. 

And, melting, turns to tears. 
Then still with bright looks bless 

The gay, the cold, the free ; 
Give smiles to those who love you less, 

But keep your tears for me. 

"WHEN T"WILIGHT DE"WS. 

"When twilight dews are faUtng soft 

Upon the rosy sea, love, 
I watch the star, whose beam so oft 

Has lighted me to thee, love. 
And thou, too, on that orb so dear. 

Dost often gaze at even, 
And think, though lost forever here, 

Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven. 

There's not a garden walk I tread, 
There's not a flow'r I see, love, 

But brings to mind some hope that's fled. 
Some joy that's gone with thee, love. 



And still I wish that hour was near, 
When, friends and foes fu '-given, 

The pains, the Qls we've T\ept through 
May turn to smiles in heaven, [here, 



YOUNG JESSICA. 
YoiTNG Jessica sat all the day, [pining ; 

With heart o'er idle love-thoughts 
Her needle bright beside her lay. 

So active once !— now idly shining. 
Ah, Jessy, 'tis in idle hearts' [nimble ; 

That love and mischief are most 
The safest shield against the darts 

Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble. 

The child, who with a magnet plays, 

Well knowing all its arts, so wily, 
The tempter near a needle lays, [slyly." 

And laughing, says, " We'll steal it 
The needle having naught to do. 

Is pleased to let the magnet wheedle; 
TiU closer, closer come the two, 

And — off, at length, elopes the needle. 

Now, had this needle tum'd its eye 

To some gay reticule's construction. 
It ne'er had stray'd from duty's tie. 

Nor felt the magnet's sly seduction. 
Thus, girls, would you keep quiet hearts. 

Your snowy fingers must oe nimble ; 
The safest shield against the darts 

Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble. 



HOW HAPPY, ONCE. 
How happy, once, though wing'd with 

My moments flew along, [sighs, 

While looking on those smiling eyes. 

And list'ning to thy magic song ! 
But vanish'd now, like summer dreams, 

Those moments smile no more ; 
For me that eye no longer beams. 

That song for me is o'er. 
Mine the cold brow. 
That speaks thy alter'd vow, 
"While others feel thy sunshine now. 
Oh, could I change my love like thee. 

One hope might yet be mine — 
Some other eyes as bright to see, _ 

And hear a voice as sweet as tiane. 
But never, never can this heart 

Be waked to life again ; 
With thee it lost its vital part, 

And withefd then ! 
Cold its pulse lies, 
And mute are ev'n its sighs, 
All other grief it now defies. 




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MOOKB'S WOEKS. 



I LOVE BUT THEE. 

If, after all, you still will doubt and fear 

Die, [will stray, 

And think this heart to other loves 

If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, 

hear me ; [away, 

By ev'ry dream I have when thou'rt 

By ev'ry throb I feel when thou art 

near me, 

I love but thee— I love but thee ! 

By those dark eyes, where light is ever 

playing, [his throne, 

"Where Love, in depth of shadow, holds 

And by those lips, which give whate'er 

thou'rt saying. 

Or grave or gay, a music of its own, 

A music far beyond all minstrel's play- 

I love but thee — I love but thee ! 

By that fair brow, where Innocence 

reposes, [snow. 

As pure as moonlight sleeping upon 

And by that cheek, whose fleeting blush 

discloses [below, 

A hue too bright to bless this world 

Old only fit to dwell on Eden's roses, 

I love but thee— I love but thee I 



LET JOT ALON-E BE KEMEM- 
BBE'D NOW. 

Let thy joys alone be remember'd now, 

Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile ; 
Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thy 
brow. 

Let Love light it up with his smile; 
For thus to meet, and thus to find. 

That Time, whose touch can chill _ 
Each flower of form, each grace ol mind. 

Hath left thee blooming still, — 
Oh, joy alone should be thought of now, 

Let om- sorrows go sleep awhile ; 
Or, should thought's dark cloud come 
o'er thy brow, 

Let Love light it up with his smile. 

"When the flowers of life's sweet garden 

If but one bright leaf remain, [fade. 
Of the many that once its glory made. 

It is not for us to complain. 
But thus to meet and thus to wake 

In all Love's early bliss ; 
Oh, Time all other gifts may take. 

So he but leaves us this ! 
Then let joy alone be remember'd now. 

Let oar sorrows go sleep awhile ; 



Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thj 
brow, 
Let Love light it up with a smile ! 

LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE 
THEE? 

Love thee, dearest? love thee? 

Yes, by yonder star I swear, 
"Which through tears above thee 

Shines so sadly fair ; 
Though often dim, 
"With tears, like him. 
Like him my truth wiU shine. 

And — love thee, dearest ? love thee I 
Yes, till death I'm thine. 

Leave thee, dearest? leave thee? 

No, that star is not more true* 
"When my vows deceive thee^ 

He will wander too. 
A cloud of ni^ht 
May veil his light, 
And death shall darken mine — 

But— leave thee, dearest? leave thee' 
No, till death I'm thine. 



MY HEART AND LUTE. 

I GIVE thee all- 1 can no more — 

Though poor the off'ring be ; 
My heart and lute are all the store 

That I can bring to thee. 
A lute whose gentle song reveals 

The soul of love full well ; 
And, better far, a heart that feels 

Much more than lute could tell. 

Though love and song may fail, alas I 

To keep life's clouds away. 
At least 'twill make them lighter pass 

Or gild them if they stay. 
And ev'n if Care, at moments, flings 

A discord o'er life's happy strain, 
Let Love but gently touch the strings, 

'TwiU all be sweet again ! 



PEACE, PEACE TO HIM THAT'S 
GONE! 

"When I am dead 

Then lay my head 
In some lone, distant dell, 

"Where voices ne'er 

Shall stu* the air. 
Or break its silent spelL 




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I* "^ — 6 




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BALLADS, SOIfOS, ETC. 



367 



If any sound 

Be heard around, 
Let the sweet bird alone, 

That weeps in song, 

Sing all night long, 
"Peace, peace to him that's gone !' 

Yet, oh, were mine 

One sigh of thine, 
One pitying word from thee, 

Like gleams of heav'n, 

To sinners giv'n, 
"Would be that word to me. 

Howe'er unbless'd, 

My shade would rest 
"WTiile list'ning to that tone ; — 

Enough 'twould be 

To hear from thee, 
"Peace, peace to him that's gone !" 



EOSB OF THE DESERT. 

fiosE of the Desert ! thou, whose blush- 
ing ray, 

Lonely and lovely, fleets imseen away ; 

No hand to cull thee, none to woo thy 
sigh,— 

In vestal silence left to live and die, — 

Eose of the Desert I thus should woman 
be, [thee. 

Shining uncourted, lone and safe, like 

Rose of the Garden, how unlike thy 

doom ! [bloom ; 

Destined for others, not thyself, to 

Cull'd ere thy beauty lives through half 

its day ; [away ; 

A moment cherish'd, and then cast 

Rose of the Garden! such is woman's 

lot, — [fades, forgot. 

Worshipp'd while blooming — when she 



'TIS ALL FOR THEE. 

If life for me hath joy or light, 

'Tis all from thee, [night 

My thoughts by day, my dreams by 

Are Ijut of thee, of only thee. 
"WTiate'er of hope or peace I know. 
My zest in joy, my balm in wo, 
To those dear eyes of thine I owe, 
'Tis all from thee. 

My heart, ev'n ere I saw those eyes, 

Seem'd doom'd to thee ; 
Kept pure tiU then from other ties, 

* In this sonp, which is one of the many set 
to music by myself the ttccasional lawlessness 



'Twas aU for thee, for only thee. 
Like plants that sleep, till sunny May 
Calls forth their life, my spirit lay, 
Till, touch'd by Love's awak'ning ray, 

It lived for thee, it lived for thee ! 

When Fame would call me to her heights, 

She speaks by thee ; 
And dim would shine her proudest lights, 

Unshared by thee, unshared by thee. 
WTiene'er I seek the Muse's shrine, 
"Where Bards have hung their wreaths 

divine, 
And wish those wreaths of glory miae, 

'Tis all for thee, for only thee. 

THE SON"G OP THE OLDEN" TIME.* 

There's a song of the olden time, 

Falhng sad o'er the ear. 
Like the dream of some village chime. 

Which in youth we loved to hear. 
And ev'n amidst the grand and gay, 

"When Music tries her gentlest art, 
I never hear so sweet a lay. 

Or one that hangs so round my heart, 
As that song of the olden time, 

FaUing sad o'er the ear, 
Like the dream of some village chime, 

"Which in youth we loved to hear. 

And when all of this life is gone, — 

Ev'n the hope, liug'ring now, 
Like the last of the leaves left on 

Autumn's sere and faded bough, — 
'Twill seem as still those friends were 
near, 

"Who loved me in youth's early day 
If in that parting hour I hear 

The same sweet notes, and die away,~' 
To that song of the olden time. 

Breathed, like Hope's farewell strain, 
To say, in some brighter cUme, 

Life and youth will shine again. 

WAKE THEE, MY DEAR. 

Wake thee, my dear — thy dreaming 

Till darker hours will keep ; 
"While such a moon is beaming, 

'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to sleep. 

Moments there are we number, 

Moments of pain and care, 
"Which to oblivious slumber 

Gladly the wretch would spare. 
But now — who'd think of dreaming 

of the metre arises, I need hardly say, fr«rm the 
peculiar structure of the air. 




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MOOEE'S WORKS. 



When Love his watch should keep ? 
"While such a moon is beaming, 
'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to sleep. 

If e'er the Fates should sever 

My life and hopes from thee, love, 
The sleep that lasts forever 

"Would then be sweet to me, love ; 
But now, — away with dreaming ! 

Till darker hours 'twill keep ; 
"While such a moon is beaming, 

'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to sleep. 



THE BOY OF THE ALPS.* 

Lightly, Alpine rover, 

Tread the mountains over ; 

Eude is the path thou'st yet to go ; 

Snow cliffs hanging o'er thee. 

Fields of ice before thee, 
"While the hid ton-ent moans below. 
Hark, the deep thunder, 
Through the vales yonder ! 
'Tis the huge av'lanche downward cast; 

From rock to rock 

Rebounds the shock. 
But courage, boy ! the danger's past. 

Onward, youthful rover. 

Tread the glacier over, 
Safe shalt thou reach thy home at last. 
On, ere light forsake thee, 
Soon will dusk o'ertake thee : 
O'er yon ice-bridge lies thy way ! 

Now, for the risk prepare thee ; 

Safe it yet may bear thee. 
Though 'twill melt in morning's ray. 

Hark, that dread howling ! 

'Tis the wolf prowling, — 

Scent of thy track the foe hath got ; 

And cliff and shore 

Eesound his roar. 
But com-age, boy — the danger's past ! 

"Watching eyes have found thee, 

Loving arms are round thee, 
Safe hast thou reach'd thy father's cot. 



FOR THEE ALOITE. 

For thee alone I brave the boundless 

deep, [tant sea; 

Those eyes my light through ev'ry dis- 

My waking thoughts, the dream that 
gilds my sleep, 

* This and the Sonps that follow, (as far as 
page 36(1,) have been published, with music, by 
Messrs. Ad»li8aii and Beale, Eegcnt Street. 



The noontide rev'ry, all are giv'n to 
To thee alone, to thee alone, [thee, 

Though future scenes present to Fancy's 

eye [tant air. 

Fair forms of light that crowd the dis 

"When nearer view'd, the fairy phantoms 

fly, [art there, 

The crowds dissolve, and thou alone 

Thou, thou alone. 

To win thy smile, I speed from shore to 

shore, [every blast, 

"While Hope's sweet voice is heard in 

Still whisp'ring on, that when some 

years are o'er, [at last. 

One bright reward shall crown my toil 

Thy smile alone, thy smile alone. 

Oh, place beside the transport of that 

hoiu- [and bright, 

All earth can boast of fair, of rich. 

Wealth's radiant mines, the lofty thrones 

of power, — [would light f 

Then ask where first thy lover's choice 

On thee alone, on thee alone. 

HER LAST WORDS, AT PARTING. 

Her last words, at parting, how can I 
forget ? [heart they shall stay ; 
Deep treasured through" life, in my 
Like music, whose charm in the soul lin- 
gers yet, [long melted away. 
When its sounds from the car have 
Let fortune assail me, her threat'nings 
are vain ; [tahsman be, — 
Those still-breathing words shall my 
" Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and 
pain, 
"There's one heart, unchanging, that 
beats but for thee." 

From the desert's sweet well tho' the 
pilgrim must hie, 
Never more of that fresh-springing 
fountain to taste, 
He hath still of its bright drops a trea- 
sured supply, 
"Whose sweetness lends life to his lips 
through the waste. 
So, dark as my fate is still doom'd to 
remain, [demess be,— 

These words shall my well in the wil- 
" Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and 
pain, 
"There's one heart, unchanging, that 
beats but for thee." 



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BALLADS, SON-GS, ETC. 



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LET'S TAKE THIS WORLD AS 
SOME WIDE SCENE. 

Let's take this world as some wide scene, 

Through which, in frail, but buoyant 
boat, 
With skies now dark and now serene, 

Together thou and I must float ; 
Beholding oft, on either shore, [stay; 

Bright spots where we should love to 
But Time plies swift his flying oar. 

And away we speed, away, away. 

Should chilling winds and rains come on, 

We'U raise our awning 'gainst the 
Sit closer till the storm is gone, [show'r ; 

And, smihng, wait a sunnier hour. 
And if that sunnier hour should shine. 

We'll know its brightness cannot stay. 
But happy, while 'tis thine and mine. 

Complain not when it fades away. 

So shall we reach at last that Fall [go, — 

Down which life's currents all must 
The dark, the brilliant, destined all 

To sink into the void below. 
N"or ev'n that hour shall want its charms, 

If, side by side, still fond we keep. 
And calmly, in each other's arms 

Together link'd, go down the steep. 



LOVE'S YICTOET. 

Sing to Love— for, oh, 'twas he 

Who won the glorious day ; 
Strew the wreaths of victory 

Along the conqu'ror's way. 
Toke the Muses to his car. 

Let them sing each trophy won; 
WMle his mother's joyous star 

Shall light the triumph on. 

Hail to Love, to mighty Love, 

Let spirits sing around ; 
While the hill, the dale, and grove, 

With " mighty Love " resound ; 
Or, should a sigh of sorrow steal 

Amid the sounds thus echo'd o'er, 
'Twill but teach the god to feel 

His victories the more. 

See his wings, like amethyst 

Of sunny Ind their hue ; 
Bright as when, by Psyche kiss'd, 

They trembled through and through. 



fo: 



Angel forms beside him run ; 

_ * Founded on the fable reported by Arrian, 
(in Indicia,) of Hercules having searched the 



While unnumber'd lips repeat 
" Love's victory is won ! " 
Hail to Love, to mighty Love, &c. 



SON"G OP HERCULES TO HIS 

DAUaHTER.* 
"I've been, oh, sweet daughter, 

"To fountain and sea, 
" To seek in their water 

" Some bright gem for thee. 
" Where diamonds were sleeping, 

"Theur sparkle I sought, 
"Wliere crystal was weeping, 

" Its tears I have caught 

"The sea-nymph I've courted 

' • In rich coral halls ; 
" With Naiads have sported 

" By bright waterfalls. 
" But sportive or tender, 

" Still sought I, aroimd, 
" That gem, with whose splendor 

" Thou yet shalt be crown'd. 

" And see, while I'm speaking, 

" Yon soft light afar ; — 
" The pearl I've been seeking 

" There floats like a star ! 
" In the deep Indian Ocean 

"I see the gem shine, 
" And quick as light's motion 

" Its wealth shall be thine." 

Then eastward, like lightning 

The hero-god flew, 
His sunny looks bright'ning 

The air he went through ; 
And sweet was the duty 

And hallow'd the hour, 
Which saw thus young Beauty 

Embellish'd by Power. 

THE DREAM OP HOME. 

Who has not felt how sadly sweet 

The dream of home, the dream ol 
home. 
Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, 

When far o'er sea or land we ruam ! 
Sunlight more soft may o'er us fall. 

To greener shores our bark may come ; 
But far more bright, more dear than all, 

That dream of home, that di'eam of 
home. 

Ask of the sailor youth when far [foam, 
His light bark bounds o'er ocean's 

Indian Ocean, to find the pearl with which no 
adorned his daughter PandiBa. 




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S70 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



What channs him most when ev'ning's 
star [home. 

Smiles o'er the wave? to dream of 
Fond thoughts of absent friends and 
loves 
At that sweet hom- around him come ; 
His heart's best joy, where'er he roves, 
That dream of home, that dream of 
home. 

THEY TELL ME THOU'RT THE 
FAYOR'D GUEST.* 

They tell me thou'rt the favor'd guest 
Of every fair and brilliant throng ; 

2^0 wit like thine to wake the jest, 
No voice like thine to breathe the 
song; 

And none could guess, so gay thou art, 

That thou and I ai'e far apart. 

Alas ! alas ! how difFrent flows 
With thee and me the time away ! 

Not that I wish thee sad — heav'n 
knows — 
Still' if thou canst, be light and gay ; 

I only know, that without thee 

The sun himself is dark to me. 

Do I thus haste to hall and bower 
Among the proud and gay to shine ? 

Or deck my hair with gem and flower, 
To flatter other eyes than thine f 

Ah, no, with me love's smiles are past, 

Thou hadst the first, thou hadst the last. 



THE rOFNG INDIAN MAID. 

There came a nymph dancrug 

Gracefully, gracefully, 
Her eye a light glancing 

Like the blue sea ; 
A.nd while all this gladness 

Around her steps hung, 
Such sweet notes of sadness 
Her gentle lips sung, 
That ne'er while I live from my mem'ry 
shall fade [dian maid. 

The song, or the look, of that young In- 

Her zone of bells ringing 

Cheerily, cheeiily. 
Chimed to her singing 

Light echoes of glee ; 
But m vain did she borrow 

Of mirth the gay tone, 

* Part of a translation of some Latin verses, 
supposed to have been addressed by Hippo- 
lyta Taurclla to her Inisband, during his at> 



Her voice spoke of sorrow, 

And sorrow alone. 
Nor e'er while I live from my mem'ry 

shall fade [diau maid. 

The song, or the look, of that young In- 



THE HOMEWARD MARCH. 

Be still, my heart: I hear them come: 
Those sounds announce my lover near: 

The march that brings our warriors home 
Proclaims he'll soon be here. 

Hark, the distant tread, 

O'er the mountain's head, 
While hills and dales repeat the sound ; 

And the forest deer 

Stand still to hear, 
As those echoing steps ring round. 

Be still, my heart, I hear them come. 
Those sounds that speak my soldier 
near ; [home, — 

Those joyous steps seem wiug'd for 
Rest, rest, he'll soon be here. 

But hark, more faint the footsteps grow, 
And now they wind to distant glades ; 

Not here their home, — alas, they go 
To gladden happier maids ! 

Like sounds in a dream, 

The footsteps seem. 
As down the hills they die away ; 

And the march, whose song 

So peal'd along, 
Now fades like a funeral lay. 

'Tis past, 'tis o'er, — hush, heart, thy 
pain ! 

And though not here, alas, they come. 
Rejoice for those, to whom that strain 

Brings sons and lovers home. 



WAKE UP, SWEET MELODY. 

Wake up, sweet melody ! 

Now is the hour 
When young and loving hearts 
Feel most thy pow'r. 
One note of music, by moonlight's soft 
ray— [by day. 

Oh, 'tis worth thousands heard coldly 
Then wake up, sweet melody ! 

Now is the hour 
When young and lovmg hearts 
Feel most thy pow'r. 

seiiee at the gay courtof Leo the Tenth. The 
verses may be found in the Appendix to Eoa- 
coe'a Work 




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BALLADS, SOl^GS, ETC. 



371 



Ask the fond nightingale, 
When his sweet flow'r 

Loves most to hear his song, 
In her green bow'r '? 
Oh, he will tell thee, through summer- 
nights long, [song. 
Fondest she lends her whole soul to his 

Then wake up, sweet melody ! 
ISTow is the hour 

When yoimg and loving hearts 
Feel most thy pow'r. 



CALM BE THY SLEEP. 

Calm be thy sleep as infants* slumbers ! 

Pure as angel thoughts thy di-eams ! 
May ev'ry joy this bright world numbers 

Shed o'er thee their mingled beams ! 
Or if, where Pleasure's wing hath' glided. 

There ever must some pang remain. 
Still be thy lot with me divided, — 

Thine all the bliss, and mine the pain ! 

Day and night my thoughts shall hover 

Round thy steps where'er they stray ; 
As, cv'n when clouds his idol cover. 

Fondly the Persian tracks its ray. 
If this be wrong, if Heav'n offended 

By worship to its creature be. 
Then let my vows to both be blended, 

Half breathed to Heav'n and half to 
thee. 



THE EXILE. 

Night waneth fast, the morning star 
Saddens with light the glimmering sea, 

"Whose waves shall soon to realms afar 
Waft me from hope, from love, and thee. 

Coldly the beam from yonder sky [stray; 
Looks o'er the waves that onward 

But colder still the stranger's eye 
To him whose home is far away. 

Oh, not at hour so chiU and bleak. 

Let thoughts of me come o'er thy 
breast ; 
But of the lost one think and speak, 

When summer suns sink calm to rest. 
So, as I wander, Fancy's dream 

Shall bring me o'er the sunset seas, 
Thy look, in ev'ry melting beam, 

"Thy whisper, in each dying breeze. 



THE FANCY FAIR. 

Come, maids and youths, for here we sell 
All wondrous things of earth and air; 
Whatever wild romancers tell. 



Or poets sing, or lovers swear, 
You'll find at this our Fancy Fair. 

Here eyes are made like stars to shine, 
And kept, for years, in such repair. 

That ev'n when turn'd of thirty-nine, 
They'll hardly look the worse for wear, 
If bought at this our Fancy Fair. 

We've lots of tears for bards to show'r, 
And hearts that such ill usage bear, 

That, though they're broken ev'ry hour. 
They'll still in rhyme fresh breaking 
If purchased at our Fancy Fair, [bear, 

As fashions change in ev'ry thing, 
We've goods to suit each season's air, 

Eternal friendships for the spring. 
And endless loves for summer wear,^ 
All sold at this our Fancy Fair. 

We've reputations white as snow 
That long vrill last, if used with care. 

Nay, safe through all life's journey go, 
If pack'd and mark'd as "brittle 

ware," — 
Just pm-chased at the Fancy Fair. 

IF THOU WOULDST HAYE ME 
SING AND PLAY. 

If thou wouldst have me sing and play, 

As once I play'd and sung, 
First take this time-worn lute away, 

And bring one freshly strung. 
Call back the time when pleasure's sigh 

First breathed among the strings ; 
And Time, himself, in flitting by, 

Made music with his wings. 

But how is this ? though new the lute, 

And shining fresh the chords. 
Beneath this hand they slumber mute, 

Or speak but dreamy words. 
In vain I seek the soul that dwelt 

Within that once sweet shell. 
Which told so warmly what it felt, 

And felt what naught could tell. 

Oh, ask not then for passion's lay. 

From lyre so coldly strung ; 
With this I ne'er can sing or play, 

As once I play'd and sung. 
No, bring that long-loved lute again, — 

Though chill'd by years it be, 
If tJioii wilt call the slumb'ring strain, 

'Twill wake again for thee. 

Though time hath fn^'n the tunefu/ 
stream 
Of thoughts that gusn'd tflong, 



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.372 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



One look from thee, like summer's beam, 

"Will thaw them into song. 
Then give, oh give, that wak'ning ray, 

And once more blithe and yoimg, 
Thy bard again will sing and play 

As once he play'd and sung. 



STILL WHEN DAYLIGHT. 

Still when daylight o'er the wave 
Bright and soft its farewell gave, 
I used to hear, while light was falling, 
O'er the wave a sweet voice caUiug, 
Mournfully at distance calling. 

Ah! once how blest that maid would 
come, 

To meet her sea-boy hast'nuig home ; 

And through the night those sounds re- 
peating. 

Hail his bark Avith joyous greeting, 
Joyously his hght bark greeting. 

But,one sadnight, when winds were high, 
Nor earth nor heaven could hear her cry. 
She saw his boat come tossing over 
Midnight's wave, —but not her lover ! 
No, never more her lover. 

And stiU that sad dream loath to leave, 
She comes with wand'ring mind at eve. 
And oft we hear, when night is falling, 
Faint her voice through twilight callmg, 
MomTifally at twilight calling. 

THE SUMMER WEBS. 
The summer webs that float and shine, 

The summer dews that fall. 
Though light they be, this heart of mine 

Is lighter still than all. 
It tells me every cloud is past 

Which lately seem'd to low'r, 
That Hope hath wed young Joy at last. 

And now's their nuptial hour ! 
With light thus round, within, above, 

With nought to wake one sigh, 
Except the wish, that all we love 

Were at this moment nigh, — ■ 
It seems as if life's l)rilliant sun 

Had stopp'd in fuU career. 
To make this hour its brightest one. 

And rest iu radiance here. 

MIND NOT THOUGH DAYLIGHT. 
Mind not though daylight around us is 

breaking, — 
Who'd think now of sleeping when 

mom's but just waking ? 



Sound the merry viol, and, daylight or 

not, [got. 

Be aU for one hour in the gay dance for- 

See young Aurora, up heaven's hill ad- 
vancing, [too is dancing: 

Though fresh from her pillow, ev'n she 

While thus all creation, earth, heaven, 
and sea, [not we ? 

Are dancing around us, oh, why should 

Who'll say that moments we use thus 
are wasted ? [be tasted ; 

Such sweet drops of time only flow to 

While hearts are high beating, and harps 
full in tune, [soon. 

The fault is all morning's for coming so 

THEY MET BUT ONCE. 



They met but once, in youth'i 

And never since that day [hour, 

Hath absence, time, or grief had pow'r 

To chase that dream away. 
They've seen the sims of other skies. 

On other .shores have sought delight ; 
But never more, to bless their eyes, 

Can come a dream so bright ! 
They met but once, — a day was all 

Of Love's young hopes they knew ; 
And still thei'r hearts that day recall, 

As fresh as then it flew. 

Sweet dream of youth ! oh, ne'er agam 

Let eithei: meet the brow 
They left so smooth and smiling then. 

Or see what it is now. 
For, Youth, the speU was only thine ; 

From thee alone th' enchantment 
flows. 
That makes the world around thee shine 

With light thyself bestows. 
They met but once, — oh, ne'er again 

Let either meet the brow 
They left so smooth and smiling then. 

Or see what it is now. 



WITH MOONLIGHT BEAMING. 

With moonlight beaming 

Thus o'er the deep, 
Who'd linger dreaming 

In idle sleep ? 
Leave joyless souls to live by day,--^ 
Our life begins with yonder ray ; 
And while thus brightly 

The moments flee, 
Our barks skim lightly 

The shining sea. 




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BALLADS, SOIfGS, ETC. 



373 



To halls of splendor 

Let great ones hie ; 
Through light more tender 

Our pathways lie. [lake, 

"While rouuil, from banks of brook or 
Our company blithe echoes make; 
And, as we lead 'em 

Sweet word or strain, 
Still back they send 'em, 

More sweet, again. 



CHILD'S SONG. FROM A MASQUE. 

I HAVE a garden of my own, 

Shining'with flow'rs of ev'ry hue; 
I loved it dearly while alone. 

But I shall love it more with you : 
And there the goldeu bees shall come, 

In summer-time at break of mom. 
And wake us with their busy hum 

Around the Siha's fragrant ihom. 

I have a fawn from Aden's land, 

On leafy buds and berries nursed ; 
And you shall feed him from your hand. 

Though he may start with fear at first. 
And I will lead you where he lies 

For shelter in the noontide heat ; 
And you may touch his sleeping eyes, 

And feel his little silv'ry feet. 



THE HALCYON HANGS O'ER 
OCEAN. 

The halcyon hangs o'er ocean, 
The sea-lark skims the brine ; 

This bright world's all in motion. 
No heart seems sad but mine. 

To walk through sun-bnght places. 
With heart all cold the while; 

To look in smiling faces, 

When -we no more can smile ; 

To feel, while earth and heaven 
Around thee shine with bliss, 

To thee no light is given, — 
Oh, what a doom is this I 

THE WORLD WAS HUSH'D. 

The world was hush'd, the moon above 

Sail'd through ether slowly, 
When, near the casement of my love. 

Thus 1 whispei-'d lowly, — 
"Awake, awake, how canst thou sleep? 

"The held I seek to-morrow 
"Is one where man hath fame to re^, 

" And woman gleans but sorrow." 



"Let battle's field be what it may," 

Thus spoke a voice replying, 
" Think not thy love, while thou'rt away, 

"Will here sit idly sighing. 
« If o — woman's soul, if not for fame, 

" For love can brave all danger!" 
Then forth from out the casement came 

A plumed and armed stranger. 

A stranger? No; 'twas she, the maid. 

Herself before me beaming. 
With casque array'd, and falchion blad« 

Beneath her girdle gleaming ! 
Close side by side, m freedom's fight, 

That blessed morning found us ; 
In Vict'ry's light we stood ere night, 

And Love, the morrow, crown'd us! 

THE TWO LOYES. 
Thkre are two Loves, the poet sings. 

Both born of Beauty at a birth : 
The one, akin to heaven, hath wmgs, 
The other, eai-thly, walks on earth. 
With this through bowers below we 
plav, [soar; 

With that through clouds above we 
With both, perchance, may lose oui 
Theu, tell me which, [way:— 
Tell me which shall we adore ? 

The one, when tempted down from air, 

At Pleasure's fount to lave his lip, 
Nor hngers long, nor oft wiU dare 

His wing within the wave to dip. 
While, plunging deep and long beneath, 

The other bathes him o'er and o'er 

In that sweet current, ev'n to death:- 

Then, tell me which, 

Tell me which shall we adore ? 

The boy of heav'n, even while he lies 

In Beauty's lap, recalls his home ; 
And, when 'most happy, inly sighs 

For something happier still to come. 
While he of earth, too fully bless'd 

With this bright world to dream ol 
more, 
Sees all his heav'n on Beauty's breast;— 
Then, tell me which, 

Tell me which shall we adore? 
The maid 'w^o heard the poet sing 

These twixle.^ires of earth and sky. 
And saw, Wijile ;)i!t. Inspired his string. 

The other glisten u m his eye,— 
To name the earthlier boy ashamed, 

To choose the other fondly loath, 
At length, all blushing, she exclaim'd,— 




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374 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



Thus said a Nightingale 
To his loved Rose : — 
" Though rich the pleasures 
" Of song's sweet measures^ 
"Vain were its melody, 
** Rose, without thee." 

Then from the green recess 

Of her night-bow'r, 
Beaming with bashfulness, 

Spoke the bright flow'r : — 
"^ Though mom should lend het 
" Its sunniest splendor 
" "What would the Rose be, 
" Unsung by thee ? " 

Thus still let Song attend 
Woman's bright way ; 

Thus still let woman lend 
Light to the lay. 

Like stars, through heaven's sea, 

Floating in harmony. 

Beauty shall glide along, 

Circled by Song. 



" Ask not which, [both. 

<' Oh, ask not which— we'll worship 

"Th' extremes of each thus taught to 
shun, [given, 

"With hearts and souls between them 
"When weary of this earth with one, 
" We'll with the other wing to heav- 
en." 
Thus pledged the maid her vow of bliss ; 
And while one Love wrote down the 
The other sealed it with a kiss ; [oath, 
And Heav'n look'd on, 
Heav'n look'd on, and hallow'd both. 

THE LEGEND OF PUCK THE 
FAIRY. 

WouLDST know what tricks, by the pale 

moonlight, 
Are play'd by me, the merry little Sprite, 
Who wing through air from the camp 

to the court, [sport; 

From king to clown, and of all make 
Singing, I am the Sprite 
Of the men-y midnight. 
Who laugh at weak mortals, and love 

the moonlight ? 

To a miser's bed, where he snoring slept 
And dreamt of his cash, I slyly crept; 
Chink, chink o'er his pillow like money 
I rang, [sprang. 

And he waked to catch— but away I 
Singing, I am the Sprite, <fec. 

I saw through the leaves, in a damsel's 
bower, [hour : 

She w9,s waiting her love at that starlight 

" Hist— hist !" quoth he, with an amor- 
ous sigh, [flew I, 

And she flew to the door, but away 
Singing, I am the Sprite, &g. 

While a bard sat inditing an ode to his 

love, [above. 

Like a pair of blue meteors I stared from 
And he swoon'd — for he thought 'twas 

the ghost, poor man ! 
Of his lady's eyes, while away I ran, 
Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. 

BEAUTY AND SONG. 

Down in yon summer vale, 
Where the rill flows, 

* On the Tower of tlie "Winds, at Athens, 
there is a conchshell placed in the hands of north wind," says Herodotus, in speakinff <x 
-See Stuarts Antiquities. " t'*-" ti-o TT^r><.^>^"-«>o^<, <'t,o„o,. hir.wa toUIi thom " 



WHEN THOU ART NIGH. 

When thou art nigh, it seems 

A new creation round ; 
The sun hath fairer beams, 

The lute a softer sound. 
Though thee alone I see, 

And hear alone thy sigh, 
'Tis light, 'tis song to me, 

'Tis all— when thou art nigh. 

When thou art nigh, no thought 

Of grief comes o'er my heart ; 
I only think — could aught 

But joy be where thou art? 
Life seems a waste of breath, 

When far from thee I sigh; 
And death— ay, even death 

Were sweet, if thou wert nigh. 



SONG OF A HYPERBOREAN. 

I COME from a land in the sun-biight 
Where golden gardens grow ; [deep, 
Where the winds of the north, becalm'd 
in sleep. 
Their conch-shells never blow.* 
Haste to that holy Isle with me^ 
Haste — haste ! 



Hyperboreans, "never blows with them." 



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BALLADS, SON-GS, ETC. 



375 



So near the track of the stars are we,* 

That oft, on night's pale beams. 
The distant sounds of their harmony 
Come to our ears, like dreams. 
Then, haste to that holy Isle with 
me, <fcc. <fec. 

The Moon, too, brings her world so 
nigh,t 
That when the night-seer looks 
To that shadowless orb, in a vernal sky, 
He can number its hills and brooks. 
Then, haste, <fec. <fec. 

To the Sun-god all oivr hearts and lyrest 

By day, by night, belong ; 
And the breath we draw from his living 

We give him back in song. [fires, 
Then, haste, <fec. &c. 

From us descends the maid who brings 

To Delos gifts divine ; 

And our wild bees lend their rainbow 

To glitter on Delphi's shrine. $ [wings 

Then, haste to that holy Isle with 

Haste— haste ! [me, 



THOTI BIDD'ST ME SIN^G. 

Thotj bidd'st me sing the lay I sung to 

thee [brow ; 

In other days, ere joy had left this 

But think, though still unchanged the 

notes may be, 

How diiFrent feels the heart that 

breathes them now ! 

The rose thou wear'st to-night is still the 

same [gay ; 

"We saw this morning on its stem so 

But, ah ! that dew of dawn, that breath 

which came [away. 

Like life, o'er all its leaves, hath pass'd 

Since first that music touch'd thy heart 
and mine, [have pass'd — 

How many a joy and pain o'er both 
The joy, a light too precious long to 
shine, [wayslast. 

The pain, a cloud whose shadows al- 
And though that lay would like the 
voice of home [now a sigh- 

Breathe o'er our ear, 'twould waken 
Ah ! not, as then, for fancied woes to 
come, 
But, sadder far, for real bliss gone by. 

* " Sub ipso siderum cardine jacent. '— PoM- 
pox. Mela. 
t " They can show the moon very near."— 

DiODOU. SiCUL. 



CUPID AEMED. 

Place the helm on thy brow, 
In thy hand take the spear; 
Thou art arm'd, Cupid, now, 
And thy battle-hour is near. 
March on ! march on ! thy shaft and bow 

"Were weak against such charms ; 
March on ! march on ! so proud a foe 
Scorns all but martial arms. 

See the darts in her eyes, 

Tipp'd with scorn, how they shine I 
Ev'ry shaft, as it flies. 

Mocking proudly at thine. 
March on ! march on ! thy feather'd darta 

Soft bosoms soon might move ; 
But ruder arms to ruder hearts 
Must teach what 'tis to love. 
Place the helm on thy brow ; 

In thy hand take the spear, — 
Thou art arm'd, Cupid, now. 

And thy battle-hour is near. 



EOUN"D THE WORLD GOES. 

Round the world goes, by day and nighty 

While with it also round go we ; 
And in the flight of one day's hght 

An image of all hfe's course we see. 
Round, round, while thus we go round. 

The best thing a man can do. 
Is to make it, at least, a merri/-go-round. 

By — sending the wine round too. 

Our first gay stage of life is when 

Youth, in its dawn, salutes the eye — • 
Season of bliss ! Oh, who wouldn't then 

Wish to crv, " Stop !" to earth and 
sky? " 
But, round, round, both boy and girl 

Are whisk'd through that sky of blue-, 
And much would their hearts enjoy the 
whirl, 

If— their heads didn't whui round too. 

N"ext, we enjoy our glorious noon, 

Thinking all life a life of light ; 
But shadows come on, 'tis evening soon. 

And, ere we can say, "How short !"— 
'tis night. 
Round, round, still all goes round, 

Ev'n while I'm thus singing to you ', 
And the best way to make it a merry' 
go-round. 

Is to — chorus my song round too. 

{Hecat»us tells us, that this Hyperborean 
island was dedicated to Apollo; ana most of 
the inhabitants were either priests or sonjfsteni. 

fj Pausan. 




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376 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



OH, DO 15"0T LOOK SO BRIGHT 
AXD BLEST. 

Oh, do not look so bright and blest, 

For stiU there comes a fear, 
Wben brow like thine looks happiest, 

That grief is then most near. 
There lurks a di'ead in all delight, 

A shadow near each ray. 
That warns us then to fear their flight, 

When most we wish their stay. 
Then look not thou so bright and blest, 

For ah i there comes a fear, 
When brow like thine looks happiest. 

That grief is then most near. 

Why is it thus that fairest things 

The soonest fleet and die ?— 
That when most light is on their wings, 

They're then but spread to fly ! 
And. sadder still, the pain will stay — 

The bliss no more appears ; 
As rainbows take their light away, 

And leave us but ttie tears ! 
Then look not thou so bright and blest, 

For ah ! there comes a fear, 
When brow like thine looks happiest, 

That grief is then most near. 

THE MUSICAL BOX. 

•* Look here," said Rose, with laughing 
eyes, 
" Within this box, by magic hid, 
* A tuneful Sprite imprison'd lies, 

" Who sings to me whene'er he's bid. 

' Though roving once his voice and 

wing, [long ; 

" He'U now lie stiU the whole day 

*" Tin thus I touch the magic spring— 

" Then hark, how sweet and bhthe 

his song !" (J synqihony.) 

'*Ah, Rose/ I cried, "the poet's lay 
" Must ne'er ev'n Beauty's slave be- 
come ; [stray, 
'' Through earth and air his song may 
" If ail the while his heart's at home. 
" And though in Freedom's air he dwell, 
" Nor bond nor chain his spirit knows, 
" Touch but the spring thou know'st so 
well, [flows !" 
" And — ^hark, how sweet the love-song 
(A symphony.) 

Thus pleaded I for Freedom's right ; 

But when young Beauty takes the field. 
And wise men seek defence in flight. 
The doom of poets is to yield. 



No more my heart th' enchantress braves, 
I'm now in Beauty's prison hid; 

The Sprite and I are fellow-slaves, 
And I, too, sing whene'er I'm bid. 



WHEN TO SAD MUSIC SILENT 
YOU LISTEN. 

When to sad Music silent you listen, 
And tears on those eyeUds tremble 
like dew, [they glisten 

Oh, then there dwells in those eyes as 
A sweet holy charm that mirth never 
knew. 
But when some lively strain resounding 
Lights up the sunshine of joy on that 
brow, [bounding 

Then the young reindeer o'er the hiUs 
Was ne'er in its mirth so graceful as 
thou. 

When on the skies at midnight thou 

gazest, [wear, 

A lustre so pure thy features then 

That, when to some star that bright eye 

thou raisest, [for there. 

We feel 'tis thy home thou'rt looking 

But when the word for the gay dance is 

given, [mirth, 

So buoyant thy spirit, so heartfelt thy 

Oh then we exclaim, "Ne'er leave earth 

for heaven, [of earth." 

" But linger still here, to make heaven 



THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 

Fly swift, my light gazelle, 

To her who now lies waking. 
To hear thy silver bell 

The midnight silence breaking. 
And, when thou com'st, with gladsome 

Beneath her lattice springing, [feet, 
Ah, well she'll know how sweet 

The words of love thou'rt bringing. 

Yet, no— not words, for they 

But half can tell love's feeling; 
Sweet flowers alone can say 

What passion fears revealing. 
A once-bright rose's wither'd leaf, 

A tow'ring lily broken, — 
Oh these may paint a grief 

No words could e'er have spoken. 

Not such, my gay gazelle, 
The wreath thou speedest over 

Yon moonhght dale, to tell 
My lady how I love her. 




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SONGS FROM THE GREEK AiTTHOLOGY. 



377 



And, what to her will sweeter be 
Than gems, the richest, rarest, 

Trom Truth's inimoi-tal tree* 
One fadeless leaf thou beaxest. 



THE DAWN" IS BREAKING O'ER 

US. 

The dawn is breaking o'er us, 

See, heaven hath caught its hue 1 
TTe've day's long light before us, 

What sport shall we pursue ? 
The hunt o'er hill and lea ? 
The sail o'er summer sea ? 
Oh let not hour so sweet 
Unwing'd by pleasure fleet. 
The dawn is breaking o'er us. 

See, heaven hath caught its hue ! 
"We've day's long light before us, 

What sport shall we pursue ? 

feut see, while we're deciding, 
What momJiig sport to play, 



The dial's hand is gliding. 

And mom hath pass'd away ! 
Ah, who'd have thought that noon 
Would o'er us steal so soon, — 
That mom's sweet hour of prime 
Would last so short a time 'i 
But come, we've day before us, 

Still heaven looks bright and blue ; 
Quick, quick, ere eve comes o'er us, 
What sport shall we pursue ? 

Alas ! why thus delaying? 

We're now at evening's hour ; 
Its farewell beam is playing 

O'er hiU and wave and bower. 
That light we thought would last, 
Behold, ev'n now, 'tis past ; 
And all our morning di'eams 
Have vanish'd with its beams! 
But come ! 'twere vain to borrow 

Sad lessons from this lay, 
For man will be to-morrow — 

Just what he's been to-day. 



SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 



HERB AT THY TOMB.f 

BY MELEAGEU. 

Here, at thy tomb, these tears I shed, 
Tears, which though vainly now thev 

Are all love hath to give the dead, [roll. 
And wept o'er thee with all love's 
soul ; — 

Wept in remembrance of that light, 

Which naught on earth, without thee, 

gives, [night, 

Hope of my heart! now quench'd in 

But dearer, dead, than aught that 

lives. 

Where is she? where the blooming bough 
That once my life's sole lustre made ? 

Tom off by death, 'tis with 'ring now, 
And all its flow'rs in dust are laid. 

* The tree, called in the East, Amrita, or the 
Immortal, 

t Aaicpua <rot Kai vepOe j5ia x^oi-os, HAioSwpa. 
Ap. BUUXCK. 



Oh earth ! that to thy matron breast 
Hast taken all those angel charms. 

Gently, I pray thee, let her rest, — 
Gently, as in a mother's arms. 

SALE OF CUPID.t 

BY MELEAGEU. 

Who'll buy a little boy ? Look, yon- 
der is he, [knee; 
Fast asleep, sly rogue, on his mother's 
So bold a young imp 'tisu't safe to keep, 
So I'U part with him now, while he's 
sound asleep. [curl'd, 
See his arch little nose, how sharp 'tis 
His wings, too, ev'n in sleep unfurl'd ; 
And those fingers, which still ever ready 
are found [wound. 
For mirth or for mischief, to tickle, oi 



IIwAeto-du), /cat ixarpot er' ev Ko\iroi<rt KaBevSav. 
Ap. Brunck. Analect. xcv. 




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MOOEE'S WORKS. 



He'll try with his tears your heart to be- 
guile, [the while ; 
But never you mind— he's laughing all 
For little he cares, so he has his own 
whim, [him. 
And weeping or laughing are all one to 
His eye is as keen as the lightning^s flash, 
His tongue like the red bolt quick and 
rash ; [mother 
And so savage is he, that his own dear 
Is scarce more safe in his hands than 
I another. 

In short, to sum up this darling's praise. 
He's a downright pest in all sorts of 
ways ; [employ, 

And if any one wants such an imp to 
He shall have a dead bargain of this lit- 
tle boy. [flow- 
But see, the boy wakes— his bright tears 
His eyes seem to ask could I sell him t 
oh no, [you be. 
Sweet child, no, no— though so naughty 
You shall live evermore with my Lesbia 
and me. 

TO WEAVE A GARLAND FOR THE 
ROSE.* 

BY PADL, THE SILENTIAUY. 

To weave a garland for the rose, [lier be. 

And think thus crowu'd 'twould love- 
Were far less vain tlian to suppose 

That silks and gems add grace to thee. 
Where is the pearl whose orient lustre 

Would not, beside thee, look less 

bright "> [ter 

What gold could match the glossy clus- 

Of those young ringlets full of light ? 

Bring from the land, where fresh it 
gleams. 
The bright hlue gem of India's mine, 
And see how soon, though bright its 
beams, 
'Twill pale before one glance of thine : 
Those lips, too, when their sounds have 
bless'd us 
With some divine, mellifluous air. 
Who would not say that Beauty's eestus 
Had let loose all its witch'ries there ?t 
Here, to this conqu'ring host of charms 
I now give up my spell-bound heart, 

■iSevea-at., ovTe <tv ire- 
Ap. Bkunck. xvii. 

J (cat i) ijLe\i<f)VpTOi exeivri 

Hdeot apixoviri, (ce<rTos e(J)U na<J>trjs. 
J AtjBvyeL K\eo<i>avTi.i. 

Ap. Bronck. xxviii. 



* OvT€ ftoBiav <TTe<^aviav i 



N"or blush to yield ev'n Reason's arms, 
When thou her bright-eyed conqu'rot 
art. 

Thus to the wind aU fears are given; 
Henceforth those eyes alone I see. 

Where Hope, as in her own blue heaven, 
Sits beck'ning me to bliss and thee ! 



WHY DOES SHE SO LONG DE- 
LAY ?t 

BY PAUL, THE 6ILENTIARY. 

Why does she so long delay ? 
Night is waning fast away; 
Thrice have I my lamp renew'd^ 
Watching here in sohtude. 
Where can she so long delay ? 
Where, so long delay '? 

Vainly now have two lamps shone; 
See, the third is nearly gone:§ 
Oh that Love would, like the ray 
Of that weary lamp, decay ! 
But no, alas, it bums still on, 
StUl, stUl burns on. 

Gods, how oft the traitress dear 
Swore, by Venus, she'd be here 1 
But to one so false as she 
What is man or deity ? 
Neither doth this proud one fearyr— 
No, neither doth she fear. 

TWIN'ST THOU WITH LOFTY 
WREATH THY BROWf|| 

BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 

Twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy 
brow? 

Such glory then thy beauty sheds, 
I almost think, while awed I bow, 

'Tis Rhea's self before me treads. 
Be what thou wilt,— this heart 
Adores whate'er thou art ! 

Dost thou thy loosen'd ringlets leave. 
Like sunny waves to wander free? 

Then, such a chain of charms they 
weave. 
As draws my inmost soul from me. 

Do what thou wilt,— I must 

Be charm'd by all thou dost ! 

Ev'n when, enwrapp'd in silv'ry veils, t 
Those sunny locks elude the sight,— 

5 b Be TpiTos opx"at TjSc 

II KcKpvi^aAoi <r<;>iv70V(ri reijK Tpt^a; 

Ap. Brunck. xxxiv 
% ApyeiTois oOovrja-i Karqopa. ^o(npv\a Kevdm. 




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SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 



379 



Oh, not ev'n then their glory fails 

To haunt me with its unseen Mght. 
Change as thy beauty may, 
It charms in every way. 

For, thee the Graces stiU attend, 
Presiding o'er each new attire, 

And lending ev'ry dart they send 
Some new, peculiar touch of fire. 

Be what thou wilt,— this heart 

Adores whate'er thou art 1 



"WHEN THE SAD WORD.* 

BY PAUL, THE 6ILENTIARY. 

"When the sad word, " Adieu," from my 
lip is nigh falling, 
And with it, Hope passes away, 
Ere the tongue hath half breathed it, my 
fond heart recalling 
That fatal farewell, bids me stay. 
For oh ! 'tis a penance so weary 

One hour from thy presence to be. 
That death to this soul were less dreary. 
Less dark than long absence from 
thee. 

Thy beauty, lil^e Day, o'er the dull world 
breakmg, 
Brings life to the heart it shines o'er. 
And, in mine, a new feeling of happiness 
waking, 
Made light what was darkness befcre. 
But mute is the Day's sunny glory. 
While thine hath a voice, t on whose 
breath, 
More sweetthan the Syren's s-veet story,| 
My hopes hang, through life and 
thi-ough death ! 

MY MOPS A IS LITTLE. $ 

BY PHIL0DEMU8. 

Mt Mopsa is little, my Mopsa is brown. 
But her cheek is as smooth as the 
peach's soft down, 
And, for blushing, no rose can come 
near her ; [my heart. 

In short, she has woven such nets round 
That I ne'er from my dear Little Mopsa 
can part, — 
Unless 1 can find one that's dearer. 

A p. Ukunck. xxxix. 

tH/nari yap (reo <i>eyyoi bfioiiov. aWa to fitj' irov 
A(|)©oyyoi'. 

J 2« S' eiaoi Kai ro Xa\riii.a <^ep<cf 
Keivo, TO Xeipi]vit)V yKvKvepioTtpov. 



Her voice hath a music that dwells on 

the ear, [so clear. 

And her eye from its orb gives a dayhght 

That I'm dazzled whenever I meet 

her; 

Her ringlets, so curly, are Cupid's own 

net. 
And her lips, oh their sweetness I ne'er 
shall forget— 
Till I light upon Mps that are sweeter. 

But 'tis not her beauty that charms me 

alone, 
'Tis her mind, 'tis that language whose 

eloquent tone 
From the depths of the grave could 

revive one : 
In short, here I swear, that if death 

were her doom, 
I would instantly jom my dead love in 

the tomb— 
Unless I could meet "with a live one. 



STILL, LIKE DEW IN SILENCE 
FALLING.ll 



BY WELEAGER. 



Still, like dew in silence falling, 
Drops for thee the nightly tear ; 

Still that voice the past recalling, 

Dwells, like echo, on my ear, 

Still, still ! 

Day and night the spell hangs o'er me, 

Here forever fix'd thou art ; 
As thy form first shone before me, 

So 'tis graven on this heart, 
Deep, deep! 

Love, oh Love, whose bitter sweetness. 
Dooms me to this lasting pain. 

Thou who cam'st with so much fleet 
Why so slow to go again ?11 [nesBi 
Why? why? 



UP, SAILOR BOY, 'TIS DAY. 

Up, sailor boy, 'tis day ! 

The west wind blowing. 

The spiing tide flowing, 
Summon thee hence away. 

§ MticiCT) leat fitXaveva-a ifuXivviov. 

Ap. Brunck. X 
II Aiei ^01 Sucet fuev ef ova<ri.v t)xo? Epioro?. 

Ap. Brunck. liii 

IT n irravoi, /nij (eat itot' e<JiirTao-9oi fiev, Epoires 
OiSar', aiTOTTTrivai. &' ov5' bcrov KTXVTt. 



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MOORE'S "^ORKS. 



Ddstthou not hear yon soaring swallow 
sing ? [to say 

Chirp, chirp,— in every note he seem'd 
'Tis Spring, 'tis Spring. 
Up, boy, away, — 
Who'd stay on land to-day ? 

The very flowers 

Would from their bowers 
Delight to wing away ! 

Leave languid youths to pine 

On silken pUlows, 

But be the billows 
Of the great deep thine. 
Hark, to the sail the breeze sings, "Let 
us fly ;" [breeze, 

While soft the sail, replying to the 
Says, with a yielding sigh, 
" Tes, where you please." 
Up, boy ! the wind, the ray, 

The blue sky o'er thee, 

The deep before thee, 
All cry aloud, " Away 1" 



m MYRTLE WREATHS. 

BY ALC^US. 

In myrtle wreaths my votive sword I'll 
cover, [blow 

Like them of old whose one immortai 

Struck off the galling fetters that hung 

over [tyrant low. 

Their own bright land, and laid her 
Tes, loved Hai-mudius, thou'rt undying ; 

Still midst the brave and free, 
In isles, o'er ocean lying, 

Thy home shall ever be. 

In myrtle leaves my sword shall hide its 
lightning, [ous blade 

Like his, the youth, whose ever-glori- 
Leap'd forth like flame, the midnight 
banquet bright'ning, 

And in the dust a despot victim laid. 
Blest youths, how bright in Freedom's 

Tour wedded names shall be ; [storr 
A tyrant's death your glory. 

Your meed, a nation free t 



UNPUBLISHED SONGS, 

ETC. 



ASK ITOT IF STILL T LOVE. 

Ask not if still I love, 

Too plain these eyes have told thee ; 
Too well their tearg must prove 

How near and dear I hold thee. 
If, where the brightest shtae, 
To see no form but thine, 
To feel that earth can show 

No bliss above thee, — 
If this be love, then know 

That thus, that thus, I lave thee. 

'Tis not in pleasure's idle hour 

That thou canst know afl'ection's pow'r ; 

No, try its strength in grief or pam ; 

Attempt, as now, its bends to sever. 
Thou'lt find true love's a chain 

That binds forever I 



DEAE? TES. 

Dear ? yes, though mine no mor» 
Ev'n this but makes thee dear**. 

And love, since hope is o'er, 
But draws thee nearer. 

Change as thou wilt to me, 
The same thy charm must be ? 
New loves may come to wear* 

Their witch'ry o'er thee, 
Tet still, though false, l^Eere 

That I adore theO;, yes, stlil arlve tr-.ee. 
Think'st thou that atlght but death c^uld 
A tie not falsehood's seif can renct ? [end 
Ko, when alone, i'ar ofl I die, 

No more to s,ec, no more care2S thee, 
Ev'n then, ray life's last sigh [bloss thee. 

Shall bfc to bless thee, yes, still to 




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UJfPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC. 



381 



tj:n'bind thee, love. 

Unbind thee, love, iiubiad thee, love. 

From those dark ties unbind thee ; 
Though fairest hand the chain hath wove. 

Too long itd links have twined thee. 
Away from earth ! —thy wings were made 

In yon mid-aky to hover, 
With earth beneath their do ve-lilio shade, 

And heav'u all radiant over. 

Awake thee, boy, awake thee, boy, 

Too long thy soul is sleeping ; 
And thou may'st from this minute's joy 

"VTakc to eternal weeping. 
Oh, think, this world is not for thee ; 

Though hard its links to sever; [be, 
Though sweet and bright and dear they 

Break, or thou'rt lost forever. 



THBEE'S SOMETHIJTG STRAJfGE. 
(A BoFFO Song.) 

There's something strange, I know not 

Come o'er me, [what. 

Some phantom I've forever got 

Before me. 
I look on high, and in the sky 

'Tis shining; 
On earth, its light with all things bright 

Seems twining. 
3n vain I try this goblm's spells 

To sever ; 
Go where I will, it round me dwells 

Forever. 

And then what tricks by day and night 

It plays me ; 
In ev'ry shape the wicked sprite 

Waylays me. 
Sometimes like two bright eyes of blue 

'Tis glancing ; 
Sometimes like feet, in slippers neat, 

Comes dancing.* 
By whispers round of every sort 

I'm taimted. 
Never was mortal man, in short, 

So hamited. 



NOT FROM THEE. 
Not from thee the wound should come, 

No, not from thee. 
I care not what, or whence, my doom. 

So not from thee ! 
Cold triumph ! first to make 

This heart thy o^vu ; 
And then the mirror break 



Where fix'd thou shin'st alone. 

Not from thee the wound should come. 

Oh, net from thee. 
I care not what, or whence, my doona, 

So not from thee. 

Tet no — my lips that wish recall; 

From thee, from thee— 
If ruin o'er this head must fall, 

'Twill welcome be. 
Here to the blade I bare 

This faithful heart ; 
Wound deep— thou'lt find that there. 

In every pulse thou art. 
Yes, from thee I'll bear it all : 

If ruin be 
The doom that o'er this heart must fall, 

'Twere sweet from thee. 



GUESS, GUESS. 

I LOVE a maid, a mystic maid. 

Whose fonn no eyes but mine can see ; 
She comes in light, she comes in shade, 

And beautiful in both is she. 
Her shape in dreams I oft behold, 

And oft she whispers in my ear 
Such words as when to others told. 

Awake the sigh, or wring the tear;— 
Then guess, guess, who she. 
The lady of my love, may be. 

I find the lustre of her brow. 

Come o'er me in my darkest waya' 
Ajid feel as if her voice, ev'n now. 

Were echoing far off my lays. 
There is no scene of joy or wo [bright; 

But she doth gild with influenca 
And shed o'er all so rich a glow. 

As makes ev'n tears seem full of light: 
Then guess, guess, who she, 
The lady of my love, may bo. 



WHEN LOYE, WHO EULED. 

When Love, who ruled as Admiral o'ei 
His rosy mother's isles of light. 

Was cruising off the Paphian shore, 
A sail at sunset hove in sight. 

" A chase, a chase ! my Cupids all," 

Said Love, the little Admhal. 

Aloft the winged sailors sprung. 
And, swarming up the masts like bees 

The snow-white sails expanding flung. 
Like broad magnolias to the breeze. 

"Yo ho, yo ho, my Cupids all!" 

Said Love, the little A.drairaL 



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382 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The chase was o'er— the bark was 

The winged crew her freight explored ; 
And found 'twas just as Love had 
thought, 

For all was contraband aboard. 
"A prize, a pri^e, my Cupids alll" 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Safe stow'd in many a package there, 
And labell'd slyly o'er, as " Glass," 

"Were lots of all th' illegal ware. 

Love's Custom- House forbids to pass. 

" O'erhaul, o'erhaul, my Cupids all," 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

False cm'ls they found, of every hue, 
AYith rosy blushes ready made ; 

And teeth of ivory, good as new. 
For veterans in the smiling trade. 

" Ho ho, ho ho, my Cupids all," 

Said Love, the little Admnal. 

Mock sighs, too,— kept in bags for use. 
Like breezes bought of Lapland 

Lay ready here to be let loose, [seers, — 
"When wanted, in young spinsters'ears. 

"Uaha, ha ha, my Cupids all," 

Said Love, the little Admual. 

False papers next on bof^rd were found, 
Sham invoices of flaD'\os and darts. 

Professedly for Paphoi» boimd, 

But meant for Hymen's golden marts. 

" For shame, for shame, my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Is^ay, stiU to every fraud awake, 
Those pirates ail Love's signals knew. 

And hoisted oft his flag, to make 
Rich wards and heu-esses Iring-to.* 

" A foe, a foe, my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admii'al. 

"This must not be," the boy exclaims, 
" In vain I rule the Paphian seas, 

"If Love's and Beauty's sovereign 
names 
"Are lent to cover frauds like these. 

" Prepare, prepare, my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the Httle Admii-al. 

Each Cupid stood with lighted match — 
A broadside stmck the smuggling foe. 

And swept the whole uiihallow'd batch 
Of falsehood to the depths below. 

"Huzza, huzza! my Cupids all!" 

Said Love, the little AdmiriJ, 

" "To Bring-to, to check the course of a 

\M'Ci."—Fj.lconer. 



STILL THOU FLIEST. 

Still thou fliest, and still I woo thee, 

Lovely phantom, — all in vaiu ; 
Restless ever, my thoughts pm-suc thee 

Fleeting ever, thou mock'sttheirpai;i. 
Such doom, of old, that youth betided, 

■Who woo'd, he thought, some angel's 

charms, [ed, — 

But found a cloud that from him glicl. 

As thou dost from these outstretch'd 
arms. 

Scarce I've said, " How fair thou shin- 

Ere thy light hath vauish'd by ; [est," 
And 'tis when thou look'st divinest 

Thou art still more sure to fly. 
Ev'n as the lightning, that, dividing 

The clouds of night, saith, " Look on 
me," 
Then flits again, its spender hiding, — 

Ev'u such the gUmpse I catch of thee. 

THEN" FIRST FROM LOYE. 

Then first from Love, in JSTaturea 
bow'rs. 

Did Painting learn her fairy skill, 
And cull the hues of loveUest flow'rs. 

To picture woman lovelier still. 
For vain was every radiant hue. 

Till Passion lent a soul to art. 
And taught the painter, ere he drew, 

To fix the model in his heart. 

Thus smooth his toil awhile went on. 

Till, lo, one touch his art defies ; 
The brow, the lip, the blushes shone. 

But who could dai-e to paint those 
eyes ? 
'Twas all in vain the painter strove j 

So turning to that boy divine, 
" Here take," he said, " the pencil. Love, 

** if hand should paint sucli eyes, but 
thine." 



HUSH, SWEET LUTE. 

HtrsH, sweet Lute, thy songs remindma 

Of past joys, now turn'd to pain ; 
Of ties that long have ceased to biud me, 

But whose bmniing marks remain- 
In each tone, some echo falleth 

On my ear of joys gone by ; 
Ev'ry note some dream recaUeth 

Of bright hopes but bom to die. 

Yet, sweet Lute, though pain it bring vai^ 
Once more let thy numbers thrill j 






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TJl^'PUBLISHBD SOIfGS, ETC. 



383 



rhough death were in the strain they 
I must woo its anguish still, [sing me, 

Since no time can e'er recover 

Love's sweet light when once 'tis set, — 

Better to weep such pleasures over. 
Than smile o'er any left us yet. 



BRIGHT MOOl^. 

Bright moon, that high in heav'ir art 
shining, [night 

All smiles, as if within thy bower to- 
9^hy own Endymion lay reclining, 
And thou wouldst wake him with a 
kiss of Hght ! — 
By all the bliss thy beam discovers, 
By all those visions far too bright for 
day, [lovers 

"Which dreaming bards and waking 
Behold, this night, beneath thy lin- 
g'ring ray,— 

I pray thee, queen of that bright heaven, 
Quench not to-night thy love-lamp in 
the sea, 
Till Anthe, in this bow'r, hath given 
Beneath thy beam, her long-vow'd 
kis9 to me. 
Guide hither, guide her steps benighted, 
Ere thou, sweet moon, thy bashful 
crescent hide ; 
Let Love but in this bow'r be lighted, 
Then shroud in darkness all the world 
beside. 



LOKG YEARS HAVE PASS'D. 

Long years have pass'd, old friend, 
since we 

First met in life's young day ; 
And friends long loved by thee and me. 

Since then have di-opp'd away; — 
But enough remain to cheer us on. 

And sweeten, when thus we're met, 
The glass we fill to the many gone. 

And the few who're left us yet. 

Our locks, old friend, now thinly grow, 

And some hang white and chill ; 
While some, like flow'rs 'mid Autumn's 

Retain youth's color still. [snow. 

And so, in our hearts, though one by one 

Youth's sunny hopes have set, 
Thank heav'n, not all their hght is 
gone, — 

"We've some to cheer ns yet. 

Then here's to thee, old friend, and long 
May thou and I thus meet^ 



To brighten stiU with wine and song 

This short life, e'er it fleet. 
And still as death comes stealing on. 

Let's never, old friend, forget, 
Ev'n while we sigh o'er blessings gone, 

How many are left us yet. 

DREAMING FOREYER. 

Dreaming forever, vainly dreaming. 

Life to the last pursues its flight; 
Day hath its visions fairly beaming, 

But false as those of night. 
The one illusion, the other real, [last ; 

But both the same brief dreams at 
And when we grasp the bliss ideal, 

Soon as it shines, 'tis past. 

Here, then, by this dim lake reposing. 
Calmly I'll watch, while light and 
gloom 

Flit o'er its face till night is closing- 
Emblem of life's short doom ! 

But though, by turns,, thus dark and 
shining, 
'Tis stUl unlike man's changeful day, 

"WTiose light returns not, once declining, 
"Whose cloud, once come, will stay. 



THOUGH LIGHTLY SOUKDS THE 

SOI^'G I SING. 

A Song of the Alps. 

Though lightly sounds the song I sing 

to thee, [be. 

Though hke the lark's its soaring music 

Thou'lt find ev'n here some mouruful 

note that tells [dwells. 

How near such April joy to wee]iing 

'Tis 'mong the gayest scenes that ott'n- 

est steal [love to feel ; 

Those sadd'ning thoughts we fear, yet 

And music never half so sweet appears, 

As when her mirth forgets itself ia tears. 

Then say not thou this Alpine song is 
gay — [mountain-lay, 

It comes from hearts that, hke their 
Mix jov with pain, and oft when pleas- 
ure's breath [beneath. 
Most warms the surface, feel most sad 
The very beam in which the suow- 
wreath wears [tears, — 
Its gayest smile is that which wins its 
And passion's pow'r can never lend the 
glow [of wo. 
Which wakens bliss without some toucli 



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384 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



THE EUSSIAIf LOVER. 

Fleetly o'er the moonlight snows 

Speed we to my lady's bow'r ; 
Swift our sledge as lightning goes, 

ISTor shall stop till morning's hoirr. 
Bright, my steed, the northern star 

Lights us from yon jewell'd skies ; 
But, to greet us, brighter far, 

Mom shaU bring my lady's eyes. 

Lovers, lull'd in sunny bow'rs, 

Sleeping oiit their dream of time, 
Know not half the bliss that's ours, 



In this snowy, icy clime. 
Like yon star that livelier gleams 

Prom the frosty heavens around. 
Love himself the keener beams 

When with si^ows of coyness crown'i 

Fleet then on, my merry steed. 

Bound, my sledge, o'er hill and dale;— 
What can match a lover's speed ? 

See, 'tis daylight, breaking pale ! 
Brightly hath the northern star 

Lit us from j'on radiant skies , 
But, liehold, how brighter far 

Yonder shine my lady's ey»8 1 



LALLA ROOKH 



TO 

SAMUEL EOGEES, ESQ. 

IBIB EASTERN ROMAXCK 18 JN8CK1BED, 

BT HIS V«RY GKATEFDL AND AFFKCTIONATE FEIEKD, 

THOMAS MOORE. 



Majf 19, 1817. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



In the eleventh year of the reign of 
Aurungzebe, Abdalla, King of the Less- 
er Bucharia, a lineal descendant from 
the Great Zingis, having abdicated the 
throne in favor of his son, set out on a 
pilgrimage to the Shrine of the Prophet; 
and, passing into India through the de- 
lightful valley of Cashmere, rested for a 
short time at Delhi on his way. He was 
entertained by Aurungzebe in a style of 

* These particulars of the visit of the King 
of Bucharia to Aurungzebeare found in Dow's 
History of Hindostan, vol. ii. p. 392. 

t Tulip cheek. 

{ The mistress of Mejnoun, upon whose stoiy 
so many Komances ia all the languages of the 
East are founded. 



magnificent hospitality, worthy alike of 
the visiter and the host, and was after- 
wards escorted with the same splendor 
to Surat, where he embarked for Ara- 
bia.* During the stay of the Royal Pil- 
giim at Delhi, a mamage was agreed 
upon between the Prince, his son, aud 
the youngest daughter of the Emperor, 
Lalla Rookh ;t — a Princess described 
by the poets of her time as more beauti- 
ful than Leila, t Shirrne,§ Dewilde,|| or 
any of those heroines whose names aud 
loves embellish the songs of Persia and 

§ For the loves of this celebrated beauty 
■with Khosrou and with Ferhad, see X)'irfjbetot, 
Gibbon, Oriental Collections, &c. 

II " The history of the loves of Dewilde and 
Chizor, the son of the Emperor Alia, is writ- 
ten in an elegant poem, by tha noble Chuser*-' 
^-■i^eriskta. 




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LALLA ROOKH. 



ssn 



Hindostan. It was intended that the 
nuptials should be celebrated at Cash- 
mere ; where the young King, as soon 
as the cares of empire would permit, 
was to meet, for the first time, his love- 
ly bride, and after a few months' repose 
in that enchanting valley, conduct her 
over the snowy hills into Bucharia. 

The day of Lalla Rookh's departure 
from Delhi was as splendid as sunshine 
and pageantry could maiie it. The ba- 
zaars and baths were all covered with 
the richest tapestry; hundreds of gilded 
barges upon the Jumna floated with 
their banners shining in the water; while 
through the streets groups of beautiful 
children went strewing the most delicious 
flowers around, as in that Persian festival 
called the Scattering of the Roses ;* till 
every part of the city was as fragrant as if 
a caravan of musk from Khoten had 
passed through it. The Princess, having 
taken leave of her kind father, who at 
parting hung a cornelian of Yemen round 
her neck, on which was inscribed averse 
from the Koran, and having sent a con- 
sideral)le present to the Fakirs, who kept 
up the Perpetual Lamp in her sister's 
tomb, meekly ascended the palankeen 
prepared for her ; and, while Aurung- 
zebe stood to take a last look from his 
balcony, the procession moved slowly on 
the road to Lahore. 

Seldom had the Eastern world seen a 
cavalcade so superb. From the gardens 
in the suburbs to the Imperial palace, it 
was one unbroken line of^ splendor. The 

* Gul Reazee. 

t "One mark of honor or knighthood be- 
Btoweil by the Emperor is the permission to 
wear a small kettle-drum at the oows of their 
saikllos, which at first was invented for the 
trainiuur of hawks, and to call them to the 
lure, and is worn in the field by all sportsmen 
to that end." — Fryer's Travels. 

'' Those on whom the King has conferred the 
privilege must wear an ornament of jewels on 
the right side of the turban, surmounted by a 
high phimoofthe feathers of a kind of egret. 
This bird is found only in Cashmere, and the 
feathers are carefully collected for the King, 
who hi^stows them on his nobles."' — Elphin- 
stone'n Account of Caubul. 

I ■ Khedar Khan, the Khakan, or King of 
Turquestan, beyond the Gihon (at the cna of 
tlie eleventh century,) whenever he appeared 
abroad was preceded by seven hundred horse- 
men with silver battle-axes, and was followed 
by an equal number bearing maces of gold 
He was j 



great patron of poetry, and it was he 
WHO used to preside at public exercises of 
genius, with four basins of gold and silver by 



gallant appearance of the Rajahs and 
Mogul lords, distinguished by those in- 
signia of the Emperor's favor,t the feath- 
en of the egret of Cashmere in their tur- 
bans, and the small silver-rimmed kettle- 
drums at the bows of their saddles ;— the 
costly armor of their cavaMers, who vied, 
on this occasion, with the guards of the 
great Keder Khan,|: in the brightness of 
their silver battle-axes and the massi- 
ness of their maces of gold ;— the glitter 
ing of the gilt pine-apples $ on the tops 
of the palankeens ;— the embroidered 
trappings of the elephants, bearing on 
their backs small tuiTcts, in the shape 
of Mttle antique temples, within which 
the Ladies of Lalla Rookh lay as it 
were enshrined ;~the rose-colored veils 
of the Princess's own sumptuous litter, || 
at the front of which a fair young female 
slave sat fanning her through the cur- 
tains, with feathers of the Argus pheas- 
ant's wing;ir — and the lovely troop of 
Tartarian and Cashmerian maids of hon- 
or, whom the young King had sent to 
accompany his bride, and who rode on 
each side of the litter, upon small Ara- 
bian horses ;— all was brilliant, tasteful, 
and magnificent, and pleased even the 
critical and fastidious Fa dl a deen. Great 
Nazir or Chaml)erlain of the Haram, who 
was borne in his palankeen immediately 
after the Princess, and considered him- 
self not the least important personage ol 
the pageant. 

Fadladeen was a judge of every- 
thing, — from the pencilling of a Circas- 

him to distribute amon^ the poets who ex- 
celled." — Richardson's Dissertation prefixed to 
his Dictionary. 

^ "The kubdeli, a large golden knob, gen- 
erally in the shape of a pineapple, on the top of 
the canopy over the litter or palanquin." — 
Scott's Notes on the Bahardanush. 

II In the Poem of Zohair, in the Moallakat, 
there is the following lively description of 
" a company of maidens seated on camels." 

" They are mounttd in carriages covered 
with costly awnings, and with rose-colored 
veils, the linings of which have the hue of crim- 
son Andem-wood. 

" When they ascend from the bosom of tlie 
vale, they sit forward on the saddle-cloth, 
with every mark of a volup'^uons gayety. 

" Now, when tney have reached the brink 
of yon blue-gushing rivulet, they fix the poles 
of their tents like the Arab with 'a settled man- 
sion." 

H See Bernier's description of the attendarte 
on Rauchanara-Begum, m Ler progress to 
Cashmere 




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•6S& 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



sian's eyelids to the deepest questions of 
science and literature ; from the mixture 
of a conserve of rose-leaves to the com- 
position of an epic poem : and such in- 
fluence had his opinion upon the various 
tastes of the day, that all the cooks and 
poets of Delhi stood in awe of him. His 
political conduct and opinions were 
founded upon that line of Sadi, — 
"Should the Prince at noonday say, It 
Is night, declare that you behold the 
moon and stars." — And his zeal for re- 
hgion, of which Aurungzebe was a mu- 
nificent protector,* was about as disin- 
terested as that of the goldsmith who 
fell in love with the diamond eyes of the 
idol of Jaghemaut.t 

During the fii-st dayr of their journey, 
Lalla Rookh, who had passed all her 
life within the shadow of the Royal Gar- 
dens of Delhi, t found enough in the 
beauty of the scenery through which 
they passed to interest her mind, and de- 
light her imagination ; and when at 
evening, or in the heat of the day, they 
turned off from the high road to those 
retired and romantic places which had 
been selected for her encampments, — 
sometimes on the banks of a small rivu- 
let, as clear as the waters of the Lake of 
Pearl ; § sometimes under the sacred 

* This hypocritical Emperor ■would have 
made a worthy associate of certain Holy 
Leagues.— 'He held the cloak of relif,'ioh 
(savs Dow) between his actions and the vuly;ar : 
and impiously thanked the Divinity foi- a suc- 
cess which he owed to his own wickedness. 
When he was murdering and persecuting his 
n-others and their families, he was buildiu}^ a 
naeniticent mosque at Delhi, as an oiFcriiig to 
3roa for his assistance to him in the civil wars. 
Ee acted as high priest at the consecration of 
ihis temple ; and made a practice of attend- 
ng divine service there, in the humble dress 
of a Fakeer. But when he lifted one hand to 
the Divinity, he, with the other, signed war- 
rants for the assassination of his relations." — 
History of Sindostan. vol. iii. p. 335. See 
also the curious letter of Aurungzebe, given in 
the Oriental Collections, vol. i. p. 320. 

t"The idol at Jaghernat has two fine dia- 
monds for eyes. No goldsmith is suffered to 
enter the Pagoda, one having stole one of these 
eyes, being locked up all night with the Idol." 
— Tavernier. 

X See a description of these royal Gardens 
in " An Account of the present state of Delhi, 
by Lieut. W. Franklin. '—Asiat. Jiesearc/j, vol. 
iv. p. 417. 

§• "In the neighborhood is Notte Gill, or the 
Lake of Pearl, which receives this name from 
its pellucid water."— >'«n?ia?i<'s Hindostan. 

" >,'aSir Jung encamped in the viciintyof the 



shade of a Banyan tree, from which the 
view opened upon a glade covered with 
antelopes ; and often in those hidden, 
embowered spots, described by one from 
the Isles of the "West,|| as "places of 
melancholy, delight, and safety, where 
all the company around was wild pea- 
cocks and turtle-doves ; "—she felt a 
charm in these scenes, so lovely and so 
new to her, which, for a time, made her 
indilJ'erent to every other amusement. 
But Lalla Rookh was young, and the 
young love variety ; nor could the con- 
versation of her Ladies and the Great 
Chamberlain, Fadladeen, (the only 
persons, of course, admitted to her pa- 
vilion, ) sufficiently enliven those many 
vacant hours, which were devoted neither 
to the pillow nor the palankeen. There 
was a little Persian slave who sung 
sweetly to the Vina, and who, now and 
then, lulled the Princess to sleep with 
the ancient ditties of her country, about 
the loves of "Wamak and Ezra, II the 
fair-haired Zal and his mistress Rodah- 
ver ;** not forgetting the combat of Rus- 
tam with the tenible White Demon.tf 
A t other times she was amused by those 
graceful daucing-gnls of Delhi, who had 
been permitted by the Bramins of the 
Great Pagoda to attend her, much to the 

Lake of Tonoor, amused himself with sailing 
on that clear and beautiful vater, and gave it 
the fanciful name of Motee Talah, ' the Lake 
of Pearls,' which it still retains."— TTtto's 
South of India. 

II Sir Thomas Roe, Ambassador from James 
I. to .Jehanguire. 

t " The romance "Wemakweazra, written in 
Persian verse, which contains the loves of 
Wamak and Ezra, two celebrated lovers who 
lived before the time of Mahomet."— iV^oie on 
the Oriental Tales. 

** Their amour is recounted in the Shah- 
NamSh of Ferdousi ; and there is much beauty 
in the passage which describes the slaves of 
Uodahver sitting on the bank of the river an(', 
throwing flowers into the stream, in order to 
draw the attention of the young Hero who is 
encamped on the opposite side.— See Cham- 
pinn's translation. 

ft Kustam is the Hercules of the Persians. 
For the particulars of his victory over the 
Sepeed Deeve, or White Demon, see Oriental 
Collections, vol. ii. p. 45. — Near the city ot 
Shirauz is an immense quadrangular monu- 
ment, in commemoration of tliis combat, called 
the Kelaat-i-Deev Sepeed, or Castle of the 
White (riant, which Father Angelo, in hi?^ 
Gazophilacinm Persicum, p. 127, declares to 
have been the most memorable monument vf 
anticjuity which he had seen in Persia.— Se8 
Oiiseley's Persian Miscellanies. 



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LALLA ROOKH. 



387 



horror of the good Mussulman Fadla- 
DEKN, -who could see nothing graceful or 
agreealjle in idolaters, and to whom the 
very tmkliug of their golden anklets* 
was an abomination. 

But these and many other diversions 
were repeated till they lost all their 
charm, and the nights and noondays 
were beginning to move heavily, when, 
at length, it was recollected that, among 
the attendants sent by the bridegroom, 
was a young poet of Cashmere, much 
celebrated throughout the Valley for his 
manner of reciting the Stories of the 
East, on whom his Eoyal Master had 
conferred the privilege of being admitted 
to the pavilion of the Princess, that he 
might help to beguile the tediousness of 
the journey by some of his most agree- 
able recitals. At the mention of a poet, 
FADLADEE^f elevated his critical eye- 
brows, and, having refreshed his facul- 
ties with a dose of that delicious opium t 
which is distilled from the black poppy 
of the Thebais, gave orders lor the min- 
strel to be forthwith introduced mto the 
presence. 

The Princess, who had once in her Ufe 
seen a poet from behind the screens of 
gauze in her Father's hall, and had con- 
ceived from that specimen no very favor- 
able ideas of the Caste, expected but lit- 
tle in this new exhibition to interest her ; 
—she felt inclined, however, to alter her 
opinion on the very first appearance of 
Feramokz. He was a youth about 
Lalla Kookh's own age, and graceful 
as that idol of women, Crishna,; -such 
as he appears to their young imagina- 
tions, heroic, beautiful, breathing music 
from his very eyes, and exalting the re- 

' "The women of tlie Idol, or dancing-girls 
of tlio Paffoda, have little golden bells fastened 
to tlieir teet, the soft harmonious tinkling of 
winch vibrates in unison with the exquisite 
melody of their voices." — Maurice's Indian 
Antiquities. 

"The Arabian courtesans, like the Indian 
women, have little golden bells fastened round 
their legs, neck and elbows, to the sound of 
■which they dance before the King. The Ara- 
bian princesses wear golden rings on their fin- 
gers, to which little bells are suspended, as 
well as in the llowiug tresses of their hair, that 
their superior rank may be known, and they 
themselves receive in passing the homage due 
to them." — See Cahnet's Dictionary, art Bells. 

I _'■ Abou-Tige. ville do la Thebaide, oil il 
croit beaucoup do puvot noir, dont se fait le 
meilleur o^ium."—I>'2Ierbelot. 



ligion of his worshippers into love. Hi3 
dress was simple, yet not without some 
marks of costliness ; and the Ladies of 
the Princess were not long in discover- 
ing that the cloth, which enchcled his 
high Tartarian cap, was of the most 
dehcate kind that the shawl-goats of 
Tibet supply. § Here and there, too, 
over his vest, which was confined by a 
flowered girdle of Kashan, hung strings 
of fine pearl, disposed with an air of 
studied negligence , — nor did the exqui- 
site embroidery of his sandals escape the 
observation of these fair critics ; who, 
however they might give way to Fad- 
ladeen upon the unimportant topics of 
religion and government, had the spirit 
of martyr .5 in everything relating to such 
momentous matters as jewels and em- 
broidery. 

For the purpose of relieving thepauses 
of recitation by music, the young Cash- 
merian held in his hand a kitar; — such 
as, in old times, the Arab maids of the 
West used to listen to by moonlight in 
the gardens of the Alhambra— and, hav- 
ing premised, with much humility, that 
the story he was about to relate was 
founded on the adventures of that Veiled 
Prophet of Khorassan,i| who, in the year 
of the Hegira 163, created such alarm 
throughout the Eastern Empire, made 
an obeisance to the Princess, and thus 
began : 



THE VEILED PEOPHET OF 
KHORASSAX.U 

In that delightful Province of the Sun, 
The first of Persian lands he shines upon, 

•The Indian Apollo.— "Ho and the three 
Ramas are described as youths of perfect 
beauty; and the princesses "of Hindustan were 
all passionately i.u love with Chrishna, who 
continues to this hour the darling God of the 
Indian women." — Sir W. Jones, on the Gods 
of Greece, Italy, and India. 

5 See Turner's Embassy for a description ct 
tins animal, "the most beautiful among tli» 
whole tribe of goats." The material for the 
shawls (which is carried to Cashmere) is found 
next the skin. 

II Foi- the real history of this Impostor, whose 
original name was Hakem ben Haschem, and 
who was called Mocauua from the veil of silver 
gauze (or, as others say, golden) which ho 
always wore, see D'Herbelot. 

HKhorassan signifies, in the old Persian 
language, Province orBegion of the Sun.— .S'ii 
W. Jones. 




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MOOEE'S WORKS. 



^ 

"WTiere all the loveliest children of his 

beam, [stream,* 

riow'rets and fruits, blush over ev'ry 
And, fan-est of all streams, the MuRGA 

roves [groves ;— 

Among Merou's f bright palaces and 
There on that throne, to which the blind 

belief [Chief, 

Of millions raised him, sat the Prophet- 
The Great Mokanna. O'er his features 

hung [flimg 

The Yeil, the Silver Veil, -which he had 
In mercy there, to hide from mortal 

sight [light. 

His dazzling brow, till man could bear its 
For, far less luminous, his votaries said, 
"Were ev'n the gleams, miraculously shed 
O'er AIoussa's t cheek, § when down 

the Mount he trod, [God ! 

All glowing from the presence of his 

On either side, with ready hearts and 

hands, [stands ; 

His chosen guard of bold Believers 
Young fire-eyed disputants, who deem 

their swords, [ words ; 

On points of faith, more eloquent than 
And such their zeal, there's not a youth 

with brand [mand. 

Uplifted there, but at the Chief's com- 
"Would make his own devoted heart its 

sheath, [death ! 

And bless the lips that doom'd so dear a 
In hatred to the Caliph's hue of night, || 
Their vesture, helms and all, is snowj- 

white ; [for speed, 

Their weapons various — some equipp'd 
With javelins of the light Kathaian 

reed ; If [quivers 

3r bows of buffalo horn and shining 

* " The fruits of Meru are finer than those 
)f any other phice ; and one cannot see in any 
other city such pahices -ft itli groves, and 
streams, and gardens." — Ebn Saukal's Gcog- 
raphy. 

f One of the royal cities of Khorassan. 

! Moses 

§ " Ses disciples assuroient qu'il se couvroit 
le visage, pour ne pas ^blouir ceux qui I'ap- 
prochoieut par lOclat de son visage comme 
Moyse." — V'llerbelot. 

II Black was the color adopted by the Caliphs 
of the House of Abbas, in their garments, tur- 
bans, and standards.— "II faut remarquer ici 
touchant les habits blancs des disciples de 
Hakem, que la couleur des habits, des coitFures 
et des etendarts des Khalifes Abassides etaiit 
la noire, ee chef de Rebelles ne pouvoit pas 
choisir une que lui fut plus oppos6e."— i>'i?er- 
belot. 

U "Our dark javelms, exquisitely wrouifht 



FiU'd with the stems** that bloom on 

Iran's rivers ; tt [tacks, 

WMle some, for war's more teiTible at- 
"Wield the huge mace and pond'rous 

battle-axe ; [beam 

And as they wave aloft in morning's 
The milk-white plumage of their helms, 

they seem 
Like a chenar-tree grovett when winter 

throws [snows. 

O'er aU its tufted heads his feath'ring 

Between the porphyry pillars that up- 
hold [gt'ld, 
The rich moresque-work of the roof of 
Aloft the Haram's curtain'd galleries rise. 
Where through thesilkennetwork, glanc- 
ing eyes, [that glow 
From time to time, like sudden gleams 
Through autumn clouds, shine o'er the 
pomp below. — [would dare 
"What impious tongue, ye blushing saints, 
To hint that aught but Heav'n hath 
placed you there? [could bind. 
Or that the loves of this light world 
In their gross chain, your Prophet's soar- 
rug mind? [from al:)ovo 
Xo — wrongful thought ! — eommission'd 
To people Eden's bowers with shapes of 
love, [and eyes 
(Creatures so bright, that the same lips 
They wear on earth will serve in Para- 
dise,) [maids, 
There to recline among Heav'n's native 
And crown th' Elect with bliss that never 
fades— [done ; 
"Well hath the Prophet- Chief his bidding 
And ev'iy beauteous race beneath the 
sun, [ing founts, §§ 
From those who kneel at Brahma's bum- 

of Khathaian reeds, slender and delicate."— 
Focv% of A mru. 

'* Pichula, used anciently for arrows by the 
Persians. 

tf The Persians called this plant Ga^. The 
celebrated shaft of Isfentliar, one of their 
ancient heroes, was made ofit.— "Kothing can 
be more beautiful than the appearance of this 
plant in flower during the rains on the banks 
of rivers, where it is usually interwoven 
with a lovely twining asclepias " — Sir W. 
Jones, Botanical Observations on Select Indian 
Plants. 

;; The oriental plane. " The chenar is a de- 
lightful tree; its Dole is of a fine white and 
smooth bark; and its foli.ige, which grows in 
a tuft at the summit, is of a bright green."— 
Morier's Travels. 

^5. The burning f()nntains of Brahma neal 
Chittogoug, esf,eemed as holy. — Turner. 




In that delightful Province of the Sun, 
The first of Persian lands he shines ujion, 
Where all the lovliest children of his beam, 
Flow'rets and fruits, blush over every stream, 
And, fairest of all streams, the MURGA roves 
Among Meron's bright palaces and groves; — 
There on that throne, to which the blind Jtelief 
Of millions raised him, sat the Prophet-Chief. 




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LALLA EOOKH. 



389 



To the fresh nymphs bounding o'er Ye- 
men's mounts ; L^ay, 
From Persia's eyes of full and fawn-like 
To the small, half-shut glances of 

Kathay ;* [darker smiles, 

And Georgia's bloom, and Azab's 
And the gold ringlets of the "Western 

Isles; [hath given, 

All, all are there ;— eachL<Jid its flower 
To form that fair young Nursery for 

Heav'n ! 
But why this pageant now? this arm'd 

array ? [to-day 

What triumph crowds the rich Divan 
"With turbau'd heads, of ev'ry hue and 

race, 
Bowing before thatveil'd and awful face, 
Like tulip-beds, t of diif'rent shape and 

dyes, [wind's sighs ! 

Bending beneath th' invisible Y/est- 
What new-made mystery now, for Faith 

to sign. 
And blood to seal, as genuine and divine. 
What dazzling mimicry of God's own 

power [this hour? 

jB^ath the bold Prophet planu'd to grace 

Not such the pageant now, though not 

less proud ; [crowd. 

Ton warrior youth, advancing from the 
With silver bow, with belt of broider'd 

crape, [shape,t 

And fur- bound bonnet of Bucharian 
So fiercely beautiful in form and eye, 
Like war's wild planet ia a summer sky; 
That youth to-day, — a proselyte, worth 

hordes [swords, — 

Of cooler spirits and less practised 
Is come to join, all bravery and belief. 
The creed and standard of the heav'n- 

sent Chief. 
Though few his years, the West al- 
ready knows [pian snows, 
Foung Azim's fame;— beyond th' Olym- 
Sre manhood darken'd o'er his downy 

cheek, [Greek,§ 

O'erwhelm'd in fight, and captive to the 
fle lingcr'd there, till peace dissolved 

his chains ;— [the plains 

Oh, who could, e'en in bondage, tread 

* Chma. 

t " Tho name of Tulip is said to be of Turk- 
ish extraction, and given to tlie flower on ac- 
count of its resemhling a turban."— i?ecfc- 
mann'» History of Inventions. 

; 'The inhabitants of Bucharia wear a round 
cloth bonnet, shaped much after the Polish 
fashion, having a iurge fur border. They tie ' 



Of glorious Greece, nor feel his spirit 

rise [and eyes, 

Kindling within him ? who, with heart 

Could walk where liberty has been, nor 

see 
The suining foot-prints of her Deity, 
Nor feel those godlike breathings in the 
air [there ? 

Which mutely told her spirit had been 
Not he, that youthful warrior, — no, too 
well [spell ; 

For his soul's quiet work'd th' awak'ning 
And now, returning to his own dear 
land, [ly grand. 

Full of those dreams of good that, vain- 
Haunt the young heart, — proud views of 

human kind, 
Of men to Gods exalted and refined, — 
False views, like that horizon's fair de- 
ceit, [to meet ! — 
Where earth and heav'n but seem, alas. 
Soon as he heard an Arm Divine was 
raised [blazed 
To riszht the nations, and beheld, em- 
On the white flag, Mokanna's host un- 

furl'd. 
Those words of sunslnne, " Freedom to 

the Worid," 
At once his faith, his sword, his soul 

obey'd 

Th' inspiring summons; every chosen 

blade [text 

That fought beneath that banner's sacred 

Seem'd doubly" edged, for this world and 

the next ; 
And ne'er did Faith with her smooth 

bandage bind 
Eyes more devoutly willing to be blind. 
In virtue's cause; — never was soul in- 
spired [ed. 
With livelier trust in what it most desir- 
Than his, th' enthusias*. there, who kneel- 
ing, pale 
With pious awe, before that Silver Veil, 
Believes the form, to which he bends his 

knee. 
Some pure, redeeming angel, sent to fre© 
This fetter'd world from every bond and 

stain, 
And bring its primal glories back again I 

their kaftans about the middle with a girdle of 
a kind of silk crape, several times round the 
body."— Account of Independent Tartary, in 
Finkerton's Collection. 

§ In the war of the Caliph Mahadi against 
the Empress Irene, for aa account of which 
Tide QUitton, vol. x. 




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390 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



Low as young Azim knelt, that mot- 
ley crowd 
Of all earth's nations sunk the knee and 

bow'd, 
"With shouts of " Alla !" echoing long 
and loud; [head, 

While high in air, above the Prophet's 
Hundreds of banners, to the sunbeam 
spread, [that fan 

Waved, like the Tvings of the white birds 
The flying throne of star-taught Soli- 
man.* [new the frame 
Then thus he spoke:—" Stranger, though 
" Thy soul inhabits now, I've track'dits 
flame [and change 
" For many an age,t in ev'ry chance 
" Of that existf'iice, through ^^'hose varied 
range, — [hand to hand 
"As through a torch-race, where, from 
" The flying youths transmit their shin- 
ing brand, [guish'd soul 
"From frame to frame the unextin- 
" Rapidly passes, till it reach the goal ! 

" Nor think 'tis only the gross Spirits, 

warm'd [um form'd, 

"With duskier fire and for earth's medi- 
" That nm this course: — Beings, the most 

divme, [shine. 

"Thus deign through dark mortality to 
"Such was the Essence that in Adam 

dwelt, [One, knelt :t 

" To which all Heav'n, except the Proud 
" Such the refined Intelligence that 

glow'd [scendiug, flow'd 

"In Moussa's§ frame, — and, thence de- 
" Through many a Prophet's breast -,11 — 

in IssaH shone, ['ning on, 

" And in Mohammed bum'd ; tUl, hast- 
" (As a bright river that, from fall to 

laU 

* This wonderful Throne was called The Star 
of the Gemi. For a lull description of it, see 
the Fragment, translated by Captain Franklin, 
from a Persian MS. entitled "The History of 
Jerusalem.' Oriental Collections, vol. i. p. 
235. — When Soliman travelled, the eastern 
■writers say, " He had a carpet of ^reen silk on 
which Lis throne was placed, being of a pro- 
digious length and breadth, and sufficient for 
all his forces to stand upon, the men placing 
themselves on his right hand, and the spirits 
on his left ; and that when all were in order, 
the wind, at his command, took up the carpet, 
and transported it, with all that were upon it, 
wherever he pleased: the army of birds at the 
same time flying over their heads, and forming 
a kind of canopy to shade them from the sun." 
—JSdle's Koran, vol. ii. p. 214, note. 

i Tlie transmigration of souls was one of his 
doctrines - Vidu D'Uerbelot. 



'In many a maze descending, bright 

through all, 
' Finds some fair region where, each 

labyrinth pass'd, [last,) 

'In one full lake of light it rests at 
'That Holy Spirit, settling calm and 

free [me !" 

" From lapse or shadow, centres all in 

Again, throughout th' assembly at 
these words, [swords 

Thousands of voices rung : the warriors' 
Were pointed up to heaven ; a sudden 
vnnd [hind 

In th' open banners play'd, and from be- 
Those Persian hangings, that but ill 
could screen [were seen 

The Haram's loveliness, white hands 
Waving embroider'd scarves, whose mo- 
tion gave [wave 
A perfume forth — like those the Houri3 
When beck'ning to their bow'rs th' im- 
mortal Brave. 

"But these," pursued the Chief, "are 

truths subhme, [time 

" That claim a holier mood and calmer 
" Than earth allows us now, — this sword 

must first [burst, 

" The darkling prison-house of Mankind 
" Ere Peace can visit them, or Truth let 

in [sin. 

" Her wakening daylight on a world oi 
" But then, — celestial warriors, then, 

when all [banner fall ; 

■" Earth's shrines and thrones before our 
" When the glad Slave shall at those 

feet lay down [his crown, 

" His broken chain, the tj-rant Lord 
"The Priest his book, the Conqueror his 

wreath, [breath 

" And from the lips of Truth one mighty 

; "And when we said unto the angels, 
Worship Adam, they all worshipped him, ex- 
cept Eblis, (Lucifer,) who refused." — The 
Koran, chap. ii. 

§ Moses. 

II This is according to D'Herbelofs account 
of the doctrines of Mokanna : — "Sa doctrine 
€toit, que Dieu avoit pris une forme et figure 
humaine, depuis qu'il eut commands aux Anges 
d'adorer Adam, le premier des hommes. Qu"- 
apres la mort d'Adam, Uieu 6toit appnru sous 
la figure d6 plusieurs Proph6tes, et antres 
grands horames qu'il avoit choisis, Jusqii'a ce 
qu'il prit celle d'Abu iloslera. Prince de 
Khorassan, lequel profe.ssoit lerrenr de la Ten- 
assukhiah ou M6tempsychose ; et qu'aprfes la 
mort de ce Prince, la Divimt(5 6toit passtSe, et 
desceudue en sa personne." 

1 Jesus. 



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LALLA ROOKH. 



391 



" Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its 
breeze [eries ;— 

" That whole dark pile of human mock- 
" Then shall the reign of mind com- 
mence on earth, [birth, 
" And startmg fresh as from a second 
•' Man, m the sunshine of the world's 
new spring, [holy thing ! 
•'Shall walk transparent, hke some 
" Then, too, your Prophet from his an- 
gel brow [dors now, 
■" Shall cast the Veil that hides its spleu- 
"And gladden'd Earth shall, thi-ough 
her wide expanse, [nance ! 
" Bask in the glories of this connte- 

" For thee, young warrior, welcome ! 

— thou hast yet [forget, 

" Some tasks to learn, some frailties to 
" Ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow 

can wave ; — [grave !" 

" But, once my own, mine aU till mthe 

The pomp is at an end — the crowds 

are gone — [tone 

Each ear and heart still haunted by the 
Of that deep voice, which thrill'd like 

Alla's own ! 
The Young all dazzled by the plumes 

and lances, [caught glances; 
The ghtt'rmg throne, and Earam'shalf- 
The Old deep pond'ringon the promised 

reign [train 

Of peace and truth : and all the female 
Eeady to risk their eyes, could they but 

gaze [blaze ! 

A moment on that brow's miraculous 

But there was one, among the chosen 
maids, [shades, 

"Who blush'd behind the gallery's silken 
One, to whose soul the pageant of to- 
day [dismay. 
Has been like death :— you saw her pale 
Ye wond'riug sisterhood, and heard the 

bm-st 

Of exclamation from her lips, when first 

She saw that youth, too well, too dearly 

known, [throne. 

Silently kneeling at the Prophet's 

Ah Zelica! there was a time, when 

bliss [his ; 

Shone o'er thy heart from ev'ry look of 

* The Ainoo, which rises in the Behir Tap, 
or Dark Mountains, and running near'y from 
east to west, splits into two branches; one of 



When but to see him, hear him, breathe 

the air [est prayer ; 

In which he dwelt, was thy soul's fond- 
When round him hung such a perpetual 

spell, 
Whate'er he did, none ever did so well. 
Too happy days ! when, if he touch'd a 

flow'r [hour; 

Or gem of thine, 'twas sacred from that 
"When thou didst study him till every 

tone [own, — • 

And gesture and dear look became thy 
Thy voice like his, the changes of his 

face [grace. 

In thine reflected with still lovelier 
Like echo, sending back sweet music, 

fraught 
"With twice th' aerial sweetness it had 

biought ! [he 

Yet now he comes,— brighter than even 
E'er beam'd before,— but, ah! not 

bright for thee ; 
N"o— dread, unlook'd for, like a visitant 
Prom th' other world, he comes as if to 

haunt [light, 

Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost de- 
Long lost to all but mem'ry's aching 

sight :— [Youth 

Sad dreams ! as when the Spirit of our 
Returns in sleep, sparkhng with all the 

trath [back, 

And innocence once ours, and leads us 
In mournful mockery, o'er the shining 

track [ray 

Of our young life, and points out eveiy 
Of hope and peace we've lost upon the 

way! 

Once happy pair! — In proud Bok- 
hara's groves, [ful loves 'i 
Who had not heard of their lu'st youth- 
Bom by that ancient flood,'* which from 
its spring [iug, 
In the dark Mountains swiftly wander- 
Enrich' d by ev'ry pflgiim brook that 
shines [mines, 
"With relics from Bucharia's ruby 
And, lending to the Caspian half its 
strength, [length ; — 
In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at 
There, on the banks of that bright river 

bom. 
The flow'rs that hung above its wave 
at mom, 



which falls into the Caspian sea, and the othef 
into Aral Nahr, or the Lake of Eagles. 




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392 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



Bless'd not the waters, as they mur- 
rnur'd by, [sigh 

With holier scent and lustre, than the 
And vu-gin-glance of first affection cast 
Upon their youth's smooth current, as 

it pass'd! 
But war distui'b'd this vision, — far away 
From her fond eyes summon'd to join 
th' array [Thrace, 

Of Persia's warriors on the hills of 
The youth exchanged his sylvan dweU- 

mg-place 
For the rade tent and war-field's dread- 
ful clash ; 
His Zelica's sweet glances for the flash 
Of Grecian wild-fire, aud Love's gentle 
chains [plains. 

For bleeding bondage on Byzantium's 

Month after month, m widowhood of 

soul [roll 

Drooping, the maiden saw two summers 
Their suns away — but, ah, how cold aud 

dim [with him ! 

Ev'n summer suns, when not beheld 
From time to time ill-oiaen'd rumors 

came, [man's name, 

Like spirit-tongues, mutt'ring the sick 
Just ere he dies :— at length those 

sounds of dread [dead ! " 

Fell with'ring on her soul, " Azim is 
Oh Grief, beyond all other griefs, when 

fate [desolate 

First leaves the young heart lone and 
In the wide world, wlihout that only tie 
For which it loved to live or fear'd to 

die ; — [hath spoken 

Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er 
Since the sad day its master-chord was 

broken ! 

Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was 

such, [touch ; 

Ev'n reason sunk, — blighted beneath its 

And though, ere long, her sanguine 

spirit rose 
Above the first dead pressure of its woes. 
Though health and bloom retum'd, the 
delicate chain [again. 

Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd 
Warm, lively, soft as m youth's happi- 
est day, [astray ; - 
The mind was still all there, but turn'd 
A wand'ring bark, upon whose pathway 
shone [one ! 
All stars of heaven, except the guiding 
Again she smiled, nay, much and 
brightly smiled, 



But 'twas a lustre, strange, unreal, wild; 
And when she sung to her lute's touch- 
ing strain, [pain, 
'Twas like the notes, half ecstasy, half 
The bulbul* utters, ere her soul depart, 
"When, vanquish'd by some minstrel's 
pow'rlul art, [broke her heart ! 
She dies upon the lute whose sweetness 

Such was the mood in which that 
mission found [around 

Young Zelica, — that mission, which 
The Eastern world, in every region 
bless'd [liest, 

"With woman's smile, sought out its love- 
To grace that galaxy of Hps aud eyes 
"Which the YeU'd Prophet destined for 
the skies : — [ceives 

And such quick welcome as a spark re- 
Dropp'd on a bed of Autumn's wither'd 

leaves. 
Did every tale of these enthusiasts find 
In the wild maiden's sorrow-bUghted 
mind. [caught;— 

All fire at once the madd'ning zeal she 
Elect of Paradise! blest, rapturous 
thought ! [dome, 

Predestined bride, in heaven's eternal 
Of some brave youth— ha! durst they 

say "of some?" 
N"o — of the one, one only object traced 
In her heart's core too deep to be ef- 
faced ; [twined 
The one whose mem'ry, fresh as life, is 
"With every broken link of her lost mind; 
"Whose image lives, though Reason's self 

be wreck'd. 
Safe 'mid the ruins of her intellect ! 

Alas, poor Zelica ! it needed all 
The fantasy, which held thy mind in 

thrall, [maids 

To see in that gay Haram's glowing 
A shaded colony for Eden's shades; 
Or dream that he,— of whose unholy 

flame [came 

Thou wert too soon the victim, —shining 
From Paradise, to people its pure sphere 
"With souls like thine, which he hath 

ruin'd here ! 
N"o— had not reason's light totally set, 
And left thee dark, thou hadst an amulet 
In the loved image, graven on thy heart, 
Which would have saved thee from the 

tempter's art. 
And kept alive, in all its bloom of 

breath, 

* The njgbtingale. 




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•V(VJ 




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LALLA ROOKH. 



aya 



That purity, whose fading is love's 



death 



[place 



But lost, inflamed, — a restless zeal took 
Of the mild virgin's still and feminine 

grace ; [first 

First of the Prophet's favorites, proudly 
In zeal and chai-ms,— too well th' Im- 
postor nursed [flame, 
Her soul's delirium, in whose active 
Thus lighting up a young, luxuriant 

frame, 
lie saw more potent sorceries to bind 
To his dark yoke the spirits of mankind, 
More subtle chains than hell itself e'er 

twined. [skill 

ISTo art was spared, no witch'ry ;— aU the 
His demons taught him was employ'd to 

fill [turns— 

Her mind with gloom and ecstasy by 
That gloom, through which Phrcnsy but 

fiercer bums ; [sadness 

That ecstasy, which from the depth of 
Glares like the maniac's moon, whose 

light is madness! 

'Twas from a brilliant banquet, where 

the sound 
Of poesy and music breathed around. 
Together picturing to her mind and ear 
The glories of that heav'n, her destined 

sphere, [that lay 

Where all wa,s pare, where every stain 
Upon the spirit's light should pass away, 
And, realizing more than youthful love 
E'er wish'd or dream'd, she should for- 
ever rove [Azim's side, 
Through fields of fragrance by her 
His ownbless'd, purified, eternal bride ! — 
'Twas from a scene, a witching trance 

like this, 
He hurried her away, yet breathing bliss. 
To the dim charnel-house; — through all 

its steams 
Of damp and death, led only by those 

gleams [sigu 

Which foul Corruption lights, as with de- 
To show the gay and proud she too can 

shine— [Dead, 

And, passing on through upright ranks of 
Which to the maiden, doubly crazed by 

dread, [round them cast, 

Seem'd, through the bluish death-hght 
To move their lips in mutt'rings as she 

pass'd— [had quafl'd 

There, in that awful place, when each 
And pledged m silence such a feari'ul 

draught, 



Such— oh ! the look and taste of that red 

bowl 
Win haunt her till she dies — he bound 

her soiil [framed. 

By a dark oath, in hell's own language 
Never, while earth his mystic presence 

claim'd, [them both. 

While the blue arch of day hung o'er 
Never, by that all-imprecating uath, 
In joy or sorrow from his side to sever.— 
She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, 

"Never, never!" 

From that dread horn-, entirely, wildly 

giv'n [to heav'n-, 

To him, and — she believed, lost maid! — 
Her brain, her heart, her passions all in. 

flamed, [ram named 

How proud she stood, when in full Ha- 
The Priestess of the Faith !— how flash'd 

her eyes 
With light, alas, that was not of the skies, 
When round, in trances, only less than 

hers, [worshippers. 

She saw the Haram kneel, her prostrate 
Well might Mokanna think that form 

alone [own :— 

Had spells enough to make the world his 
Light, lovely limbs, to which the spirit's 

play 
Gave motion, airy as the dancmg spray, 
When from its stem the small bird wings 

away : [smiled. 

Lips in whose rosy labyrinths, when she 
The soul was lost : and blushes, swift 

and wild 
As are the momentary meteors sent 
Across th' uncalm, but beauteous firma- 
ment, [heart so wise 
And then her look— oh! where's the 
Could unbewilder'd meet those match« 

less eyes ? [Avlthal, 

Quick, restless, strange, but exquisite 
Like those of angels, just before their 

faU; 
Now shadow'd with the shames of earth 

— now cross'd [had lost ; 

By glimpses of the Heav'n her heart 
In ev'ry glance there broke, without 

control, [soul, 

The flashes of a bnght, but troubled 
Where sensibility still wildly play'd. 
Like lightning, round the ruins it had 

made! 

And such was now young Zelica — 

so changed [lighted ranged 

From her who, some years since, de 




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394 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The almond groves that shade Bok- 
hara's tide, [side ! 
All life and bliss, with AziM by her 
So alter'd was she now, this festal day, 
When, 'mid the proud Divan's dazzhng 
an-ay, [loved, 
The vision )f that Youth, whom she had 
Had wept as dead, before her breathed 
and moved;— [Eden's track 
When — bright, sho thought, as if from 
But half-way trodden, he had wander'd 
back [light- 
Again to earth, ghst'ning with Eden's 
Her beauteous AziM shone before her 
sight. 

Reason ! who shall say what spells 

renew, [clew ! 

"When least we look for it, thy broken 
Through what small vistas o'er the 

darken'd brain 
Thy intellectual day-beam bursts again ; 
And how, like forts, to which beleaguer- 

ers win [Mend within, 

Unhoped-for entrance through some 
One clear idea, waken'd in the breast 
By mem'ry's magic, lets m all the rest. 
Would it were tlius, uuhappy girl, with 

thee ! [tially ; 

But though light came, it came but par- 
Enough to show the maze, m which thy 

sense [thence ; 

Wander'd about, — but not to guide it 
Enough to glimmer o'er the yawning 

wave, [save. 

But not to point the harbor which might 
Hom-s of delight and peace, long left 

behind, [her mind ; 

With that dear form came rushing o'er 
But, oh! to think how deep her soul 

had gone [moments shone ; 

In shame and falsehood since those 
And, then, her oath — there madness lay 

again, [chain 

And, shudd'ring, back she sunk into her 
Of mental darkness, as if blest to flee 
From light, whose every glimpse was 

agony ! [years 

Yet, one relief this glance of former 
Brought, mingled with its' pain,— tears, 

floods of tears, [nils 

Long frozen at her heart, but now like 
Let loose in spring-time from the snowy 

hills, [frost. 

And gushing warm, after a sleep of 
Through valleys where their flow had 

long been lost. 



Sad and subdued, tor the first tin 

her frame [mous cam 

Trembled with horror, when the sir "' 
(A summons proud and rare, which a? 

but she, [stasy,' 

And she, till now, had heard with ee 
To meet Mokanna at his place of prayer, 
A garden oratory, cool and f:.ir, 
By the stream's sid , where still aV 

close of day [pray, 

The Prophet of the Veil retired t.i 
Sometimes alone— but, oft'ner far, with 

one. 
One chosen nymph to share his orison. 

Of late- none found such favor in hie 

sight [since that nigH 

As the young Priestess; and thoujib. 
When the death-caverns echo'd cverj 

tone [own, 

Of the dire oath that made her all h's 
Th' Impostor, sure of his infatuate prize. 
Had, more than once, thrown otf hi a 

soul's disguise, [things, 

Andutter'd suchunheav'nly, moustrou;' 
As ev'n across the desp'rate wanderingLS 
Of a weak intellect, whose lamp was 

out, [and doubt ; — 

Threw startling shadows of dismay 
Yet zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow. 
The thought, still haunting her, of that. 

bright brow, [conceal'd, 

Whose blaze, as yet from mortal eye 
Would soon, proud triumph ! be to hei 

reveal'd, [dear, 

To her alone; — and then the hope, most 
Most wild of all, that her transgression 

here [grosser fire, 

Was but a passage through earth's 
From which the spirit would at las*, 

aspire, [rise 

Ev'n purer than before,— as perfumes 
Through flame and smoke, most v\-el- 

come to the skies— [brace 

And that when Azim's fond, divine em- 
Should circle her in heav'n, no dark'n- 

mg trace [remain, 

Would on that bosom he once loved 
But all be bright, be pm-e,be Ids again ! — 
These were the wild'ring dreams, whi^se 

cursed deceit [tempter's feet, 
Had chained her soul beneath the 
And made her think ev'n damning false- 
hood sweet. [her view, 
But now that Shape, which had appall'd 
That Semblance— oh how tenible, il 

true! 



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LALLA EOOKH. 



WTiich came across her phrensy's full 

career 
With shock of consciousness, cold, deep, 

severe, [dark, 

As when, in northern* seas, at midnght 
An isle of ice encounters some swift 

bark, [their sleep, 

And, startling all its wretches from 
By one cold impulse hurls them to the 

deep;— [could bear, 

So came that shock not phrensy's self 
And waldng up each long-lull'd imago 

there, [it in despair ! 

But check'd her headlong soul, to sink 

Wan and dejected, through the ev'u- 

ing dusk, [kiosk, 

She now went slowly to that small 
Where, pondering alone his impious 

schemes, [dreams 

MoKANNA waited her— too wrapt iu 
Of the fair-rip'ning future's rich success. 
To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless. 
That sat upon his victim's downcast 

brow, [now 

Or mark how slow her step, how alter'd 
From the quick, ardent Priestess, whose 

light bound [ground, — 

Came Mke a spirit's o'er th' uuechoiug 
From that wild Zelica, whose every 

glance [a trance ! 

Was thrilling fire, whose ev'ry thought 

Upon his couch the Yeil'd Mokanna 

lay, 
While lamps around — not such as lend 

their ray, 
Glimm'riug and cold, to those who 

nightly pray [arcades,— 

In holy KooM,* or Mecca's dim 
But brilliant, soft, such lights as lovely 

maids [glow 

Look loveliest in, shed then* luxurious 
* The cities of Com (or Koom) and Cashan 
nre full of mosques, mausoleums, ami sepul- 
chres of the i\r 3cendant8 of Ah, the Saints of 
Persia.— CAardin. 

t An island in the Persian Gulf, celebrated 
for its white wine. 

J The miraculous well at Mecca; so called, 
oays Sale, from the murmuring of its waters. 

5. The pod Hannaman. — "Apes are in many 
parts of India highly venerated, out of respect 
to the God Hannaman, a deity partaking of the 
ibrm of that race." — Pennant's Hindoostan. 

See a curious account, in Stephen's Persia, of 
^ solemn embassy from some part of the Indies 
;■» Goa, when the I'ortupuesc were there, offer- 
ing vast treasures for the recovery of a mon- 
hey'stooth, ■\\hich they hold in great veneration, 
v-\A which had been taken away upon the con- 
iii»est of the kingdom of Jafauapatau. . 



Upon his mystic "Veil's white glitt'ring 

flow. 
Beside him, 'stead of beads and books 

of pray'r. 
Which the world fondly thought he 

mused on there, [golden wine, 
Stood Yases, filled with Kishmee'sI 
And the red weepings of the Shiraz 

vine : [a draught 

Of which his curtain'd lips full many 
Took zealously, as if each drop they 

quafPd, [pow'r 

Like Zemzem's Spring of Holiness,}: bad 
To freshen the soul's virtues into flow'r ! 
And still he drank and ponder'd— nor 

could see [revery ; 

Th' approaching maid, so deep tds 
At length, with fiendish laugh, Uke 

that which broke 
From Eblis at the Fall of Man, he 



"Yes, ye vile race, for hell's amuse- 
ment given, [kin with heav'u ; 
" Too mean for earth, yet claiming 
" God's images, forsooth ! — such gods 
as he [deity;?— 

"Whom India serves, the monkey 
"Ye creatures of a breath, proud things 
of clay, [say, 

" To whom if Lucifer, as grandams 
"Refused, though at the forfeit of hea- 
ven's light, [right !|H 
••To bend in worship, Lucifer was 
" Soon shall I plant this foot upon the 
neck [or check, 
" Of your foul race, and without fear 
" Luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame, 
" My deep-felt, long-nursed loathing of 
man's name ! [and fierce 
" Soon at the head of myriads, blind 
"As hooded falcons, through the uni- 



II This resolution of Eblis not to acknowledge 
the new creature, man, was, according to 
Mahometan tradition, thus adopted: — "The 
earth (which God had selected for the materi- 
als of his work) was carried into Arabia to a 
place between Mecca and Tayef, where, being 
lirst kneaded by the angels, it was afterwards 
fashioned by God himself into a human form, 
and left to dry for the space of forty days, or, 
as others say, as many years; the angels, in the 
mean time, often visiting it, and Eblis (then 
one of the angels nearest to God's presence, 
afterwards the devilt among the rest ; but he, 
not content with looking at it, kicked it with 
his foot till it rung, and knowing God designed 
that creature to be his superior, took a secret 
resolution never to acknowledge him as such." 
—Sale on the Koran. 



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UlUirilllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllillll'HinillllllliiiiillllllllUIIIIIIIIIIIIIINIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIItlllllllillllllllllllHIII^ 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



"I'll sweep my dark'ning, desolating 

way, 
""Weak man my instrument, cursed 

man my prey ! 

"Te wise, ye learn' d, who grope 

your dull way on [gone, 

" By the dim twinkling gleams of ages 
" Like superstitious thieves, who think 

the light [best at night * — 

" Prom dead men's maiTow guides them 
"Ye shall have honors — wealth— yes, 

Sages, yes — [nothingness; 

"I know, grave fools, your wisdom's 
"Undazzled it can track yon starry 

sphere, [here. 

"But a gUt stick, a bauble binds it 
*' How I shall laugh, when tnimpeted 

along, [song, 

" In lying speech, and still more lying 
" By these learn'd slaves, the meanest 

of the throng ; [shrunk so small, 
"Their wits bought up, their wisdom 
" A sceptre's puny point can wield it 

all! 

"Te too, believers of incredible 
creeds, [sters which it breeds ; 
" "Whose faith enshrines the mou- 
""Who, bolder ev'n than Nemrod, 
think to rise, [the skies ; 

•• By nonsense heap'd on nonsense, to 
"Ye shall have miracles, ay, sound 
ones too, [but true. 

" Seen, heard, attested, ev'iy thing — 
"Tour preaching zealots, too inspired 
to seek [they speak ; 

" One grace of meaning for the things 
"Tour martyrs, ready to shed out then- 
blood, [stood ; 
" For truths too heav'nly to be under- 
" And your State Priests, sole venders 
of the lore, [shore, 
"That works salvation ; — as, on Ava's 
" Where none but priests are privileged 
to trade [are made ;t 
"In that best marble of which Gods 
" They shall have mysteries— ay, pre- 
cious stuff, [enough ; 
^'For knaves to thrive by— mysteries 
** Dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud 
can weave, 

* A kind of lantern formerly used by robbers, 
called the Head of Giory, the candle for which 
was made of the fat of a dead malefactor. 
This, however, was rather a western than an 
eastern superstition. 

t The material of which images of Gaudma 



"Which simple votaries shall on trust 

receive, 
" While craftier feign belief, till they be- 
lieve. 
" A Heav'n too ye must have, ye lords 

of dust, — [must; 

"A splendid Paradise, — pure souls, ye 
" That Prophet ill sustains his holy call, 
"Who finds not heav'ns to suit the 

tastes of all ; [sages, 

"Houris for boys, omniscience for 
"And wings and glories for all ranks 

and ages. [spires, 

" Vain things !— as lust or vanity in- 
" The heav'n of each is but what each 

desires, [be, 

" And, soul or sense, whate'er the object 
" Man would be man to all eteruity ! 
"So let him — Eblis !— gi-ant this 

crowning ciu-se, [were worse." 
"But keep him what he is, no Hell 

"Oh my lost soul!" exclaim'd the 

shudd'riug maid, [said : — 

Whose ears had drunk like poison all he 
MoKANNA started — not abash'd, 

afraid, — [dwells 

He knew no more of fear than one who 
Beneath the tropics knows of icicles ! 
But, in those dismal words that reach'd 

his ear, [so drear, 

"Oh my lost soul !" there was a sound 
So like that voice, among the sinful 

dead, [is read. 

In which the legend o'er Hell's Gate 
That, new as 'twas from her, whom 

naught could dim 
Or sink tiU now, it startled even him. 

" Ha, my fair Priestess !" — thus, with 
ready wile, [whose smile 

Th' Impostor tum'd to greet her— "thou, 
" Hath inspiration in its rosy beam 
" Beyond th' Enthusiast's hope or Pro- 
phet's dream ; [ion's zeal 
" Light of the Faith ! who twin'st relig- 
" So close with love's, men know not 
which they feel, [of heart, 
" Nor which to sigh for, in their trance 
" The heav'n thou preachest or the 
heav'n thou art ! [out thee 
" What should I be without thee ? with- 

(the Birman Deity) are made, is held sacred. 
"Birmans may not purchase the marble in 
mass, but arc suffered, and indeed encouraged, 
to buy figures of the Deity ready made."- 
Symes Ava, vol. ii. p. 376. 



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iiiiiHiiiiiiiiHiiiiiii»iiiuiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiii<iiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 



i|®>.^|V--4 



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LALLA ROOKH. 



3tf? 



' How dull were power, how joyless 
victory ! [of thine 

' Though borne by angels, if that smile 
' Bless'd not my banner, 'twere but half 
divine. [eyes, that shone 

' But — why so mournful, child ? those 
' All life last night — what ! — is their 
glory gone 1 [made them pale, 
' Come, come —this mom's fatigue hath 
' They want rekindling — suns them- 
selves would fail [thee, 
■ Did not their comets bring, as I to 
'From hght's own fount supphes of 
brilUancy. [earth is here, 
' Thou seest this cup — no juice of 
'But the pm-o waters of that upper 
sphere, [flow, 
' "WTiose rills o'er ruby beds and topaz 
'Catching the gem's bright color, as 
they go. [urns— 
' Nightly my Genii come and fill these 
'Nay, drink — in ev'ry drop life's es- 
sence burns ; [eyes all light — 
' 'Twill make that soul all fii'o, those 
'Come, come, I want thy loveliest 

smiles to-night : 
' There is a youth — why start ?— thou 
saw'st him then ; [men 

' Look'd he no nobly '? such the godlike 
' Thou'lt have to woo thee in the bow'rs 
above ; — [stem for love, 

' Though he, I feac hath thoughts too 
' Too ruled by that cold enemy of bliss 
' The world calls virtue — we must con- 
quer this ; [for thee 
' N"ay, shrink not, pretty sage, 'tis not 
' To scan the mazes of Heav'n's mys- 
tery : [it can yield 
' The steel must pass through fire, ere 
' Fit instruments for mighty hands to 

wield. 
' This very night I mean to try the art 
' Of powerful beauty on that warrior's 
heart. [and wit, 

' All that my Haram boasts of bloom 
' Of skill and charms, most rare and ex- 
quisite, [zala's blue eyes, 
'Shall tempt the boy;— young Mir- 
' "Whose sleepy lid like snow on violets 
lies ; [day sim, 
' Arouta's cheeks, warm as a spring- 
' And lips that, like the seal of Solo- 
mon, [lute, 
' Have magic in their pressure ; Zeba's 



"■And Lilla's dancing feet, that gleam 

and shoot [deep — 

"Rapid and white as sea-birds o'er the 
"All shall combine their witching pow- 
ers to steep [trance, 
"My convert's spirit in that soft'niug 
" From which to heav'n is but the next 

advance ; — [breast, 

" That glowing, yielding fusion of the 
" On which Religion stamps her image 

best. [each nymph of these 

" But hear me, Priestess ! — though 
"Hath some pecuUar, practised pow'r 

to please, [ror tried, 

" Some glance or step which, at the mir- 
" Fu-st charms herself, then all the world 

beside; [vict'ry sm-e, 

"There stiU wants one, to make the 
" One who in every look joins every lm"e ; 
"Thi-ough whom all beauty's beams 

concentred pass, [ buiTung glass ; 
" DazzUng and warm, as through lore's? 
"■Whose gentle lips persuade without « 

word, [are adored, 

" "Whose words, ev'n when unmeaning, 
" Like inarticulate breathings ffom a 

shrine, 
"Which our faith takes for granted 

are divine ! 
"Such is the nymph we want, all 

warmth and Ught, [to-night ; 

"To crown the rich temptations of 
"Such the refined enchantress that 

must be [art she !" 

" This hero's vanquisher, — and thou 

With her hands clasp'd, her lips apart 

and pale, [Yeil 

The maid had stood, gazing upon the 
From which these words, like south 

winds through a fence [tilence ;* 
OfKerzrahflow'rs, came fill'd vnth pes- 
So boldly utter'd too ! as if all dread 
Of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, 

were fled, [plunged in, 

And the wretch felt assured that, once 
Her woman's soul would know no pause 

in sin! 
At first, though mute she listen'd, 

like a dream [whoso l)eam 

Seem'd all he said : nor could her mind, 
As yet was weak, penetrate half his 

scheme. [art she l" 

But when, at length, he utter'd, " Thou 



' It is commonly said in Persia, tliat if a June or July passes over th.'it flower, (the 
breatho in the hot south wind, which in Kerzereh,) it will kill him." — Thevenot. 




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lllinillllUIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIliiiimlllilllllllllllllllllllHHIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIHIIH^ 




393 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



All flash'd at once, and shrieking pite- 

ously, [God ! to whom 

" Oh, notfor worlds !" she cried — ^ 'Great 
"1 once knelt Innocent, is this my 

doom ? [heav'nly bhss, 

" Are all my dreams, my hopes of 
"My purity, my pride, then come to 

this,— 
" To live, the wanton of a fiend ! to be 
"The pander of his guilt— oh infamy ! 
"And sunk, myself, as low as hell can 

steep [deep ! 

" In its hot flood, drag others down as 
"Others — ha! yes — that youth who 

came to-day — [say, 

"Not him I loved— not him — oh! do but 
" But swear to me this moment 'tis not 

he, [ship even thee !" 

" And I will serve, dark fiend, will wor- 

" Beware, young raving thing; — in 

time beware, [bear, 

"S"or utter what I cannot, must not 
" Ev'n from thy hps. Go— try thy lute, 

thy voice, [rejoice 

"The boy must feel their magic;— I 
" To see those fires, no matter whence 

they rise, [eyes; 

" Once more illuming my fair Priestess' 
"And should the youth, whom soon 

those eyes shall warm, 
" Indeed resemble thy dead lover's form, 
" So much the happier wilt thou find 

thy doom, [bloom, 

" As one warm lover, full of life and 
" Excels ten thousand cold ones in the 

tomb. [eyes were made 

"IJ'ay, nay, no frowning, sweet ! — those 
"For love, not anger— I must be 

obey'd." 

" Obey'd !— 'tis well— yes, I deserve 

it all — [cannot fall 

'On me, on me Heav'n's vengeance 
" Too heavily— but Azm, brave and 

true 
" And beautiful— must he be ruin'd too? 
" Must he too, glorious as he is, be 

driven [Heaven f 

"A renegade like me from Love and 
"Like me?— weak wretch, I wrong him 

—not like me ; [piirity ! 

"I^'o— he's all truth and strength and 

* The hummins-l'ird is said to run this risk 
for the purpose of picking the crocodile's tectli. 
The same circumstance is related of tha Lip- 



"Fill up your madd'ning heU-cup to 

the brim, [for him. 

" Its witch'ry, fiends, will have no chann 
" Let loose your glovdng wantons from 

their bow'rs, [powers ! 

" He loves, he loves, and can defy their 
""Wretch as I am, in his heart still I 

reign [stain ! 

" Pure as when first we met, without a 
" Though ruin'd — lost — ^my mem'ry, like 

a charm [fi-om harm. 

" Left by the dead, still keeps his soul 
" Oh ! never let him know how deep the 

brow [now ; — 

"He kiss'd at parting, is dishonor'd 
" E"e'er tell him how debased, how sunk 

is she, [loves dotingly. 

"Whom once he loved — ovice l~still 
"Thou laugh'st, tormentor — what! — 

thou'lt brand my name? [shame— 
'•Do, do — in vain — he'll not believe my 
" He thinks me true, that naught be- 
neath God's sky 
" Could tempt or change me, and — so 

once thought I. [death my lot, 
" But this is past— though worse than 
" Than hell— 'tis nothing while he knows 

it not. 
" Far off to some benighted land I'll fly, 
" Where sunbeam ne'er shall enter tUl I 

die ; [whence she came, 

"WTiere none will ask the lost cue 
" But I may fade and fall without a 

name. [whate'er thou art, 

" And thou — cursed man or fiend, 
" Who found'st this burning plague-spot 

in my heart, 
"And spread'st it — oh, so quick! — 

through soul and frame, [came 
" With more than demon's art, till I be- 
" A loathsome thing, all pestilence, aU 

flame ! — 
" If, when I'm gone " 

" Hold, fearless maniac, hold, 
" if or tempt my rage — by Heaven, not 

half so bold [hum 

" The puny bnd, that dares with teasing 
" Within the crocodile's stretch's jaws 

to come ;* 
"And so thou'lt fly, forsooth ?— what !— 

give up all 

wing, as a fact to which he was witness, by 
Paul Lucas, Voyage fait en 1714. 

The ancient story concerning the Trochilus, 
or humming-bird, entering with impunity into 
tlie mouth of the crocodile, is firmly believed at 
Java. — Barrow's Cochin-China. 




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LALLA ROOKH. 



39a 



"Thy chaste dominion in the Haram 

Hall, [p:iven, 

" Where now to Love and now to Alla 
"Half mistress and half saint, thou 

hang'st as even 
"As doth Medina's tomb, 'twist hell 

and heaven ! [iiui, 

"Thou'lt fly?— as easily may reptQes 
" The gaunt snake once hath fix'd his 

eyes upon ; [be 

" As easily, when caught, the prey may 
" Pluck'd fitom his loving folds, as thou 

from me. 
" No, no, 'tis fis'd — let good or ill betide, 
*' Thou'rt mine till death, till death Mo- 

kanna's bride ! 
" Hast thou forgot thy oath?" — 

At this dread word, 
The Maid, whose spirit his rude taunts 

had stirr'd [anger there, 

Through aU its depths, and roused an 
That burst and lighten'd even through 

her despair — [breath 

Shrunk back, as if a blight were in the 
That spoke that word, and stagger'd pale 

as death, 

" Yes, my sworn bride, let others seek 

in bow'rs [was ours ! 

' Their bridal place — the charael- vault 

•Instead of scents and balms, for thee 

and me [ity ; 

Eose the rich steams of sweet mortal- 

' Gay, flick'riug death-lights shone while 

we were wed, [Dead, 

"And for our guests a row of goodly 

' (Immortal spuits in their time, no 

doubt,) [look'dout! 

''From reeking shrouds upon the rite 

" That oath thou heard'st more lips than 

thme repeat — [was it sweet? 

"That cup — thou shudd'rest, Lady, — 

•■'That cup we pledged, the chamers 

choicest wtae, [all mhie; 

" Hath bound thee— ay — body and soul 

"Bound thee by chains that, whether 

bless'd or cursed [burst ! 

'■■'No matter now, not heU itself shall 

* Circum easdem ripas (Ifili, viz.) ales est 
fljis. Ea serpcntium populatur ova, ^ratissi- 
mamqueex hisescam nidissuisrefert. — isolinus. 

i " The feast of Lanterns is celebrated at 
Tamtcheou with more mag-Dificence than any 
where else ; and the report goes, that the illu- 
minations there are so splendid, that an Em- 
peror once, not daring openly to leave his Court 
to go thither, committed himself with the 

Sueen and several Princesses of his family into 
le hands of a magician, who promised to 



"Hence, woman, to the Haram, and 

look gay, [yet stay— 

"Look wild, look — anything but sad; 
"One moment more — from what this 

night hath pass'd, [at last. 

" I see thou know st me, know'st me well 
"Ha! ha! and so, fond thing, thou 

though t'st all true, [do— 

"And that I love mankind?— I do, I 
" As victims, love them ; as the sea-dog 

dotes [him float;; ; 

"Upon the small, sweet fry that round 
"Or, as the Nile-bh-d loves the slime 

that gives [which she lives !— * 
"That rank and venomous food on 

" And, now thou see'st my soul's an- 
gelic hue, [tam'd too ;— 
"'Tis time these /ea^Mres were uncur 
"This brow, whose light — oh rare celes- 
tial light ! [vor'd sight ; 
"Hath been reserved to bless thy fa- 
" These dazzling eyes, before whose 
shrouded might [and quake— 
"Thou'st seen immortal Man kneel down 
""Would that they were heaven's light- 
nings for his sake ! [thou wilt, 
"But turn and look — then wonder, if 
"That I should hate, should take re- 
venge, by guilt, [whose mirth 
" Upon the hand, whose mischief or 
"Sent me thus maim'd and monstrous 
upon earth ; [vile they be 
" And on that race who, though more 
" Than mowing apes, are demi-gods to 
me ! [to damn, 
" Here — ^judge if hell, with aU its power 
" Can add one curse to the foul thing I 
am !"— 

He raised his veU— the Maid tum'd 

slowly round, [upon the ground ! 

Look'd at him — shriek'd — and sunlc 

On their arrival, next night, at the 
place of encampment, they were sur- 
prised and delighted to find the groves 
all around illuminated ; some artists '^f 
Tamtcheout having been sent on previ 

transport them thither in a trice. He made 
them in the night to aseena magnificent thrones 
that were borne up by swans, which in a mo- 
ment arrived at Yamtcneou. The Emperor 
saw at his leisure all the solemnity, being car- 
ried upon a cloud that hovered over the city 
and descended by degrees ; and came back 
again with the same speed and eqiupage, no- 
body at court perceiving his absence. "—r/K 
Present State of Ohina, p. 156. 




c^-^t- 




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400 



MOOEE'S T^ORKS. 



ously for the purpose. On each side of 
the green alley which led to the Royal 
Pavilion, artificial sceneries of bamboo- 
vrork*^vere erected, representing arches, 
minarets, and towers, from which hung 
thousands of silken lanterns, painted by 
the most delicate pencils of Canton. — 
ISTothing coidd be more beautiful than 
the leaves of the mango-trees and aca- 
cias, shining in the light of the bamboo- 
scenery, which shed a lustre round as 
soft as that of the nights of Peristan. 

Lalla Rookh, however, who was 
too much occupied by the sad story of 
Zelica and her lover, to give a thought 
to any thing else, except, perhaps, him 
who related it, hurried on through this 
Bcene of splendor to her pavilion, — 
greatly to the mortification ot the poor 
artists of Tamtcheou, — and was follow- 
ed with equal rapidity by the Great 
Chamberlain, cursing, as he went, that 
ancient Mandarin, whose parental anx- 
iety in lighting up the shores of the lake, 
where his beloved daughter had wan- 
dered and been lost, was the origin of 
these fantastic Chinese illuminations. t 

■Without a moment's delay, young 
Feramorz was introduced, and Fadla- 
DEEN, who could never make up his 
mind as to the merits of a poet till he 
knew the religious sect to which he be- 
longed, was about to ask him whether 
he was a Shia or a Sooni, when Lalla 
Rookh impatiently clapped her hands 
for silence, and the youth, being seated 
upon the musnud near her, proceeded: — 



Prepare thy soul, young Azim !— 

thou hast braved 
The bands of Greece, stiU mighty 

tliough enslaved ; 
Hast faced her phalanx, arm'd with all 

its fame. 
Her Macedonian pikes and globes of 

flame; 



* See a description of the nuptials of Vizier 
Alee in the Asiatic A nnual Tteijister of 1804. 

i " The vulgar ascribe it to an accident that 
happened in the family of a famous Mandarin, 
whose daughter, walking one evening upon tlie 
shore of a lake, fell in and was drowned : this 
jifflicted father, with his family, ran thither, 
and, the better to find her, he caused a great 
company of lanterns to be lighted. All the in- 
habitants of the place thronged after him with 
torches. The year ensuing; they made fires 



All this hast fronted, with firm heart 
and brow ; [now, — 

But a more perilous trial waits thee 

"Woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of 
eyes [or sighs ; 

From every land where woman smiles 

Of every hue, as Love may chance to 
raise 

His black or azure banner in their blaze ; 

And each sweet mode of warfare, from 
the flash 

That lightens boldly through the shad- 
owy lash. 

To the sly, stealing splendors, almost 
hid. 

Like swords half-sheath'd, beneath the 
downcast lid ; — 

Such, Azim, is the lovely, lumiaous host 

Now led against thee ; and, let con- 

?[u'rors boast [arms 

ields of fame, he who la virtue 
A young, warm spirit against beauty's 
charms, [thraU, 

"Who feels her brightness, yet defies her 
Is the best, bravest conqu'rorof them alL 

Now, through the Haram chambers, 
moving lights [rites ; — 

And busy shapes proclaim the toilet's 
From room to room the ready hand- 
maids hie. 
Some skiU'd to wreathe the turban taste- 
fully. 
Or hang the veU, in negligence of shade. 
O'er the warm blushes of the youthful 

maid, 
"Who, if between the folds but one eye 

shone, 
Like Seba's Queen could vanquish with 
that one : — X [imbue 

"While some bring leaves of Henna, to 
The fingers' ends with a bright roseate 
hue,§ [seem 

Sebright, that in the mirror's depth they 
Like tips of coral branches in the stream: 
And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye. 



upon the shores the same day ; they continued 
the ceremony every year, every one lighted his 
lantern, and by degrees it commenced into a 
custom."— Pr6«em« State of China. 

\ " Tliou hast ravished my heart with one of 
thine eyes." — Sol. Song. 

K '• They tinged the ends of her fingers scar- 
let with Henna, so that they resembled 
brandies of coral."— /Siory of Prince Futtun in 
Bahardanush. 



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LALLA ROOKH. 



401 



To give that long, dark languish to the 

eye, * [are proud to cull 

"Which makes the maids, whom kings 
From fak Circassia's vales, so beautiful. 
All is in motion; rings, and plumes, and 

pearls [girls 

Are shining ev'ry where : — some younger 
Are gone by moonlight to the garden- 
beds, [heads; — 
To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their 
Gay creatures ! sweet, though mournful, 

'tis to see [tree 

How each prefers a garland from that 
"Which brings to mind her childhood's 

innocent day [away. 

And the dear fields and friendships far 
The maid of India, bless'd again to hold 
In her full lap the Champac's leaves of 

gold,t [flood, 

Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges' 
Her little playmates scatter'd many a 

bud [gleam 

Upon her long black hair, with glossy 
Just dripping fi-om the consecrated 

stream ; 
"While the young Arab, haunted by the 

smell spell, ^ 

Of her own mountain flow'rs, as by a 
The sweet Blcaya,t and that courteous 

tree 
Which bows to all who seek its canopy, § 
Sees, call'd up round her by these magic 

scents, [tents ; 

The well, the camels, and her father's 
Sighs for the home she left with little 

pain. 
And wishes ev'n its sorrows back again! 

Meanwhile, through vast illuminated 

haUs. [falls 

Silent and bright, where nothing but the 

Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool 

sound 

* "Tlio women blacken the inside of their 
eyelids with a powder named the black Kohol." 
— liusscl. 

"None of these ladies," savs Shaw, "take 
tliemselves to be comiiletely dressed, till they 
have tinged the hair and edcres of their eyelids 
witli the powder of load-ore. Now, as tliis 
operation is performed by dippinsf first into the 
powder a small wooden bodkin of the thickness 
of a quill, and then drawing it afterwards 
through the eyelids over the ball of the eye, 
we shall have a lively image of what the Pro- 
phet (Jer. iv. 30) may be supposed to mean by 
rending the eyes with painting. This practice 
is no doubt of great antiquity; for besides the 
instance already taken notice of, we find that 
where Jezebel is said (2 Kings, ix. 30) to hare 
painted her face, the original words are, hhe 



From many a jasper fount, is heard 

around, 
Young AziM roams bewildefd, — nor 

can guess [loneliness. 

"What means this maze of Ught and 
Here, the way leads, o'er tessellated 

floors [dors. 

Or mats of Cairo, through long corri- 
"Where, ranged in cassolets and silver 

urns, 
Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns ; 
And spicy rods, such as illume at night 
The bow'rs of Tibet, || send forth odor- 
ous light, [the road 
Like Peris' wands, when pointing out 
For some pure Spirit to its blest 

abode : — 
And here, at once, the ghtteriug saloon 
Bm'sts on his sight, boundless and 

bright as noon ; [rays 

"Where, in the midst, reflecting back the 
In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain 

plays [tow'rs 

High as th' enameU'd cupola, which 
All rich with Arabesques of gold and 

flow'rs, [through 

And the mosaic floor beneath shines 
The sprinkling of that fountain's silv'ry 

dew, [dye. 

Like the wet, glist'ning shells, of ev'ry 
That on the margin of the Ked Sea lie. 

Here too he traces the kind visitings 
Of woman's love in those fair, living 

things [age thrown 

Of land and wave, whose fate — in bond- 
For their weak loveliness — is like her 

own ! [grace 

On one side gleaming with a sudden 
Through water, brilhant as the crystal 

vase 
In which it undulates, small fishes shine, 
Like golden ingots fi-om a fairy mine ! — 

adjusted her eyes with the powder of lead-ore." 
— Shaw's Travels. 

1 "The appearance of the blossoms of the 
gold-colored Charapac on the black hair of the 
Indian women has supplied the Sanscrit Poets 
with many elegant allusions."— See Asiatic Re- 
searches, vol. iv. 

I A tree famous for its perfume, and com- 
mon on the hills of Yaxa^n.—Mehuhr. 

5' Of the genus mimosa, "which droops its 
branches whenever any person approaches it, 
seeming as if it saluted those who retired under 
its shade."— /6id. 

II 'Cloves area principal ingredient in the 
composition of the perfumed rods, which men 
of rank keep constantly burning in their pres- 
ence. " — Turner's Tibet. 



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402 



MOOEE'S WOKKS. 



"WTiile, on the other, latticed lightly ia 
"With odoriferous woods of Comorin,* 
Each bi-illiant bird that wings the air is 
seen ; — [between 

Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam 
The crimson blossoms of the coral treet 
In the warm isles of India's sunny sea : 
Mecca's blue sacred pigeon,t and the 
thrush [gush. 

Of Hindostan,§ whose holy warblings 
At evening, from the tall pagoda's top ;— 
Those golden bii'ds that, in the spice- 
time, drop [sweet food || 
About the gardens, drunk with that 
"Whose scent hath lured them o'er the 

summer flood; IT 
And those that under Araby's soft sun 
Build their high nests of buddmg cinna- 
mon;*'' [that fly 
In short, all rai-e and beauteous things, 
Through the pm'e element, hero calmly 
Ue [that dwell 
Sleeping in light, like the green birdstt 
In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel ! 

So on, through scenes past all imagin- 
ing. [King,!} 
More like the luxuries of that impious 
Whom Death's dark Angel, with his 
lightning torch, [sure's porch, 
Struck down and blasted ev'n iu Plea- 
Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet 
sent, [enfi-anchisement — 
Arm'd with Heaven's sword, for man's 
Young Aziii wander'd, looking sternly 
round, [ing sound 
His simple garb and war-boots' clank- 
But ill according with the pomp and 

grace 
And silent lull of that voluptuous place. 

" Is this, then," thought the youth, 

" is this the way [sway 

" To free man's spirit from the dead'ning 

'"C est dou vient le bois d'aloes, que les 
Arabes appellent Oud Comari, et celni clu san- 
ilnl. qui s'y trouve en grande quantitS."— 
B'Rerbelot. 

t " Thousands of variegated loories visit the 
coral-trees . ' '—Barrmo. 

J "In Mecca there are quantities of blue 
pigeons, which none will aflfright or abuse, 
much less kill."— Pitt's Account of the Mahom- 
etans. 

§ " The Pagoda Thrush is esteemed among 
the first choristers of India. It sits perched 
on the sacred pagodas, and from thence de- 
livers its melodious song."— Pennant's Hindo- 
Stan. 

II Tavernier adds, that while the Birds of 
Paradise lie in this intoxicated state, the em- 



" Of worldly sloth, — to teach him while 

he lives, [tue gives, 

'To know no bliss but that which vir- 

" And when he dies, to leave his lofty 

name [fame "/ 

"Alight, a landmark on the cliffs of 

■' It was not so, Land of the generous 

thought [taught ; 

" And daring deed, thy godlike sages 

" It was not thus, in bowers of wanton 

ease, [gies ; 

" Thy Freedom nursed her sacred euer- 
" Oh ! not beneath th' enfeebling, with- 

'ring glow [grow, 

" Of such duU lux'ry did those myrtles 
" "With which she wreath'd her sword, 

when she woiild dare 
" Immortal deeds ; but in the bracing air 
" Of toil,— of temperance,— of that high, 

rare, [breathe 

"Ethereal virtue, which alone can 
" Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's 

wreath. [we press,— 

" Who, that siu'veys this span of earth 
" This speck of life in time's gi-eat wil- 
derness, [less seas, 
"This riaiTow isthrons 'twixttwo bound- 
' ' The pas^t, the future, two eternities ! — 
"Would sully the bright spot, or leave 

it bare, [pie there, 

" "When he might build him a proud tem- 
" A name that long shall hallow all its 

space, [place. 

" And be each purer soul's high resting- 
" But no— it cannot be, that one, whom 

God [hood's rod,— 

" Has sent to break the wizard False- 
" A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission 

draws [profane its cause 

" Its rights from Heaven, should thus 
" With the world's vulgar pomps ; — no, 

no,— I see— [ury 

" He t hink s me weak— this glare of lux- 

mets come and eat oti their legs; and that 
hence it is they arc said to have no feet. 

TT "Birds of Paradise, which, at the nutmeg 
season, come iu flights from the southern isles 
to India; and "the strength of the nutmeg," 
says Tavernier, "so intoxicates them, that 
thev fall dead drunk to the eai'th." 

**"That bird which liveth in -Arabia, and 
buildeth its nest with cinnamon."— JB/own's 
Vulgar Errors. „ , , ^ , 

H "The spirits of the martyrs will be lodged 
in the crops of green birds."— Gi&6oji, vol. ix., 
p. 421. 

+J Shedad, who made the delicious gardens 
of Irim, in imitation of Paradise, and was de- 
stroyed by lightning the first time he attempted 
to enter them. 



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LALLA EOOKH. 



403 



" Is but to tempt; to try the eaglet gaze 
" Of my young sotil — shine on, 'twill 
stand the blaze !" 

So thought the youth;— but, ev'n 

while he defied [glide 

This witching scene, he felt its witch'ry 
Through ev'ry sense. The perfume 

breathing round. 
Like a pervading spijrit ; — the stiU sound 
Of falling waters, luUing as the song 
Of Indian bees at sunset, when they 

throng 
Around the fragrant NiLiCA, and deep 
In its blue blossoms hum themselves to 

sleep;* [touch 

And music, too — dear music ! that can 
Beyond all else the soul that loves it 

much — 
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem 
Like the faiut, exquisite music of a 

dream ; [bliss, 

All was too much for him, too full of 
The heart could nothing feel, that felt 

not this; 
Soften'd he sunk upon a couch, and gave 
His soul up to sweet thoughts, lUie wave 

on wave [are laid ; 

Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms 
He thought of Zelica, his own dear 

maid, [sighs. 

And of the time when, fall of blissful 
They sat and look'd rato each other's 

eyes, 
Silent and happy — as if God had giv'n 
Naught else worth looking at on this 

side heav'u. 

" Oh, my loved mistress, thou, whose 

spirit still [I will— 

"Is with me, rouud me, wander where 
" It is for thee, for thee alone I seek 
"The paths of glory; to light up thy 

cheek [look, 

" With warm approval — iu that gentle 
" To read my praise, as in an angel's 

book, [fi-om thee 

•' And think all toils rewarded, when 
'•' I gaiu a smile worth immortality! 
" How shall I bear the moment, when 

restored [am Lord, 

"To that young heart where I alone 
" Though of such bliss unworthy, — since 

the best 
'' Alone deseiwe to be the happiest : — 

* ■' My Pauilits assure me that the plant be- 
fore us (the Nilica) is their Sephalica, thus 
named because the bees are supposed to sleep 
on its blossoms." — Sir W. Jones. 



" "WTien from those lips, unbreath'd upon 

for years, 
" I shall again kiss ofi'the soul-felt tears, 
"And find those tears warm as when 

last they started, [parted? 

"Those sacred kisses pure as when we 
" my own life ! — why should a single 

day, [away?" 

"A moment keep me fi'om th^se arms 

WMle thus he thinks, stiU nearer on 

the breeze [nies., 

Come those deMcious, dream-fike hanno- 

Each note of which but adds new, downy 

links 
To the soft chain in which hisspirit sinks. 
He turns him tow'rd the sound, and far 
away [play 

Through a long vista, sparkling with the 
Of countless lamps, — like the rich track 

which Day 
Leaves on the waters, when he sinks 
from us, [Ions;— 

So long the path, its light so tremu- 
He sees a group of female forms ad- 
vance, [dance 
Some chain'd together in the mazy 
By fetters, forged in the green sunny 
bow'rs, [Flow'rs;* 
As they were captives to the King oi 
And some disporting roimd, unliuK'l 
and fi-ee, [very, 
■WTio seem'd to mock their sister's sla- 
And round and round them still, in 
wheeling flight [night; 
Went, like gay moths about a lamp at 
While others waked, as gracefully along 
Their feet kept time, the very soul of 
song [thi-ill, 
From psalt'ry, pipe, and lutes of heav'nly 
Or their own youthful voices, heav'nfier 
still. [his eye. 
And now they come, now pass before 
Forms such as Nature moulds, when she 
would vie [things 
With Fancy's pencil, and give birth to 
Lovely beyond its fairest picturings. 
Awhile they dance before him, then di- 
vide, 
Breaking, like rosy clouds at even-tide 
Around the rich pavilion of the sun, — 
Till silently dispersing, one by one, 
Through many a path, that from the 
chamber leads 

1 " They defen-ed it till the King of Flowers 
shT)uld ascend his throne of enameUed foliage.' 
—Tlie Bahardanush, 




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404 



MOOKE'S WOEKS. 



To gardens, terraces, and moonlight 

meads, 

Their distant laughter comes upon the 

wind, [behind, — 

And but oue trembhng nymx)h remains 

Becli'uing them back in vain, for they 

are gone, 
And she is leil in all that Mght alone ; 
No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous 
brow, [now ; 

In its vomig bashfulness more beauteous 
But a' light golden chain-work round her 
hah-," [RAs wear. 

Such as the maids of TezdI and Shi- 
From which, on either side, gracefully 

hung 
A golden amulet, in th' Ai-ab tongue, 
Engi-aven o'er with some immortal line 
Trom Holy Writ, or bard scarce less di- 
vine ; [stood. 
While her left hand, as shrinkingly she 
Held a small lute of gold and sandal- 
wood, [with hurried strain. 
Which, once or twice, she touch'd 
Then took her trembling fingers olf 
again. [stole 
But when at length a timid glance she 
At AziM, the sweet gravity of soul 
She saw through all his features calm'd 
her fear, [near, 
And, like a half-tamed antelope, more 
Though shrinking still, she came ;— then 
sat her down [grown. 
Upon a musuud'st edge, and, bolder 
In the pathetic mode of Isfahan^ 
Touch'd a preluding strain and thus be- 
gan :— 

There's a bower of roses by Bende- 

meer'sII stream. 
And the nightingale sings round it 

all the day long ; 
In t'le time of my childhood 'twas like 

a sweet dream, [song. 

To sit in tlie roses and hear the burd's 

That bower and its music I never for- 
get, [the year, 
But oft when alone, in the bloom of 

* " One of the head-dresses of the Persian 
women is composed of a lifiht golden chain- 
work, set with small pearls, with a tliin gold 
plate pendent, about the bigness of a crown- 
piece, on which is impressed an Arabian 
prayer, and which hangs upon the cheek below 
the eiir."—Hnnways Travels. 

i "Certainly the women of Tezd are the 
handsomest w'omen iu Persia. Tlie proverb is. 
that to live happy a man must have a wife of 



I think— is the nightingale singing there 

yet 1 [Benuemeer ? 

Are the roses still bright by the calm 

No, the roses soon wither'd that hung 
o'er the wave, 
But some blossoms were gather'd, 
while freshly they shone; 
And a dew was di'stUl'd from their flow- 
ers, that gave 
All the fragrance of summer, when 
summer was gone. 

Thus memory draws fr"om delight, ere it 

dies, ' [aye; ; 

An essence that breathes of it many 

Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then 

to my eyes, [calm Bendemeer ! 

Is that bower on the banks of the 

" Poor maiden !" thought the youth, 

" if thou wert sent, [ishment, 
" With thy soft lute and beauty's bland- 
"To wake unholy wishes in this heart, 
"Or tempt its troth, thou httle know'st 

the art. [counsel wrong, 

"For though thy lip should sweetly 
"Those vestal eyes would disavow its 

song. [thy lay 

"But thou hast breathed such purity, 
" Eetums so fondly to youth's virtuous 

day, [der'd thence— 

" And leads .,hy soul— if e'er it wan- 
" So gently back to its first innocence, 
"That I would sooner stop the un- 

chain'd dove, [of love, 

"When swift returning to its home 
"And round its snowy wing new fetters 

twine, [of thine !'' 

"Than turn from virtue one pm-e wish 

Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when 

sparkling through 
The gently open'd curtains of light blue 
That veil'd the breezy casement, cuniit- 

less eyes, [ev'ning skie-;. 

Peeping like stars through the Ijlue 
iiook'd laughing in, as if to mock the 

pair [there ;— 

That sat so stQl and melanchoiy 

Tezd, eat the bread of Tezdecas, and drink the 
wine of Shiraz. "—Tawermer. 

J Musnuds are cushioned seats, usually re- 
served for persons of distinction. 

§ The Persians, like the ancient Greeks, call 
their musical modes or I'erdas by the names of 
ditferent countries or cities, as the mode of 
Isfahan, the mode of Irak, <tc. 

II A river which flows near the nuns ol 
Chilminar 



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LALLA EOOKH. 



405 



And now the curtains fly apart, and in 
From the cool air, 'naid show'rs of jes- 
samine [in play, 
"WTiieh those without fling after them 
Two lightsome maidens spring,— light- 
some as they [around 
"WTio live in th' air on odors, — and 
The bright saloon, scarce conscious of 

the ground. 
Chase one anotlier, in a varying dance 
Of mirth and languor, coyness and ad- 
vance, * [suit :— 
Too eloquently like love's warm pur- 
"WToile she, who sung so gently to the 

lute 
Her dream of home, steals timidly away, 
Shiinking as violets do in summer's 
ray, — [that sigh, 

But takes with her from Azim's heart 
We sometimes give to forms that pass 
us by ' [main. 

In the world's crowd, too lovely to re- 
Creatures of Hght we never see again ! 

Around the white necks of the 

nymphs who danced [glanced 
Hung carcauets of orient gems, that 
More brilliant than the sea-glass glit- 

t'ring o'er [shore ;* 

The hills of crystal on the Caspian 
While from their long, dark tresses, in 

a fall 
Of curls descending, bells as musical 
As those that, on the golden-shafted 

trees 
Of Eden, shake in the eternal breeze, t 
Rung round their steps, at ev'ry bound 

more sweet, [feet. 

As 'twere th' ecstatic language of their 
At length the chase was o'er, and they 

stood wreath'd [there breathed 
"Within each other's arms ; while soft 
Through the cool casement, mingled 

with the sighs [to rise 

Of moonlight flow'rs, music that seem'd 
From some still lake, so liquJdlyit rose; 
And, as it swell'd again at each faint 

close, [maze of chords 

The ear could track through all that 
And young sweet voices, these impas- 

siou'd word? : 
* " To the north of us (on the coast of the 
Caspian, near Badku) was a mountain, which 
snarlileJ like diamonds, arising from the sea- 
plass and crystals with which it abounds." — 
Journey of the Russian Ainbassador to Persia, 

t " To which will be added the sound of tlie 
bells, hanging ou the trees, which will be put 



A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh 
Is burning now through earth and air ; 

Where cheeks are blushing, the Spu-it is 

nigh, [there ! 

Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is 

His breath is the soul of flow'rs like 

these, [resemblet 

And his floating eyes — oh ! they 

Blue water-lilies, $ when the breeze 

Is making the stream around them 

tremble. 

Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling 
pow'r ! 
Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, 
And there never was moonlight so 
sweet as this. 
By the fair and brave 
Who blushing unite, 
Like the sun and wave, 
When they meet at night; 

By the tear that shows 
When passion is nigh, 

As the rain-drop flows 
From the heat of the sky; 

By the fi^rst love-beat 
Of the youthful heart, 

By the bhss to meet. 
And the pain to part; 

By all that thou hast 

To mortals given, 
Which— oh, could it last, 

This earth were heaven ! 

We call thee hither, enti-ancing Power! 

Spirit of Love ! Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour. 

And there never was mocmlight so 
sweet as this. 

Impatient of a scene, whose lux'ries 

stole. 
Spite of himself, too deep into his soul. 
And where, midst all that the young 

heart loves most, [be lost, 

Flow'rs, music, smiles, to vield was to 
The youth had started up, and turn'd 

away [urious lay, 

From the hght nymphs, and their luk- 

in motion by the wind proceeding from the 
throne of God, as often as the blessed wish for 
music."— &We. 

\ "Whose wanton eyes resemble blue water- 
lilies, agitated by the hreeK,."—Jayadcva. 

J The blue lotus, wliich grows in Cashmer* 
and in Persia. 




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m^ y^ ^ .ij^ kQ-k .^ . — ^-v^ -lis 




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406 



MOOKE'S WOEKS. 



To muse upon the pictures that hung 
round,* — [sound, 

Bright images, that spoke without a 
And views, like vistas into fairy ground. 
But here again new spells came o'er his 

sense ; — 
All that the pencil's mute omnipotence 
Could call up into hfe, of soft and fair, 
Of fond and passionate, was glowing 
there ; [that fine art 

Nor yet too warm, but touch'd with 
"Which paints of pleasm-e hut the pm-er 
part; [veil'd is best, — 

"WTiieh knows ev'n Beauty when half- 
Like her own radiant planet of the west. 
Whose orb when half retired looks love- 
liest, t 
Tliere hung the history of the Genii- 
King, 
Traced thi-ough each gay, voluptuous 
wandering [bright eyes 

"With her fi-om Saba's bowers, in whose 
He read that to be blest is to be 

wise ; — t 
Here fond Zuleika^ woos with open 

arms 
The Hebrew boy, who flies from her 

young charms, 
Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half un- 
done, [be won ; 
Wishes that Heav'n and she could both 
And here Mohammed, bom for love and 

guile, 
Forgets the Koran in his Mary's 

smile ; — 
Then beckons some kind angel from 
above [love.|| 

With a new text to consecrate their 

* It lias been generally supposed that the 
Mahometans prohibit all pictures of animals; 
but Toderini shows that, though the jiractico 
is forbidden by the Koran, they are not more 
averse to painted figures and images tliau 
other people. From Mr. Murphy's work, too, 
we find that the Arabs of Spam had no objec- 
tion to the introduction of figures into painting. 

* This is not quite astronomienlly true. 
" Dr. Hadley (says Keil) has shown that Venus 
Is brightest when she is about forty degrees 
removed from the sun; and that then but 
only a fourth part of her lucid disk is to be 
seen from the earth." 

I For the loves of King Solomon, (who was 
supposed to presde over the whoie race of 
Genii.) with Balkis, the Queen of Sheba or 
Saba, see D'Herbelot, and the Notes on the 
Koran, chap 2. 

"In the ))alace which Solomon ordered to be 
built against the arrival of the Queen of Saba, 
the floor or pavement was of transparent glass, 
laid over ruuuing water, iu which fish were 



With rapid step, yet pleased and 

ling'rmg eye, [by, 

Did the youth pass these pictured stories 
And hasten' d to a casement, where the 

light [bright 

Of the calm moon came in, and freshly 
The fields without were seen, sleeping 

as stUl 
As if no life remain'd in breeze or rill. 
Here paused he, while the music, now 

less near, [ear, 

Breathed with a holier language on his 
As though the distance, and that hea- 

v'nly ray [ing, took away 

Through which the sounds came float- 
All that had been too earthly in the lay. 

Oh! could he listen to such sounds 
unmoved, [loved? 

And by that light — nor dream of her he 
Dream on, unconscious boy ! while yet 
thou may'st ; [taste. 

'Tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever 
Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart. 
Ere all the light, that made it dear, de- 
part, [them last, 
Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st 
Clear, beautiful, by naught of earth 

o'ercast ; 

Eecall her tears, to thee at parting giv'n, 

Pure as they weep, */ angels weep, in 

Heav'n. [thee now. 

Think, in her own still bower she waits 

With the same glow of heart and bloom 

of brow, [only, 

Tet shrined in sohtude— thine all, thine 

Like the one star above thee, bright and 

lonely. 

swimming." This led the Queen into a very 
natural mistake, which the Koran has not 
thought beneath its dignity to commemorate. 
"It was said unto her, 'Enter the palace.' 
And when she saw it she imagined it to be a 
great water; and she discovered her legs, by 
lifting up her robe to pass through it. Where- 
upon Solomon said to her, ' VerOy, this is the 
place evenly floored with glass.'"— Chap. 27. 

§ The wffe of Potiphar, thus named by the 
Orientals. 

"The passion which this frail bc.nuty of an- 
tiquity conceived for her young Hebrew slave, 
has given rise to a much-esteemed poem in the 
Persian language, entitled Tusefvaii Zclikha, 
by Noureddin Jami ; the manuscrijit copy of 
which, in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, is 
supposed to be the finest in the whole world." 
— Note icpon Nott's Trandation of Hafez. 

II The particulars of Mahomet''s amour with 
Mary, the Coptic girl, iu justification of which 
he a'ddcd a new chapter to the Koran, may be 
found m Gaonier's Notes upon Abulfeda, p.l6L 



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LALLA EOOKH. 



407 



Oh ! that a dream so sweet, so long en- 

joy'd, 
Should be so sadly, cruelly destroy 'd ! 

The soug is hush'd, the laughing 

nymphs are flown, 
And he is left, musing of bliss, alone ; — 
Alone? — no, not alone — that heavy sigh, 
That sob of grief, which broke from some 

one mgh — [found 

Whose could it be ? — alas ! is misery 
Here, even here, on this enchanted 

ground ? [veil'd, 

He turns, and sees a female form, close 
Leaning, as if both heart and strength 

had fail'd. 
Against a pillar near ;— not ghtt'ring o'er 
With gems and wreaths, such as the 

others wore. 
But in that deep-blue, melancholy dress, * 
Bokhara's maidens wear iu mindful- 
ness [away; — 
Of friends or kindred, dead or far 
And such as Zelica had on that day 
He left her — when, with heart too full 

to speak, [his cheek. 

He took away her last warm tears upon 

A strange emotion stirs within Km, — 

more t-fore ; 

Than mere compassion ever waked be- 
IJnconsciously he opes his arms, while 

she [energy, 

Springs forward, aa with life's last 
But, swooning in that one convulsive 

bound, [ground ; — 

Sinks, ere she reach his arms, upon the 
Her veil falls off— her faint hands clasp 

hih knees— 
'Tis she herself !— 'tis Zelica he sees ! 
But, ah; so pale, so changed — none but 

a lovei [discover 

Could in that wreck of beauty's shrine 
The once-adored divinity — ev'n he 
Stood for some moments mute, and 

doubtingly 
Put back the riixglets from her brow, 

and gazed [blazed, 

Upon those lids, where once such lustre 
Ere he could think she was indeed his 

own, [kno-nn 

Own darhng maid, whom he so long had 
In joy and sorrow, beautiful in both ; 
Who, ev'n when grief was heaviest— 

when loath [hour 

He left her for the wars — in that worst 



Sat in her sorrow like the sweet night- 

flow'r,t [ries out, 

When darkness brings its weeping glo- 

And spreads its sighs like frankincense 

about. 

" Look up, my Zelica — one moment 
show [know 

" Those gentle eyes to me, that I may 
" Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone, 
"But there, at least, shines as it ever 
shone. [glance, 

" Come, look upon thy Azim— one dear 
"Like those of old, were heav'n ! what- 
ever chance [blessed one ! 
" Hath brought thee here, oh, 'twas a 
" There— my loved lips — they move^ 
that kiss hath run [every vein, 
" Like the first shoot of life through 
" And now I clasp her, mine, aU mine 

again. 

" Oh the delight — now, in this very houi; 

" When had the whole rich world beeif 

in my pow'r, [thee, 

'• I should have singled out thee, only 

" From the whole world's collected trea. 

sury — [fondly o'et 

" To have thee here — to hang thus 

"My own, best, purest Zelica onco 

more ! " 

It was indeed the touch of those fond 

lips [echpso, 

Upon her eyes that chased their short 

And, gradual as the snow, at Heaven's 

breath, [beneath. 

Melts off and shows the azure flow'rs 

Her Uds unclosed, and the bright eyes 

were seen [been, 

Gazing on his — not, as they late had 

Quick, restless, wild, but mournfully 



As if to lie, ev'n for that tranced minute, 
So near his heart, had consolation in it ; 
And thus to wake in his beloved caress 
Took from her soul one-half its wretch- 
edness, [and pm-e, 
But, when she heard him call her good 
Oh, 'twas too much — too dreadful to en- 
dure ! [embrace, 
Shudd'ring she broke away from his 
Audi, hiding with both hands her guilty 
face, [have riv'n 
Said, in a tone whose anguish would 
A heart of very marble, "Pure!— ok 
Heav'n !"— 



* "Deep blue is their mourning color."— 1 The sorrowful nyctanthes. which begins to 
Hanway. spread its rich odor after sunset. 




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408 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



That tone— those looks so changed — 

the withering blight, [lifrtit : 

That sin and son-ow leave where'er they 
The dead despondency of those sank 

eyes, [surprise. 

Where once, had he thus met her by 
He would have seen himself, too happy 

boy, 
ReflectCii in a thousand lights of joy ; 
And then the place, — that bright, un- 
holy place, [uiug grace 
Where vice lay hid beneath each win- 
And charm of lux'ry, as the viper 

weaves [leaves, — * 

Its wily cov'ring of sweet balsam 
All struck upon his heart, sudden and 

cold [told— 

As death itself; it needs not to be 
jS'o, no— he sees it all, plain as the brand 
Of burning shame can mark — whate'er 

the hand, [brightness sever, 

That could fi-om Heav'n and him such 
'Tis done — to Heav'n and him she's lost 

forever ! 
It was a dreadful moment ; not the tears, 
The Hng'ring, lasting misery of years 
Could match that minute's anguish — all 

the worst 
Of sorrow's elements in that dark bm-st 
Broke o'er his soul, and, with one crash 

of fate. 
Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate. 

"Oh! curse me not," she cried, as 

wild he toss'd ["though I am lost, 
His desp'rate hand tow'rds Heav'n — 
" Think not that guilt, that falsehood 

made me fall ! [it all ! 

" N'o, no — 'twas grief, 'twas madness did 
" Nay, doubt me not — though all thy 

love hath ceased— [least, 

"I know it hath — yet, yet believe, at 
"That ev'ry spark of reason's light must 

be [stray from thee. 

"Quench'd in this brain, ere I could 
" They told me thou wert dead— why, 

AziM, why [die 

"Did we not, both of us, that instant 
" When we were parted ? oh ! couldst 

thou but know 
" With what a deep devotedness of wo 
" I wept thy absence — o'er and o'er 

again 
"Thmking of thee, still thee, till 

thought grew pain, 

* "Concerning- the vipers, which Pliny says 
were frequent among the balsam-trees, Imaae 



"And mem'ry, Uke a drop that, night 

and day, 
"Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my 

heart away. 
"Didst thou but know how pale I sat at 

home, [to come, 

" My eyes still tum'd the way thou wert 
"And, all the long, long night of hope 

and fear, [ear— 

" Thy voice and step still sounding in my 
" Oh God ! thou wouldst not wonder 

that, at last, [o'ercast, 

"When every hope was all at once 
" When I heard frightful voices round 

me say [gave way^ 

" Acim is dead!— tins wretched brain 
"And I became a wreck, at random 

driven, [Heav'n — 

" W^ithout one glimpse of reason or of 
" AU wild — and even this quenchless 

love within [sin ! — 

"Tum'd to foul fires to light me into 
" Thou pitiest me — I knew thou wouldst 

— that sky [as I. 

"Hath naught "beneath it half so loni 
" The fiend, who Im-ed me hither— hist ': 

come near, [hear — 

" Or thou too, thou art lost, if he should 
"Told me such things — oh! with such 

dev'lish art, [heart— 

"As would have ruin'd ev'n a holier 
"Of thee, and of that ever-radiant 

sphere, [served Mm here, 

"Where bless'd at length, if I but 
" I should forever live in thy dear sight, 
" And drink from those pm-e eyes eter- 
nal fight. [I must be, 
"Think, think how lost, how mudden'd 
" To hope that guilt could lead to God 

or thee ! [that I durst 

"Thou weep'st for me — do weep — oh, 
" Kiss off that tear ! but, no — these lips 

are cursed, [vine caress, 

"They must not touch thee; — one di- 
" One blessed moment of forgetfulness 
"I've had within those arms, and that 

shall lie, [I die ; 

"Shrined in my soul's deep mem'ry tiU 
" The last of joy's last reMcshere below, 
"The one sweet drop, in all this waste 

of wo, [spring 

' ' My heart has treasured from affection's 
" To soothe and cool its deadly wither- 
ing ! [ever go ; 
"But thou— yes, thou must go— for- 

very particular inquiry ; several wore broughf 
me alive both to Yambo andJidda." — Bruce. 




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•Vv} 





iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinininiiiufiiuiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiitiinianiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiittniiiiiiiiiiM 

LALLA ROOKH. 409 



" This place is not for thee— for thee ! 

oh no ; [brain 

" Did I but tell thee half, thy tortured 
" Would bum like mine, and mine go 

wild again ! [hearts, once good, 
" Enough, that Guilt reigns here — that 
"J^ow tainted, chill'd, and bapken, are 

his food. — 
" Enough, that vre are parted — that 

there rolls [souls, 

" A flood of headlong fate between our 
" Whose darkness severs me as wide 

from thee 
" As hell from heav'n, to all eternity I" 

"Zelica, Zelica!" the youth ex- 

claim'd. 
In all " e tortures of a mind inflamed 
Almost to madness— "by that sacred 

Heav'n, [thou'lt be forgiv'n, 

" Where yet, if pray'rs can move, 
" As thou art here— here, in this writh- 
ing heart, [art ! 
"All sinful, wild, and ruin'd as thou 
"By the remembrance of our once pure 

love, [bums above 

"Which, like a churchyard light, still 
"The grave of our lost souls — which 

guilt in thee 
"Cannot extinguish, nor despair in me ! 
"I do conjure, implore thee to fly 

hence — [cence, 

" If thou hast yet one spark of inno- 
"Fly with me from this place !" 

" With thee ? oh bliss ! 
"'Tis worth whole years of torment to 

hear this. [let her rove 

" What"^ take the lost one with thee ? — 
"By thy dear side, as in those days of 

love, 
" When we were both so happy, both 

so pure— 
"Too heav'nly dream! if there's on 

earth a cure [after day 

"For the sunk heart, 'tis this— day 
"To be the bless' d companion of thy 

way; 
" To hear thy angel eloquence — to see 
" Those virtuous eyes forever tum'd on 

me; 
" And, in their light rechasten'd silently, 
" Like the stain'd web that whitens in 

the sun, [upon ! 

"Grow pure by being purely shone 
"And thou wilt pray for me— I know 

thou wilt — [of guilt 

" At the dim vesper hour, when thoughts 



" Come heaviest o'er the heart, thou'lt 

lift thine eyes, [skies, 

" Full of sweet tears, unto the dark'niug 
" And plead for me with Heav'n, till 1 

can dare [there ; 

"To fix my own weak, sinful glances 
"Till the good angels, when they see 

me cung 
" Forever near thee, pale and sorrovring, 
" Shall for thy sake pronomice my soul 

forgiv'n, [to Heav'n ! 

" And bid thee take thy weeping slave 

" Oh yes, I'll fly with thee " 

Scarce had she said 
These breathless words, when a voice 

deep and di-ead 
As that of MoNKERj waking up the dead 
From their first sleep— so starthng 'twas 

to both — [oath ! thy oath !" 

Kung through the casement near, "Thy 
Oh Heav'n, the ghastliness of that 

Maid's look ! — [terror shook 

" 'Tis he," faintly she cried, while 
Her inmost core, nor durst she lift her 

eyes, [naught but the skies 

Though through the casement, now, 
And moonlight fields were seen, calm 

as before— 
" 'Tis he, audi am his— all, all is o'er— 
"Go — fly this instant, or thou'rt ruin'd 

too — [ti-uo, 

" My oath, my oath, oh God ! 'tis all too 
" True as the wonn in this cold heart it 

is— [his— 

" I am Mokanna's bnde— his, Azim, 
"The Dead stood round us, while I 

spoke that vow, [them now I 

"Their blue lips echo'd it — I hear 
"Their eyes glared on me while I 

pledged that bowl, [my soul ! 
'"Twas burning blood— I feel it in 
" And the Veil'd Bridegroom— hist ! I've 

seen to-night [sight, 

" Wliat angels know not of— so foul a 
" So horrible — oh ! never may'st thou 

see [and me ! 

" What there lies hid from aU but hell 
"But I must hence- off", ofi"— I am not 

thine, [that is divine— 

" Nor Heav'n's, nor Love's, nor aught 
" Hold me not — ha ! think'st thou the 

fiends that sever [then— forever !" 
" Hearts, cannot sunder hands ?— thus, 

With all that strength, which mad- 
ness lends the weak, [a shriek, 
She flung away his aim: and, with 




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^ ^ .'^Ip^ ^ 

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410 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



Whose sound, though he should linger 

out more years [his ears — 

Than wretch e'er told, can never leave 

Flew up through that long avenue of 

light, [night, 

Fleetly as some dark, ominous bird of 

Across the sun, and soon was out of 

sight ! 



Lalla Rookh could think of nothing 
all day but the misery of these two 
young lovers. Her gaiety was gone, 
and she looked pensively even upon 
Fadladeen. She felt, too, without 
knowing why, a sort of uneasy pleasure 
in imagining that Azm must have been 
just such a youth as Feramorz ; just as 
worthy to enjoy all the blessings, with- 
out any of the pangs, of that illusive 
passion, which, too often, like the sunny 
apples of Istkahar,* is all sweetness on 
one side, and all bitterness on the other. 

As they passed along a sequestered 
river after sunset, they saw a young 
Hindoo gM upon the bank,t whose em- 
ployment seemed to them so strange, 
that they stopped then: palankeens to 
observe her. She had lighted a small 
lamp, filled with oil of cocoa, and plac- 
ing it in an earthen dish, adorned with a 
wreath of flowers, had committed it with 
a trembling hand to the stream ; and 
was now anxiously watching its progi-ess 
down the current, heedless of the gay 
cavalcade which had drawn up beside 
her. Lalla Eookh was all curiosity ; 
— when one of her attendants, who had 
lived upon the banks of the Ganges, 
(where this ceremony is so frequent, 
that often, in the dusk of the evening, the 
river is seen glittering all over with lights, 
like the Oton-Tala, or Sea of Stars,t) 

* "In the territory of Istkahar there is a 
kind of apple, half of which is sweet aiul half 
sour." — Ebn llaukal. 

\ For an account of this ceremony, see 
Grandprc's Voyape in the Indian Ocean. 

t " The phace where the Whangho, a river 
yof Thibet, rises, and where there are more 
than a hundred springs, whicli sparkle like 
stars : whence it is called Hotun-nor. that is, 
the Sea of Stars." — Description of Thibet in 
Pinkerton. 

§ " The Lescar or Imperial Carap is divided, 
like a regular town, into squares, alleys, and 
streets, arid from a rising ground furnishes one 
of the most agreeable prospects in the world. 
Starting up in a few hours in an uninhabited 
plain, it raises the idea of a city built by en- 
chantment. Even those who leave their houses 



informed the Princess that it was the 
usual way in which the friends of those 
who had gone on dangerous voyages of- 
fered up vows for their safe return. If 
the lamp sunk immediately, the omen 
was disastrous; but if it went shining 
down the stream, and continued to burn 
till entirely out of sight, the return of the 
beloved object was considered as cer- 
tain. 

Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, 
more than once looked back, to observe 
how the young Hindoo's lamp proceed- 
ed ; and while she saw with pleasure 
that it was stiU unextinguished, she 
could not help fearing that all the hopes 
of this life were no better than that fee- 
ble light upon the river. The remainder 
of the journey was passed in silence. She 
now, for the first time, felt that shade ol 
melancholy which comes over the youth- 
ful maiden's heart, as sweet and tran- 
sient as her own breath upon a mirror* 
nor was it till she heard the lute of Fer- 
amorz, touched lightly at the door ot 
her pavihon, that she waked from the 
revery in which she had been wander- 
ing. Instantly her eyes were hghted up 
with pleasure ; and after a few unheard 
remarks from Fadladeen upon the in- 
decorum of a poet seating himself in 
presence of a Princess, every thing was 
ai-ranged as on the preceding evening, 
and all listened with eagerness, while 
the story was thus continued : — 

Whose are the gilded tents that crowd 

the way, [day ? 

Where all was waste and silent yester- 

This City of War which, in a few short 

hours, [powers 

Hath sprung up here,$ as if the magic 

in cities to follow the Prince in his progress, 
are frequently so charmed with the Lescnr, 
when situated in a beautiful and convenient 
place, that they cannot prevail with themselves 
to remove. To prevent this inconvenience to 
the court, the Emperor, after sufHcient time is 
allowed to the tradesmen to follow, orders 
them to be burnt out of their tents."— Dovfs 
Hindostan. 

Colonel TVilks gives a lively picture of an 
Eastern encampment :—" His camp, like tliat 
of most Indian armies, exhibited a motley col- 
lection of covers from the scorching sun and 
dews of the night, variegated according to the 
taste or means of each individual, by extensive 
enclosures of colored calico surrounding superb 
suites of tents ; by ragged clothes uv blankets 
stretched over sticks or'branches ; palm leaves 



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LALLA EOOKH. 



4U 



Of Him -who, in the twinkling of a star, 
Built the high pillafd halls of Chilmi- 

NAR,* 

Had conjured up, far as the eye can see, 
This world of tents, and domes, and sun- 
bright armory:— 
Princely pavilions, screen'd by many a 
fold [of gold— 

Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls 
Steeds, with their housings of rich silver 
spun, [sun ; 

Their chains and poitrels ghtt'ring in the 
And camels, tufted o'er with Yemen's 
shells,! [bells? 

Shaking in every breeze their light- toned 

But yester-eve, so motionless around, 
So mute was this wide plain, that not a 

sound 
But the far torrent, or the locust birdt 
Hunting among the thickets, could be 

heard ;— [kind, 

Yet hark ! what discords now of ev'ry 
Shouts, laughs, and screams are revel- 
ling in the wind ; 
The neigh of cavalry;— the tinkling 

throngs [songs ; — ^ 

Of laden camels and their drivers' 
Ringing of arms, and flapping in the 

breeze [pies;— 

Of streamers from ten thousand cano- 
War-music, bursting out from time to 

time, [chime ; — 

With gong and tymbalon's tremendous 
Or, in the pause, when harsher sounds 

are mute, [flute, 

The mellow breathings of some horn or 

hastily spread over similar supports; hand- 
some tents and splendid canopies; horses, 
oxen, elephants, and camels ; all intennixed 
without any exterior mark of order or design, 
except the flags of the chiefs, which usually 
mai-k the centres of a congeries of these 
masses ; the only regular part of the encamp- 
ment being the streets of shops, each of which 
is constructed nearly in the manner of a booth 
at an English teiir. "—Historical Sketches of the 
South of India. 

* The edifices of Chilminar and Balbec are 
supposed to have been built by the Genii, act- 
ing under the orders of Jan ben Jan, who 
governed the world long before the time of 
Adam. 

t " A superb camel, ornamented with strings 
and tufts of small shells." — Ali Bey. 

\ A native of Khorassan, and allured south- 
ward by means of the water of a lountain be- 
tween bhiraz and Ispahan, called the Fountain 
of Birds, of which it is so fond that it will fol- 
low wherever the water is carried. 

f " Some of the camels have bells about 
their necks, and some about their legs, like 



That far off, broken by the eagle note 
Of th' Abyssinian trumpet, || swell and 
float. 

"WTio leads this mighty army?— ask 

ye "who?" [hue, 

And mark ye not those banners of dark 

The Night and Shadow,1[ over yonder 

tent?— 
It is the Caliph's glorious armament. 
Roused in his Palace by the dread alarms, 
That hourly came, of the false Prophet's 

arms. 
And of his host of infidels, who hm-l'd 
Defiance fierce at Islam** and the 

world,— 
Though worn with Grecian warfare, 

and behind 
The veils of his bright Palace calm re- 
clined, [should stain. 
Yet brook'd he not such blasphemy 
Thus unrevenged, the evening of his 

reign ; 
But, having sworn upon the Holy Gravett 
To conquer or to perish, once more gave 
His shadowy banners proudly to th« 

breeze. 
And with an army, nursed in victories. 
Here stands to crush the rebels that o'er- 
run [Sun, 

His blest and beauteous Province of the 
Ne'er did the march of Mahadi dis- 
play 
Such pomp before ; — not ev'n when on 

his way 
To Mecca's Temple, when both land 
and sea 



those which our carriers put about their fore- 
horses' necks, wkich, together with the ser- 
vants, (who belong to the camels, and travel 
on foot) singing all night, make a pleasant 
noise, and the journey passes away delight- 
fully."— Pifi's Account of the Mahometans. 

" The camel-driver follows the camels sing- 
ing, and sometimes playing upon his pipe; the 
louder he sings and pipes the faster the camels 
go. Nay, they will stand still when he gives 
over his muaic."—Tavernier. 

II' This trumpet is often called, in ^Abys- 
sinia, nesser cano, which .signifies the Kote of 
the Eagle."— iVote of Bruce s Editor 

t The two black standards borne before the 
CaUphs of the House of Abbas were called 
allegorically. The Kight and The Shadow.— 
See Gibbon. 

** The Mahometan religion. 

tt"The Persians swear by the Tomb of 
Shah Besade, who is buried at Casbin; and 
when one desires another to asseverate n 
matter, he will ask him if he dare swear by tho 
lloly Grave."— Aecw2/. 



i|iiiiiHnniiffliiiiiiTtiiiitiiiiiiiiniHiniiiiiinimiiiiiiiHiiffliiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiii«fiiiiiiiiiiiimiiniiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiimiiiiii^^ 





tiiuininiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiifiiiiiiiiiHiiiiuiiifiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiuiiiiHiiiiiiimiiiiHiiiiiiiHiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiii^ 
412 MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



"Were spoil'd to feed the Pilfpnm's lux- 
ury;* 
When round him, mid the burning sands, 

he saw 
Fruits of the North in icy&eshness thaw, 
And cool'd his thirsty lip, beneath the 

glow [snow : — f 

Of Mecca's sun, Avith urns of Persian 
Nor e'er did armament more grand than 

that 
Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat. 
First, in the van, the People of the 

Eock,t [stock ;§ 

On their light mountain steeds, of royal 
Then, chieftains of Damascus, proud to 

see [quetry;— II 

The flashiug of their swords' rich mar- 
Men, from the regions near the Volga's 

mouth, [the South ; 

Mix'd with the rude, black archers of 
And Indian lancers, m white turban'd 

ranks, [banks, 

From the far Sinde, or Attock's' sacred 
"With dusky legions from the Land of 

Myrrh, U [sea islander. 

And many a mace-arm'd Moor and Mid- 

Nor less in number, though more new 

and rude [tude 

In warfare's school, was the vast multi- 

That, fired by zeal, or by oppression 

wrong'd, [tor throng'd. 

Round the white standard of th' impos- 

Besidehis thousands of Believers— blind, 

Burning and headlong as the Samiel 

wind— [feel 

Many who felt, and more who fear'd to 

The bloody Islamite's converting steel, 



* Mahadi, in a singl 
expended six millions of 'dinars o? pold 

t Nirem Meccam apportavit, rem ibi aut 
nunquam ant rare visam. — Abulfeda. 

\ The inhabitants of Hejaz or Arabia Pe- 
trjea, called by an Eastern writer " The People 
of the Rock." — Ebn Baukal. 

§" Those horses, called by the Arabians 
Kochlani, of whom a written genealogy has 
been kept for 2000 years. They are said to de- 
rive their origin from King Solomon's steeds." 
— Nicbuhr. 

II "Many of the figures on the blades of 
their swords are wrought in gold or silver, or 
in marquetry with small sQma."—Asiat,Misc. 
V i. 

U Azab or Saba. 

** "The chiefs of the Uzbek Tartars wear 
a plume of white heron's feathers in their tur- 
bans.''— Accownt of lndej)Cndcnt Tartary. 

It In the mountains of Nishapour and Tons 
(in Kliorassan) they find turquoises.— £6ri 
Haukal. 



Flock'd to his banner;— Chiefs of th 

Uzbek race, [grace ; "*' 

"Waving their heron crests with martia; 
Turkomans, countless as their flocks, 

led forth 
Promth' aromatic pastures of the North ; 
"Wild warriors of the turquoise hil]s,tt — 

and those 
"Who dwell beyond the everlasting snows 
Of Hindoo Kosn,t]: in stormy freedom 

bred, [rent's bed. 

Their fort the rock, their camp the tor- 
But none, of all who own'd the Chiefs 

command, 
Rush'd to that battle-fleld with bolder 

hand, [men,§$ 

Or sterner hate, than Iran's outlaw'd 
Her "Worshippers of Fire — all panting 

then 
For vengeance on th' accursed Saracen ; 
Yengeance at last for their dear country 

spum'd, [o'ertum'd. 

Her throne usurp'd, and her bright shrines 
From Tezd'sIIII eternal Mansion of the 

Fire, [expire: 

"Where aged saints in dreams of Heav'n 
From Badku, and those foimtains of 

blue flame 
That bum into the Caspian, HIT fierce 

they came. 
Careless for what or whom the blow 

was sped, [rants bled. 

So vengeance triumph 'd, and their ty- 

Such was the wild and miscellaneous 
host, 
That high in air their motley banners 
toss'd 



\l For a description of these stupendous 
ranges of mountains, see Elvhinstone' s Oauhul. 

§f The Gliebers or Guebres, those original 
natives of Persia who adhered to their ancient 
faith, the rehgion of Zoroaster, and who, after 
the conquest of tlieir country by the Arabs, 
were either persecuted ot homo, or forced to 
become wanderers abroad. 

III! '• Tezd, the chief residence of those an- 
cient natives, who worship the Sun and the 
Fire, which latter they have carefully kept 
lighted, without being once extinguished for a 
moment, about 3000 yenrs, on a mountain near 
Tezd, called Ater Quednh, signifying the 
House or Mansion of the Fire. He is reckoned 
very unfortunate who dies off that mountain." 
— Stephens Persia. 

tU " When the weather is hazy, the springs ol 
Naphtha (on an island near Baku) boil up the 
higher, and the Kaphthn often takes fire on the 
surface of the earth, and runs in a flame into 
the sea to a distance almost incredible."— i/aji 
ivay on the Everlasting Fire at Baku. 




THB VBILED PROPHBT. 



Put back the nnglets from her brow, and eazed 
Upon those lids, where once such lustre blazed, 
Fre h- could think she was ituUed his own i " 




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i}#>^g)^^^ 



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LALLA EOOKH. 



413 



Around the Prophet-Ohief— all eyes still 
bent [went, 

Upon that glittering Yeil, where'er it 

That beacon through the battle's 
stormy flood, 

That rainbow of the field, whose 
showers were blood ! 

Twice hath the sun upon their conflict 
set [pling yet ; 

And risen again, and found them grap- 
While streams of carnage in his noon- 
tide blaze, [crimson haze, 
Smoke up to Heav'n— hot as that 
By which the prostrate Caravan is 
awed,* [abroad. 
In the red Desert, when the wind's 
"On, Swords of God!" the panting 

Caliph calls, — ■ 
"Thrones for the living — Heav'n for 

him who falls !" — 
" On, brave avengers, on," Mokanna 
cries, [flies !"— 

"And Eblis blast the recreant slave that 
Ifow comes the brunt, the crisis of the 
day — [troops give way ! 

They clash— they strive— the Caliph's 
Mokanna's self plucks the black ban- 
ner down, [crown 
And now the Orient World's Imperial 
Is just within his grasp — when, hark, 
that shout ! [Moslem's rout ; 
Some hand hath check'd the flying 
And now they tm'n, they rally —at their 
head [led, 
A waiTior, (Uke those angel youths who 
In glorious panoply of Heav'n's own mail. 
The Champions of the Faith through 

Beder's vale,t) 
Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives, 
Turns on the fierce pursuer's blades, and 

drives 
At once the multitudinous torrent back- 
While hope and courage kindle in his 
track ; [makes 

And. at each step, his bloody falchion 
Terrible vistas through which vict'ry 
breaks ! [flight. 

In vain Mokanna, midst the general 

♦ Savary says of tlie south wind, which blows 
in Egypt from February to May, " Sometimes 
it appears only in the shape of an impetuous 
whirlwind, which passes rapidly, and is fatal 
to the traveller, surprised in the middle of the 
deserts. Torrents of burninjj sand roll before 
it, the firmament is enveloped in a thick veil, 
and the sun appears of tne color of blood. 
Sometimes whole caravans are buried in it." 



Stands, like the red moon, on some 

stormy m^ht, [ing by, 

Among the fugitive clouds that, huny- 
Leave only her unshaken in the sky— 
In vain he yells his desperate curses 

out. 
Deals death promiscuously to all about, 
To foes that charge, and coward friends 

that fly, [enemy. 

And seems of all the Great Arch- 
The panic spreads — "A miracle!" 

throughout [shout, 

The Moslem ranks, " a miracle !" they 
All gazing on that youth, whose coining 
[dreams ; 



A light, a glory, such as breaks in 

And ev'ry sword, true as o'er billows 

dim [lowing him ! 

The needle tracks the load-star, fol- 

Kight tow'rds Mokanna now he 
cleaves his path, [of wrath 

Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt 
He bears from Heav'n withheld its aw- 
ful burst [way cursed, 
From weaker heads, and souls but half 
To break o'er Him, the mightiest and 
the worst ! [hour of blood. 
But vain his speed — though, in that 
Had all God's seraphs round Mokan- 
na stood, [to fall, 
"With swords of fire, ready like fate 
Mokanna's soul would have defied 
them aU : [strong 
Yet now, the rush of fugitives, too 
For human force, hurries ev'n liini 

along : 
In vain he struggles 'mid the wedged 

array 
Of flying thousands — ho is borne away ; 
And the sole joy his balfled spirit knows, 
In this forced flight, is— mm'd'ring as he 
goes ! [might 

As a grim tiger, whom the torrent's 
Surprises in some parch'd ravine at 
night, [wretched flocks, 

Turns, ev'n in drowning, on the 
Swept with him in that snow-flood from 

the rocks, 
And, to the last, devouring on bis way. 
Bloodies the stream he hath not power 
to stay. 

f In the great victory gained by Mahomet at 
Beder, he was assisted, say the Mussulmans, 
by three thousand a)i.£rels, led by Gabriel, 
mounted on his horse Hiazum. — See The Koran 
and iU Commentators, 




11-..:^'^ 




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414 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



" AUa ilia Alia !"— the glad shout re- 
new — [EOU. 
" Alia Akbar !"* — the Caliph's iu Me- 
Hang out your gilded tapestry in the 
streets, [ziraleets.t 
And light your shrines and chant your 
The Swords of God have triumph' d — on 

his throne 
Your Caliph sits, and the Veil'd Chief 

hath flown. 
"Who does not envy that young warrior 
now, [brow, 

To whom the Lord of Islam bends his 
In all the graceful gratitude of power, 
For his throne's safety in that perilous 

horn-? 
Who doth not wonder, when, amidst th' 
acclaim [name — 

Of thousands, heralding to heaven his 
'Mid all those holier harmonies of fame, 
"Which sound along the path of vhtuous 

souls, 
Like music round a planet as it rolls, — 
He turns away — coldly, as if some 

gloom 
Hung o'er his heart no triumphs can il- 
lume; — 
Some sightless grief, upon whose blasted 
gaze [it plays. 

Though glory's light may_ play, in vain 
Tes,wretche"d Azim! thireis such a grief, 
Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief; 
A dark, cold calm, which nothing now 
can break, [Lake,| 

Or warm or brighten, — like that Syrian 
"Upon whose surface mom and summer 

shed 
Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is 

dead ! — 

Hearts there have been, o'er which this 

weight of wo [slow ; 

Came by long use of sufTring, tame and 

But thine, lost youth ! was sudden — 

over thee 
It broke at once, when aUseem'd ecstasy: 
When Hope look'd up, and saw the 
gloomy Past [last- 

Melt into splendor, and Bliss dawn at 
'Twas then, ev'n then, o'er joys so fresh- 
ly blown. 
This mortal blight of misery came down; 

♦ The Tecbir, or cry of tlie Arabs, " AUa 
Aebar!" says Ockley, means, "God is most 
mighty." 

t The ziraleet is a kind of chorus, which tlie 
Women of the East sing upon joyful occasions. 



Ev'n then, the fuU, warm gushings ot 
thy heart [as they start- 

Were check'd— like fount-drops, frozen 
And there, like them, cold, sunless relics 

hang, 
Each fix'd and chill'd into a lasting pang. 

One sole desire, one passion now re- 
mains 
To keep life's fever still within his veins, 
Vengeance! — dire vengeance on the 
wretch who cast [blast. 

O'er him and all he loved that niiuous 
For this, when rumors reach'd him in 

his ilight 
Far, far away, after that fatal night, — 
Rumors of armies, thronging to th' attack 
Of the Yeil'd Chief,— for this he wing'd 
him back, [fm-i'd, 

Fleet as the vulture speeds to flags un- 
And, when all hope seem'd desp'rate, 

wildly hm-l'd 
Himself into thescale, and saved a world. 
For this he still lives on, careless of all 
The wreaths that Gloiy on his path lets 

faU, 
For this alone exists — like lightning-fire, 
To speed one bolt of vengeance, and ex- 
pire ! 

But safe as yet that Spirit of Evil lives; 
With a small band of desp'rate fugitives. 
The last sole stubborn fragment, left 

unriv'n, [ing Heav'n, 

Of the proud host that late stood front- 
He gain'd Mkrou — breathed a short 

curse of blood [ Jihcin's flood, § 
O'er his lost throne — then pass'd the 
And gath'ring all, whose madness of 

belief [Chief, 

Still saw a Saviour in their down-fall'n 
Raised the white banner within ISTek- 

sheb'sII gates, [conqu'ror waits. 
And there, untamed, th' approaching 

Of all his Haram, all that busy hive 
With music and with sweets sparkling 

ahve, [flight, 

He took but one, the partner of his 
One— not for love— not for her beauty's 

light— [gay, 

No, Zelica stood with'ring 'midst the 
Wan as the blossom that fell yesterday 

t The Dead Sea, which contains neither ani- 
mal nor vegetable life. 
^ The ancient Osus. 
II A city of Transoxiana. 




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LALLA ROOKH, 



415 



From th' ^Uma tree and dies, Tvhile over- 
head [stead.* 
To-day's young flow'r is springing in its 
Oil, not for love — the deepest Damn'd 
must be [fiends a* he 
Touch'd with Heaven's glory, ere such 
Can feel one ghmpse of Love's divinity. 
But no, she is his victim ;- tJiere lie all 
Her charms for him — charms that can 

never pall, 
As long as hell vrithin his heart can stir, 
Or one faint trace of Heaven is left in her. 
To work an angel's ruin, — to behold 
As white a page as Virtue e'er unroU'd 
Blacken, beneath his touch, into a scroll 
Of damning sins, seal'd with a bimiing 

soul — 
This is his triumph; this the joy accursed, 
That ranks him among demons all but 

first: 
This gives the victim, that before him lies 
Blighted and lost, a gloiy in his eyes, 
A light like that with which hell-fire 
illumes [consumes ! 

The ghastly, writhing wretch whom it 

But other tasks now wait him — tasks 

that need [deed 

All the deep daringness of thought and 
"With which the Divest have gifted him— 

for mark, [made dark. 

Over yon plains, which night had else 
Those lanterns countless as the winged 

lights [nights, —t 

That spangle India's fields ou show'ry 
Far as their formidable gleams they shed. 
The mighty tents of the beleaguerer 

spread, [line, 

Glimm'riug along th' horizon's dusky 
And thence in nearer circles, till they 

shine [the town 

Among the founts and groves o'er which 
In all its arm'd magnificence looks down. 
Yet, fearless, from his lofty battlements 



7' 

tree, bu. you meet there either blossoms or 
fruit ; and as tlie blossom drops underneath on 
the ground (-^vliich is fre(iuentlT covered with 
these purple-oolored flowers) others come forth 
in their stead," &c &c. — Nieuhoff. 

t The Demons of the Persian mythology. 

t Carreri mentions the fire-flies in India 
during the rainy season.— See liis Travels. 

§ Sennacherib, called by the Orientals King 
of Moussal. — D'Hcrbelot. 

II Chosroes. Fov the description of his 
Throne or Palace, see Gibbon and VHerbclot. 

There was said to be under tliis Throne or 
Palace of Khosrou Parviz a hundred vaults 



MoKANNA views that multitude of tents; 
Nay, smiles to think that, though en- 
toiled, beset; [yet; — 
Not less than myriads dare to froiit him 
That friendless, throneless, he thus 

stands at bay, [they. 

Ev'n thus a match for myriads such as 
"Oh, for a sweep of that dark Angel's 

wing, [Assyrian Kiug^ 

"Who brush'd the thousands of th' 
" To darkness in a moment, that I might 
"People Hell's chambers with yon host 

to-night ! [grasp the tkrone, 

"But, come what may, let who will 
" Caliph or Prophet, Man alike shall 

groan; [Caliph — King — 

"Let who will torture him, Priest — 
" Alike this loathsome world of his shall 

ring [the slave, — 

" "With victims' shrieks and bowlings oi 
" Sounds, that shall glad me ev'n within 

my grave !" 
Thus, to himself — but to the scanty train 
Still left around him, a far difierent 

strain:— 
" Glorious defenders of the sacred Crown 
"I bear from Heav'n, whose light nor 

blood shall drovni [whose gems 
" Nor shadow of earth eclipse; — before 
" The paly pomp of this world's diadems, 
" The crown of Gerashid, the pillar'd 

throne [shone,ir 

"Of Parviz, II and the heron crest that 
"Magnificent, o'er Ali's beauteous 

eyes,** [the skies: 

" Fade like the stars when mom is in 
""Warriors, rejoice — the port to which 

we've pass'd [last! 

" O'er Destiny's darkwave, beams out at 
"Yict'ry's our own — 'tis written in that 

Book [look, 

" Upon whose leaves none but the angels 
"That Islam's sceptre shaU beneath 

the power 



filled with "treasures so Immense that some 
Mahometan writers tell us, their Prophet, to 
encourage his disciples, carried them to a rook, 
which at his command opened, and gave them 
a prospect through it of the treasures of Khos- 
rou." — Universal Hutory . 

H " The crown of Gerashid is cloudy and tar- 
nished before the heron tuft of thy turban."— 
From one of the elegies or songs in praise of 
Ali, written in characters of gold round the 
gallery of Abbas's tomb.— See vhardin. 

** Thebenutyof Ali'seyes wasso remarljable 
that whenever the Persians would describe 
any thing as very lovely they say it is Ayn 
Uaii, or the Eyes of Ah.— Gkardin. 




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416 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



''Of her great foe faR broken in that 

hour, 
" When the moon's mighty orb, before 

all eyes, [tously shall rise ! 

"From Neksheb's Holy Well porten- 

" Xow turn and see !" 

They tum'd, and, as he spoke, 
A sudden splendor all aroimd them 

broke, [bright, 

And they beheld an orb, ample and 
Rise froni the Holy Well,* and cast its 

light [miles,— t 

Round the rich city and the plain for 
Flinging such radiance o'er the gilded 

tiles 
Of many a dome and fair-roofd imaret, 
As autumn suns shed round them when 

they set. [sign 

Instant from all who saw th' illusive 
A murmur broke — "Miraculous! di- 
vine !" 
The Gheber bow'd, thinking his idol star 
Had waked, and burst impatient through 

the bar 
Of midnight, to inflame him to the war; 
While he of Moussa's creed saw, in that 

ray, [dom's day, 

The glorious Light which, in his free- 
Had rested on the Ark, t and now again 
Shone out to bless the breaking of his 

chain. 

"To victory!" is at once the cry of 
all— [call; 

JSTor stands Mokanna loit'ring at that 
But instant the huge gates are flung 
aside, [tide 

And forth, like a diminutive mountain- 
Into the boundless sea, they speed then- 
course 
Right on into the Moslem's mighty force. 
The watchmen of the camp, — who, in 
their rounds, 

* TVe are not told more of this trick of the 
Impostor, than that it was "una machine, 
quil disoit etre la Lune." According to Rich- 
ardson, the miracle is perpetnated in Nekscheb. 
— Nakshab, the name of a city in Transoxiana, 
'There they say there is a well, in which the 
appearance of the moon is to be seen night and 
day.' ' 

i " II amusa pendant deux mois le peuple de 
la ville de Nekhscheb, en faisant sortir toutes 
les units du fond d'un puits un corps lummenx 
semblal)le a la Lune, qui portoit sa lumifere 
jusqu'a la distance de plusieurs miUes." — D'Her- 
lelot. Hence he was called Sazend6hmah, or 
the Moonmaker. 

J The Shechinah, called Sakinat ia the Ko- 
ran.— See Sale's Note, chap. ii. 



Had paused, and ev'n forgot the punc- 
tual sounds 
Of the small dram with which they 

count the night, ^ 
To gaze upon that supernatural h'ght, — 
ITow sink beneath an unexpected arm. 
And in a death-groan give their last 
alarm. [screen,|| 

" On for the lamps, that light yon lofty 
" Nor blunt your blades with massacre 
so mean ; [lucky lance 

" There rests the Caliph — speed — one 
"May now achieve mankind's deliver- 
ance." [cast, 
Desp'rate the die— such as they only 
Who venture for a world, and stake 
their last. [for blade 
But Fate's no longer with him— blade 
Springs up to meet them thro' the glim- 

m'riug shade, 

And, as the clash is heard, new legions 

soon [roonII 

Pour to the spot, like bees of Kauze- 

To the shrill timbrel's summons, — till, 

at length, [strength. 

The mighty camp swarms out in all its 

And back to Neksheb's (;;ates, covering 

the plain [venturous train ; 

With random slaughter, drives the ad- 

Amongthe last of whom the Silver Veil 

Is seen glitt'ring at times, like the white 

sail 
Of some toss'd vessel, on a stormy night. 
Catching the tempest's momentary light ! 

And hath not this brought the proud 
spirit low ? [ing ? No. 

Nor dash'd his brow, nor check'd his dar- 
Though half the wretches, whom at 
night he led [dead. 

To thrones and vict'ry, lie disgraced and 
Yet morning hears him with unshrink- 
ing crest,— 



§ The parts of the night are made known as 
well by instruments of music, as by the rounds 
of the watchmen with cries and small drums. 
—See Surder's Oriental Customs, vol. i. p. 119. 

II The Serrapurda, high screens of nd cloth, 
stitTened with cane, used to enclose n consider- 
able space round the royal tents.— JNx^m on the 
Bahardanush. 

The tents of Princes were generally illumi- 
nated. Kordeu tells us that the tent (rf the 
Bey of Girge was distinguished from the ntlur 
tents by forty lanterns being suspended before 
it.— See" Rarmer's Observations on Job. 

H'Trom the groves of orange trees at 
Kauzeroon the bees cull a celebrated honey. " 
— Morier's Travels. 




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LALLA ROOKH. 



417 



Still vaunt of thrones, and vict'ry to the 

rest; 
And they believe him ! — oh, the lover 

may [away; — 

Distrust that look which steals his soul 
The babe may cease to think that it can 

play [loay doubt 

"With Heaven's rainbow ;— alchymists 
The shining gold their crucible gives out ; 
But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded 

fast [last. 

To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the 

And weU th' Impostor knew all lures 

and arts, [hearts; 

That Lucifer e'er taught to tangle 
oN'or, 'mid these last bold workings of his 

plot 
Against men's souls, is Zelica forgot. 
Ill-fated Zelica ! had reason been 
Awake, through half the horrors thou 

hast seen, [had come 

Thou never couldst have borne it — Death 
At once, and taken thy wrung spirit 

home. 
But 'twas not so — a torpor, a suspense 
Of thought, almost of life, came o'er the 

intense [night, 

And passionate struggles of that fearful 
When her last hope of peace andheav'n 

took flight : [broke, — 

And though, at times, a gleam of phrensy 
As through some dull volcano's vale of 

smoke [start, 

Ominous flashings now and then will 
"Which show the' fire's still busy at its 

heart, [gloom, — 

Yet was she mostly wrapp'd in solemn 
Not such as Azim's, brooding o'er its 

doom, [death. 

And calm without, as is the brow of 
"While busy wonns are gnawing under- 
neath— 
But in a blank and pulseless torpor, free 

* " A custom still subsisting: at this day, 
seems to mo to prove that the Egyptians for- 
merly sacrificed a young virgin to the God of 
the Nile ; for they now make a statue of earth 
in shajie of a girl, to which they give the name 
of the Betrothed Bride, and throw it into the 
river." — Savary. 

\ That they knew the secret of the Greek 
fire among the Mussulmans earlv in the elev- 
enth century, appears from Dole's Account of 
Mainood I. " When he arrived at Moultau, 
finding that the country of the Jits was de- 
fended by great rivers, he ordered fifteen hun- 
dred boats to be built, each of which he ai-rned 
with six iron spikes, projecting from their 
prows and sides, to prevent their bemg boarded 



From thought or pain, a seal'd-up apa- 
thy, [thrill, 
"Which left her oft, with scarce one liviu 



■I 



The cold, pale victim of her tort'rer's w: 

Again, as in Merou, he had her deck'd 
Gorgeously out, the Priestess of the sect; 
And led her glitt'ring forth before the 

eyes 
Of his rude train, as to a sacrifice,— 
Pallid as she, the yoimg, devoted Bride 
Of the fierce Nile, when, deck'd in all 

the pride 
Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide.* 
And while the wi-etched maid hung 

down her head, [dead, 

And stood, as one just risen from the 
Amid that gazing crowd, the fiend would 

tell [or spell 

His credulous slaves it was some charm 
Possess'd her now, — and from that dark- 

en'd trance [liverance. 

Should dawn ere long theur Faith's de- 
Or if, at times, goaded by guilty shame. 
Her soul was roused, and words of wild- 

ness came, j^Lite 

Instant the bold blasphemer would trans- 
Hcr ravings into oracles of fate, 
"Would hail Heav'n's signals in her flash- 
ing eyes, - [the skies ! 
And call her shrieks the language of 

But vain at length his arts— despair is 

seen [glean 

Gath'ring around ; and famine comes to 
All that the sword had left unreap'd : — 

in vain [plain 

At mom and eve across the northern 
He looks impatient for the promised 

spears [taineers ; 

Of the wild Hordes and Tartar moun- 
They come not — while his fierce belea- 

guerers pour 
Engines of havoc in, unknown before, t 

by the enemy, who were very expert in that 
kind of war. When he hall launched tliis 
fleet, he ordered twenty archers iuto each boat, 
and five others with fire-balls, to burn the 
craft of the Jits, and naphtha to set the whole 
river on fire." 

The agnee aster, too, in Indian poems the 
Instniment of Fire, whose flame cannot be ex- 
tinguished, is supposed to signify the Greek 
Fire.— See Wilks's South of India, vol. i. P- 471, 
— And in the curious Javan poem, the Brat^ 
Tudha, given by Sir Stamford Kaffles in hi? 
History of Java, we find, "He aimed at the 
heart of Soeta with the sharp-pointed Weapon 
of Fire." 

The mention of gunpowder as in use among 




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418 



MOOEB'S WOKKS. 



And horrible as new;*— javelins, that fly 
Enwreath'd with smoky flames through 
the dark sky, [mount, 

And red-hot globes, that, opening as they 
Discharge, as from a kindled JSTaphtha 

fount, t 
Show'rs of consuming fire o'er all below ; 
Looking, as through th' illumined night 
they go, [giaus oft, 

Like those wild birds t that by the Ma- 
At festivals of fii-e, were sent aloft 
Into the air, with blazing fagots tied 
To their huge wings, scatt'ring combus- 
tion wide, [pire. 
All night the groans of wretches who ex- 
In agony, beneath these darts of fire. 
King through the city — while, descend- 
ing o'er 
Its shrines and domes and streets of syc- 
amore, — 
Its lone bazars, with then- bright cloths 
of gold, [roll'd,— 
Since the last peaceful pageant left un- 
its beauteous marble baths, whose idle 

jets 
Kow gush with blood,— and its tall min- 

"arets, 
That late have stood up in the eveniug 
glare [er; — 

Of the red sun, unhallow'd by a pray- 
O'er each, in tm-n, the dreadi'ul flame- 
bolts fall, [all 
And death and conflagration throughout 
The desolate city hold high festival ! 

the Arabians, lonsj before its supposed discov- 
ery in Europe, is i'ntioduced by -Ebii Fadhl, the 
Egyptian geograplier, wlio lived in the thir- 
teenth century. "Bodies," ho says, "in the 
form of scorpions, bound round and" filled witli 
nitrous powder, glide along, making a gentle 
noise; then, exploding, they lighten, as it were, 
and burn. But there are others which, cast 
into the air, stretch along like a cloud, roaring 
horribly, as thunder roars, and on all sides 
vomiting out flames, burst, burn, and reduce 
to cinders whatever comes in their way." The 
historian Sen Abdalla, in speaking of the 
sieges of Abulualid in the year of the Hegira 
712, snys. "A fiery globe, "by means of com- 
bustible matter, wi'th a mighty noise suddenly 
emitted, strikes with .he force of lightning, 
and shakos the citadel."— Sec the extracts 
from Ca»iri's Biblioth. Arab. Hispan. in the 
Appendix to Heriiigton' s Literary History of 
the Middle Ages. 

* The Greek fire, which was occasionally 
lent bv the emperors to their allies. "It was." 
says Gibbon, " either launched in redliot balls 
of stone and iron, or darted in arrows and 
javelins, twisted round with flax and tow, 
which had deeply imbibed the imflammable 
oil." 



MOKANNA sees the world is his no 

more ; — [o'er. 

One sting at parting, and his gi-asp is 
"What! drooping now V"— thus, with 

unblushing cheek, [speak. 

He hails the few, who yet can hear him 
Of all those famished slaves around him 

lying, [ing;— 

And by the light of blazing temples dy- 
' ' What ! drooping now ?— now, when at 

length we press [cess ; 

"Home o'er the very threshold of suc- 
"When Alla from our ranks hath 

thinn'd away [his ray 

" Those grosser branches that kept out 
" Of favor from us, and we stand at 

length [strength, 

" Heu'S of his light and children of his 
" The chosen few, who shall survive the 

fall [overall! 

"Of Kings and Thrones, triumphant 
" Have you then lost, weak luurm'rers 

as you are, [your Star? 

" All faith in him who was your Light, 
" Have you forgot the eye of glory, hid 
" Beneath this Veil, the flashing of 

whose lid [wither 

" Could, like a sim-stroke of the desert, 
" Millions of such as yonder Chief brings 

hither? [long — but now 

"Long have its lightnings slept— too 
" All earth shall feel th' unveiling of 

this brow ! [veiy night, 

"To-night — yes, sainted men! this 



t See Hantvay's Account of the Springs of 
Kaphtba at Baku (which is called by Lieuten- 
ant Pottinger Joala Mookee, or, the Flaming 
Mouth) taking fire and running into the sea. 
Dr. Cooke, in his Journal, mentions some wells 
in Circassia, strongly impregnated with this 
inflammable oil, from which issues boiling 
water. " Though the weather," he adds, "was 
now very cold, the wai-mth of these wells of 
hot water produced near them the verdvu-e and 
flowers of spring." 

Major Scott Waring says, that naphtha is 
used by the Persians, as we are told it was in 
hell, for lamps. 

many a row 

Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed 
"With naphtha and asphaltus, yielding light 
As from a sky. 

J " At the great festival of fire, called the 
Sheb Seze. they used to set fire to large bunches 
of dry combustibles, fastened round wild beasts 
and "birds, which being then let loose, the 
air and earth appeared one great illumination; 
and as these terrified creatines naturally fled 
to the woods for shelter, it is easy to conceive 
tlie confliigratiiins they produced." — liichard- 
ivn'i Dissertation. 




She saw .1 wearied man di'^mount 

From liis hot steed, and on the brink 
Of a small imaret's rustic fount 

Impatient fling him down to drink. 
Tlien swift his haggard brow he turn'd 

To the fair child, who fearless sat, 
Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd 

Upon a brow more fierce than that; — 



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LALLA EOOKH. 



419 



" I bid you all to a fair festal rite, 

" Wliere— having deep refresh'd each 

weary limb [cherubim, 

"With viands, such as feast Heav'n's 
" And kindled up your souls, now sunli 

and dim, [Maids above 

"With that pure wine the Dark-eyed 
" Keep, seal'd with precious musk, for 

those they love,—* 
" I will myself uncurtain in your sight 
'' The wonders of this brow's ineffable 

hght; [disperse 

" Then lead you forth, and with a wink 
"Yon myriads, howling through the 

universe!" 

Eager they listen — while each accent 
darts [hearts; 

N"ew Ufe into their chill'd and hope-sick 
Such treach'rous life as the cool draught 
supplies [dies! 

To him upon the stake, who drinks and 
"Wildly they point their lances to the light 
Of the fast-sinking sun, and shout "To- 
night!"— [voice 
" To-night," their Chief re-echoes in a 
Of fiend-like mock'ry that bids hell re- 
joice. 
Deluded victims !— never hath this earth 
Seen mom-ning half so mournful as their 
mirth- [stood 
Here, to the few, whose iron frames had 
This racking waste of famine and of 
blood, [the shout 
Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom 
Of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke 
out:— [fire, 
T/icre, others, lighted by the smould'ring 
Danced, like wan ghosts about a funeral 
pyre, [around;— 
Among the dead and dying strew'd 
^?"hile some pale wretch look'd on, and 

from his wound 
Plucking the fiery dart by which he 
bled, [head ! 

Ill ghastly transport waved it o'er his 

'Twas more than midnight now — a 
fearful pause [applause, 

Had follow'd the long shouts, the wild 
That lately from those Eoyal Gardens 
burst, [accursed, 

Where the Veil'd demon held his feast 
When Zelica — alas, poor ruin'd heart, 

* '• The righteous shall be given to drink of 
pure wine, sealed; the seal whereof shall be 
musk." — Koran, chap. Isxsiii. 



In ev'iy horror doom'd to bear its part! — 
Was bidden to the banquet by a slave, 
Who, while his quiv'ring lip the sum- 
mons gave, [of the grave 
Grew black, as though the shadows 
Compass'd bim round, and ere he could 
repeat [feet ! 
His message through, fell lifeless at her 
Shudd'ring she went— a soul-felt pang 
of lear, [near, 
A presage that her own dark doom was 
Eoused ev'ry feefing, and brought Rea- 
son back [the rack. 
Once more, to writhe her last upon 
All round seem'd tranquil — ev'n the foe 

had ceased. 
As if aware of that demoniac feast, 
His fiery bolts ; and though the heav'ns 
look'd red, [spread. 

'Twas but some distant conflagration's 
But hark — she stops — she listens — 
dreadful tone ! [a gi-oan, 

'Tis her Tormentor's laugh — and now, 
A long death-groan comes with it : —can 

this be 
The place of mirth, the bower of rev- 

ehy? 
She enters — Holy Alla, what a sight 
Was there before her ! By the glim- 
m'ring light [of brands 

Of the pale dawn, mix'd with the flare 
That round lay burning, di'opp'd from 
lifeless hands, [spread, 

She saw the board, in splendidmockery 
Rich censers breathing — garlands over- 
head— [late had quaff'd 
The urns, the eups, from which they 
AU gold and gems, but — what had been 
the draught ? [guests. 
Oh ! who need ask, that saw those livid 
With their swoU'n heads sunk black'ning 
on their breasts, [glare. 
Or looking pale to Heav'n with glassy 
As if they sought but saw no mercy there; 
As if they felt, though poison rack'd 

them through. 
Remorse the deadlier torment of the two! 
While some, the bravest, hardiest in the 

train 
Of their false Chief, who on the battle- 
plain 
Would have met death with transport 
by his side, [they died, 

Here mute and helpless gasp'd :— but, as 
Look'd horrible vengeance with their 
eyes' last strain, [in vain. 

And clench'd the slack'ninghaud at him 



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420 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Dreadful it was to see the ghastly 

stare, 
The stony look of horror and despair, 
"Which some of these expiring victims 

cast [last ; 

Upon their souls' tormentor to the 
Upon that mocking Fiend, whose veil, 

now raised, [gazed, 

Show'd them, as in death's agony they 
Not the long-piomised hght, the brow 

whose beaming [deeming, 

"Was to come forth, all conqu'ring, all re- 
But featm-es horribler than Hell e'er 

traced [the Waste,* 

On its own brood ; — ^no Demon of 
No churchyard Ghole, caught lingering 

in the light [sight 

Of the blest sun, e'er blasted human 
With lineaments so foul, so fierce as 

those [shows; — 

Th' Impostor now, in grinning mock'ry, 
"There, ye wise Saints, behold your 

Light, your Star — [ are. 

" Te would be dupes and victims, and ye 
" Is it enough ? or must I, while a thrill 
"Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat 

you still 1 [ feel within 

"Swear that the burning death ye 
" Is but the trance with which Heav'n's 

joys begin ; [graced 

" That this foul visage, foul as e'er dis- 
" Ev'n monstrous man, is — after God's 

own taste ; [way said 

"And that — but see ! — ere I have half- 
"My greetings through, th' uncourteous 

souls are fled. [die, 

" Farewell, sweet spirits ! not in vain ye 
" If Eblis loves you half so well as I. — 
" Ha, my young bride ! — 'tis well — take 

thou thy seat; [never meet 

" N"ay, come — no shudd'ring — didst thou 
•'The Dead before? — they graced our 

wedding, sweet ; 
' And these, my guests to-night, have 

brimm'd so true 
''Their parting cups, that thou shalt 

pledge one too. [ drunk up ? 

'•But — how is this? — all empty? all 
••Hot Mps have been before thee in the 

cup, 

* " The Afghauns believe each of the numer- 
ous solitudes and deserts of their country to 
bo inhabited by a lonely demon, whom they 
call the Ghoolee Beeabau, or Spirit of the 
Waste. They often illustrate the wildness of 
any sequestered tribe, by saying, they are as 
wild as the Demon of the Waste."— Elphin- 
stone's Caubul. 



"Young bride— yet stay — one precious 

drop remains, 
•' Enough to warm a gentle Priestess' 

veins ; — [conqu'iing arms 

"Here, drink — and should thy lover's 
"Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its 

charms, [ kiss, 

" Give him but half this venom in thy 
"And I'U forgive my haughty rival's 



" For mc — I too must die — but not like 
these [ breeze ; 

"Vile, rankling things, to fester in the 
" To have this brow in mffian triumph 
shown, [own, 

" With all death's grimness added to its 
" And rot to dust beneath the taunting 
eyes [Godship lies !' 

"Of slaves, exclaiming, 'There his 
" No— cursed race — since first my soul 
drew breath, [ev'n in death. 

"They've been my dupes, and shall le 
" Thou see'st yon cistern in the shade — 
'tis fill'd [distili'd ;t 

" With burning drugs, for this last hour 
" There will I plunge me in that liquid 
flame— [frame— 

"Fit bath to lave a dying Prophet's 
"There perish, all— ere pulse of thine 
shaU fail— [the tale. 

"Nor leave one limb to tell mankind 
" So shall my votaries, wheresoe'er they 
rave, [Saint it gave ;— 

" Proclaim that Heav'n took back the 
"That I've but vanish'd from this earth 
awhile, [shrouded smile ! 

"To come again, with bright, un- 
"So shall they build me altars in then- 
zeal, [fools shall kneel ; 
"Where knaves shall minister, and 
"Where Faith may mutter o'er her 
mystic spell, [s^^ eU 
"Written in blood— and Bigotry may 
"The sail ho spreads for Heav'n \\ith 
blasts from hell ! [l;e 
" So shall my banner, through long ages, 
"The rallying sign of fraud and an- 
archy ; — kanna's name, 
" Kings yet unborn shall rue Mo- 

t " H donna du poison dans le vin k tons ses 
gens, et se jeta lui-meme ensuite daus unc cure 
pleine de drogues brfllantes et consumantes, 
afin qu'il ne restat rien de tons les membres de 
son corps, et que ceux qui restoient de sa secte 
puissentcroire qu'il ^toit mont(5 nu ciel, ce qui 
ue manqna pas d'arriver."— X>'J7c)-te'oi. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



421 



" And, though I die, my spkit, still the 

same, [strife, 

"Shall walk abroad in all the stormy 
"Aud gxiilt, and blood, that were its 

bhss in Mfe. [shakes the wall— 
" But, hark ! their batt'ring engine 
"Why, let it shake— thus I can brave 

therti all. [they come, 

" Ko trace of me shall greet them, when 
" And I can trust thy faith, for— thou'lt 

be dumb. [me, 

" ISTow mark how readily a wretch like 
"In one bold plunge commences 

Deity !" 

He sprung and sunk, as the last words 
were said— [head, 

Quick closed the burning waters o'er his 
And Zelica was left — within the ring 
Of those wide walls the only living thing, 
The only wretched one, still cursed with 

breath, 
In all that frightful wilderness of death ! 
More like some bloodless ghost— such 
as, they tell, [dwell. 

In the Lone Cities of the SUent* 
And there, imaeen of all but All A, sit 
Each by its own pale carcass, watching it. 

But mom is up, and a fresh warfare 
stirs [ers. 

Throughout the camp of the beleaguer- 
Then- globes of fire (the dread artill'ry 
lent [spent ; 

By Greece to conqu'ring Mahadi) are 
And now the scorpion's shaft, the quany 
sent [throng 

f'rom high balistas, and the shielded 
Ofsoldiers swinging the huge ram along, 
All speak th' impatient Islamite's intent 
To try, at length, if tower and battle- 
ment [win. 
And bastiou'd wall be not less hard to 
Less tough to In-oak down than the 

hearts within. 
First in impatience and in toil is he, 
The burning AziM — oh ! could he but 
see [grasp, 

Th' Impostor once alive within his 
Not the gaunt lion's hug, nor boa's 
clasp, [or keep pace 

Could match that gripe of vengeance, 
"With the fell heartiness of Hate's 
embrace ! 



Loud rings the pond'rous ram against 

the walls ; [ffilis. 

l^Tow shake the ramparts, now a buttrL's> 
But still no breach — "Once more, oua 

mighty swing [ing!" 

"Of all your beams, together thimder- 
There — the wall shakes — the shouting 

troops exult, [catapult 

" Quick, quick discharge your weightiest 
"Right on that spot, and Neksheb is 

our own !" [ing down, 

'Tis done — the battlements come crash- 
And the huge wall, by that stroke riv'n 

in two, [anew. 

Yawning, like some old crater rent 
Shows the dim, desolate city smoking 

through. living seen 

But strange! no signs "tf life — naught 
Above, below — what can this stillness 

mean ? [ and eyes — 

A minute's pause suspends all hearts 
" In through the breach," impetuous 

AziM cries; [wile 

But the cool Caliph, fearful of some 
In this blank stillness, checks the troops 

awhile— [vanced 

Just then, a figure, with slow step, ad 
Forth from the ruiu'd walls, and, as 

there glanced 
A sunbeam over it, aU eyes could see 
The well-known Silver Yeil!— "'Tis 

He, 'tis He, [ around : 

" MoKANNA, and alone !" they shout 
Young AziM from his steed springs to 

the ground— [ " the task 

"Mine, Holy Caliph, mine,'' he cries, 
" To crush yon daring wretch — 'tis all I 

ask." 
Eager he darts to meet the demon foe. 
Who stUl across wide heaps of ruin slow 
And falteringly comes, till they are 

near; [spea' 

Then, with a bound, rushes on AziM'd 
And, casting off the Yeil in falling, 

shows— [flow.s! 

Oh!— 'tis his Zelica's life-blood that 
" I meant not, AziM," soothingly she 

said, [bead; 

As on his trembling arm she lean'd ber 
And, lookmg in his face, saw anguish 

there [can bear — 

Beyond aU wounds the quiv'ring flesh 
" I meant not thou shouJdst have the 

pain of this : — 

'They have all a great reverence for burial- they people with the phosts of the departed, 

grounds, which tliey sometimes call by the who sit each at the head of his ^~ -~ ■" 

poetical name of Citius of the Sik'nt, and ^yhich visible to mortal ej'P« "— *"'«'>inj 



.. ..1 U.J own grave, in 
-Eljjhinstaiie. 




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422 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



" Though death, with thee thus tasted, 

is a bliss 
"Thou woiddst not rob me of, didst 

thou but know [die so ! 

" How oft I've pray'd to God I wight 
" But the Fiend's venom was too scant 

and slow ; — [thought 

" To linger on were madd'ning— and I 
" If once that Veil— nay, look not on it 

— caught [should be 

"The eyes of your fierce soldiery, I 
" Struck by a thousand death-darts in- 
stantly, [yes— 
" But this is sweeter— oh ! believe me, 
" I would not change this sad, but dear 

caress, [not give 

" This death within thy arms I would 
" For the most smiling life the happiest 

live ! [the eye 

" All, that stood dark and drear before 
" Of my stray'd soul, is passing swiftly 

by ; [of love, 

*' A light comes o'er me from those looks 
"Like the first dawn of mercy fi-om 

above ! 
" And if thy lips but tell mo I'mforgiv'n, 
"Angels will echo the blest words in 

Eeav'n ! [mine 

" But live, my Azim;— oh ! to call thee 
"Thus once again! my Azim — dream 

divine ! 
" Live, if thou ever lov'dst me, if to meet 
" Thy Zelica hereafter would be sweet, 
" Oh, live to pray for her- to bend the 

knee 
" Morning and night before that Deity, 
" To whom pm-e bps and hearts without 

a stain, [vain,— 

" As thine are, Azim, never breathed in 
"And pray that He may pardon her, — 

may take [sake, 

" Compassion on her soul for thy dear 
"And, naught rememb'ring but her 

love to thee, 
•' Make her all thine, all His, eternally ! 
"Go to those happy fields where first 

we twined [wind 

"Our youthful hearts together— every 
*' That' meets thee there, tresh from the 

well-known flow'rs, 
"TVill bring the sweetness of those in- 
nocent hom-s [again 
" Back to thy soul, and thou may'st feel 
" For thy poor Zelica as thou didst then. 
" So shall thy orisons, like dew that flies 
" To Heav'n upon the morning's sun- 
shine, rise 



""With all love's earliest ardor to the 

skies ! 
" And should they — but, alas, my senses 

fail — [ers prevail — 

" Oh for one minute !— should thy pray- 
" If pardon'd souls may, from that World 

of Bliss, [this— 

" Reveal their joy to those they love in 
"I'll come to thee — in some sweet dream 

— and tell — [well, farewell." 
" Oh Heav'n — I die — dear love ! fare- 
Time fleeted — years on years had 

pass'd away, [ful day. 

And few of those who, on that moum- 
Had stood, with pity in then eyes, to see 
The maiden's death, and the youth's 

aL'ony, 
Were living still — when, by a rustic 

grave, [wave, 

Beside the swift Amoo's transparent 
An aged man, who had grown aged 

there [ui prayer. 

By that lone grave, morning and night 
For the last time knelt down — and, 

though the shade [play'd 

Of death hung dark'ningover him, there 
A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek. 
That brighten'd even Death— like the 

last streak 
Of intense glory on th' horizon's brim. 
When night o'er all the rest hangs chill 

and dim. [slept; 

His soul had seen a Yision, while he 
She, for whose spirit he had pray'd and 

wept [dress'd 

So many years, had come to him, all 
In angel smiles, and told him she was 

blest! [and died — 

For this the old man breathed his thanks. 
And there, upon the banks of that loved 

tide. 
He and his Zelica sleep side by side. 



The story of the Yeiled Prophet of 
Khorassan being ended, they were now 
doomed to hear Faladeen's criticisms 
upon it. A series of disappointments 
and accidents had occurred to this learn- 
ed Chamberlain during the jom-ney. In 
the first place, those couriers stationed, 
as in the reign of Shah Jehan, between 
Delhi and the Western coast of India, 
to secure a constant supply of mangoes 
for the Royal Table, had, by some cruel 
irregularity, failed ia their duty ; and to 
eat any mangoes but those of Mazagong 



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LALLA ROOKH. 



423 



•was, of course, impossible.* In the next 
place, the elephant, laden -vrith his fine 
antique porcelaia.t had, in an unusual 
fit of liveliness, shattered the -n-hole set 
to pieces : — an irreparable loss, as many 
of the vessels were so exquisitely old, as 
to have been used under the Emperors 
Tan and Chun, who reigned mauy ages 
before the dynasty of Tang. His Koran, 
too, supposed to be the identical copy 
between the leaves of which Mahomet's 
favorite pigeon used to nestle, had been 
mislaid by his Koran-bearer three whole 
days ; not without much spiritual alarm 
to'FADLADEEN, who, though professing 
to hold with other loyal and orthodox 
Mussulmans, that salvation could only 
be found in the Koran, was strongly 
suspected of believing in his heart, that 
it could only be found in his own par- 
ticular copy of it. When to all these 
gi-iovances is added the obstinacy of the 
cooks, in putting the pepper of Canara 
into his dishes instead of the cinnamon 
oi Serendib, we may easUy suppose that 
he came to the task of criticism with, 
at least, a sufficient degree of irritability 
for the purpose. 

"In order," said he, importantly 
swinging about his chaplet of pearls, 
"to convey with clearness my opinion 
of the story this young man has related, 
it is necessary to take a review of all 

the stories that have ever "—"My 

good Fadladeen !'' exclaimed the Prin- 
cess, interrupting him, ' ' we really do 
not deserve that you should give your- 
self so much trouble. Your opinion of 
the poem we have just heard, will, I 
have no doubt, be abundantly edifying, 
without any further waste of your valu- 
able erudition." — " If that be all," re- 
plied the critic, — evidently mortified at 

'"The celebrity of Mazag:ong is owinff to 
its mangoes, which are certainly the best fruit 
I ever tasted. The parent-tree, from which 
all those of this species have been grafted, is 
honored during the fruit-season byagu;ird of 
sepoys: and in the reign of Shah Jehan, 
couriers were stationed between Delhi and 
the Mahratta coast, to secure an abundant 
and fresh supply of mangoes for the royal 
table.' — Mrs. (fra/iaw's Journal of a llesidence 
in ludia. 

f This old porcelain is found in digjjing, and 
"if it is esteemed, it is not because it lias ac- 
quired any new degree of beauty iji the oarth, 
liut because it has retained its ancient beauty; 
afld this alone is of great importance in China. 
where they give large sums for the smallest 



not being allowed to show how much ho 
knew about every thing but the subject 
immediately before him—" if that be aU 
that is reqmred, the matter is easily dis- 
patched." He then proceeded to ana- 
lyze the poem, m that stram (so well 
known to the unfortunate bards of Del- 
hi) whose censures were an iulliction 
from which few recovered, and whose 
very praises were like the honey ex- 
tracted from the bitter flowers of the 
aloe. The chief personages of the story 
were, if he rightly understood them, an 
ill-favored gentleman, with a veil over 
his face ; — a young lady, whose reason 
went and came, according as it suited 
the poet's convenience to be sensible or 
otherwise ;— and a youth in one of those 
hideous Buchanan bonnets, who took 
the aforesaid gentleman in a veil for a 
Divinity. " From such materials," said 
he, "what can be expected ? — after rival- 
ling each other m long speeches and 
absurdities, through some thousands of 
lines as indigestible as the filberts of 
Berdaa, our friend in the ved jumps into 
a tub of aquafortis ; the young laily dies 
in a set speech, whose only recommen- 
dation IS that it is her last ; and the 
lover lives on to a good old age, for the 
laudable purpose of seeing her ghost, 
which he at last happily accomplishes, 
and expires. This, you will allow, is a 
fair summary of the story ; and if N"as- 
ser, the Arabian merchant, told no bet- 
ter, our Holy Prophet (to whom be all 
honor and glory ! ) had no need to be 
jealous of his abilities for stoiy-telling."t 
With respect to the style, it was wor- 
thy of the matter;— it had not even 
those politic contrivances of structure, 
which make up for the commonness of 
the thoughts by the peculiarity of the 



vessels which were used under the Empei-ors 
Yan and Chun, who reigned mauy ages before 
the dynasty of Tang, at which time porcelain 
began to be used by the Emperors," (about the 
year 44:2.)— X'wvin's Collection of Curious Obser- 
vations, &c.; — a bad translation of some ^arts 
of the Lettres Ediflantes et Curieuses ot the 
Missionary Jesuits. 

t" La lectui'c deces Fables plaisoitsi fortanx 
Arabes, que, quand Mahomet les entretenoit 
de I'Histoire de I'Ancien Testament, ils les 
m^prisoient, lui disant quo celles quo Kasser 
leur racontoient f toient beaucoup plus belles. 
Cette preference attira a Nasser la lual^dictioa 
de Mahomet et de tons ses disciples.' —D'Her^ 
helot. 



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424 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



manner, nor that stately poetical phrase- 
ology by which sentiments mean in 
themselves, like the blacksmith's* apron 
converted into a banner, are so easily 
gilt and embroidered into consequence. 
Then, as to the versification, it was, to 
say no worse of it, execrable : it had 
neither the copious flow of Ferdosi, the 
sweetness of Hafez, nor the sententious 
march of Sadi ; but appeared to him, in 
the uneasy heaviness of its movements, 
to have been modelled upon the gait of 
a very tired dromedary. The licenses, 
too, in which it indulged, were unpar- 
donable ; —for instance this hne, and the 
poem abounded with such : — 
Like the faiut, exquisite music of a dream 

" What critic that can count,'' saidP-VD- 
LADEEN, "and has his full complement 
of fingers to count withal, would toler- 
ate for an instant such syllabic superflui- 
ties ?" — He here looked round, and dis- 
covered that most of his audience were 
asleep; while the gUmmering lamps 
seemed inclined to follow their example. 
It became necessary, therefore, how- 
ever pamful to himself, to pnt an end to 
his valuable animadversions for the pres- 
ent, and he accordingly concluded, with 
an air of dignifled candor, thus : — " N^ot- 
withstanding the observations which T 
have thought it my duty to make, it is 
by no means my wish to discourage the 
young man :— so far from it, indeed, 
that if he will but totally alter his style 
of writing and thinking, I have very lit- 
tle doubt that I shall be vastly pleased 
with him." 

Some days elapsed, after this har- 
angue of the Great Chamberlain, before 
Lalla Kooku could venture to ask for 
another story. The youth was still a 
welcome guest in the pavihon— to one 

_ * The blacksmith Gao, vrho successfully re- 
sisted the tyrant Zohak, and whose apron be- 
came the Royal Standard of Persia. 

t " The Huma, a bird peculiar to the East. 
It is supposed to fly constantly in the air, and 
never touch the ground ; it is looked upon as a 
bird of happy oraen ; and that every head it 
overshades will in time wear a ovo^n."— Rich- 
ardson. 

In the terms of alliance made bv Fuzzel 
Oola Khan with Hyder in 1760, one of the 
stipulations was, " that he should have the dis- 
tinction of two honorary attendants standinsr 
behind him, holding fans composed of the 
feathers of the humma, according to the prac- 
tice of his family."— TTiiite's South of India. 



heart, perhaps, too dangerously wel- 
come ; — but all mention of poetry was, 
as if by common consent, avoided. 
Though none of the party had much 
respect for Fadladeen, yet his cen- 
sures, thus magisterially delivered, evi- 
dently made an impression on them all. 
The Poet, himself, to whom criticism 
was quite a new operation, (Ijeing 
wholly unknown in that Paradise of the 
Indies, Cashmere,) felt the shock as it 
is generally felt at first, till use has made 
it more tolerable to the patient ;— the 
Ladies began to suspect that they ought 
not to be pleased, and seemed to con- 
clude that there must have been much 
good sense in what Fadladeen said, 
from its having set them all so soundly 
to sleep ; — while the self-complacent 
Chamberlain was left to triumph in the 
idea of having, for the hundred and lif- 
tieth time in his Mfe, extinguished a Pc^et. 
Lalla Kookh alone- and Love knew 
why — persisted in being delighted with 
all she had heard, and m resolving to hear 
more as speedily as possible. Her man 
ner, however, of first returning to the 
subject was imlucky. It was while 
they rested during the heat of noon near 
a foimtain, on which some hand had 
ntdely traced those well-known words 
from the Garden of Sadi, " Many, like 
me, have viewed this fountain, but they 
are gone, and their eyes are closed for- 
ever !" — that she took occasion, from 
the melancholy beauty of this passage, 
to dwell upon the charms of poetry in 
general. " It is true," she said, "few 
poets can imitate that sublime bird, 
which flies always in the air, and never 
touches the earth :t — it is only once in 
many ages a Genius appears, M'hose 
words, like those on the AVritteu Moun- 
tain, last forever :J — but still, there are 

He adds in a note:— "The Humma is a fabu- 
lous bird. The head over ■which its shadow 
once passes will assuredly be circled with a 
crown. The splendid little bird suspended 
over the throne of Tippoo Sultaim, found at 
Seringapatam in 1709, was intended to repre- 
sent this poetical fancy." 

t " To the pilgrims to Mount Sinai we mu.st 
attribute the inscriptions, figi^res, &c., on those 
rocks which have from thence acquired the 
name of the Written Mountain." — Yolney. M. 
Gebelin and others have been at much pains to 
attach some mysterious and importnnt me;in- 
ing to these inscriptions; but Niebuhr, as well 
ae Volney, thinks that they must have been ex- 
ecuted at idle hours by the travellers to Mount 




One morn a Peri at the gate 

Of Eden stood, disconsolate; 
And as she listened to the springs 

Of Life within, lil<e music flowing 
And caught the light upon 1 er wings 

Through the half-open portal glowing, 
She wept to think her recreant race 

'Should e'er have lost that glorious place ! 



niiiiiiinniiiniHiiiiiiiraiiiiniifflHtiwiffliniiiiniimniiiitiiiniinminamniniii 




iiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiKiniiiiii^^ 



iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiimiiiimiiiwiiiiiuiiilHiiiiiitiiiiiiiiifiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHniiiiiiiiiiiiiiuriiiinnH^ 



LALLA ROOKH. 



42.' 



some, as delighted, perhaps, though not 
so wonderful, who, if not stars over oiu- 
head, are at least flowers along our path, 
and whose sweetness of the moment we 
ought gratefully to inhale, without call- 
ing upon them for a brightness and a 
durability beyond their natinre. lu 
short,'' continued she, blushing, as if 
conscious of being caught in an oration, 
•'it is quite cruel that a poet cannot 
wander through his regions of enchant- 
ment, without having a critic forever, 
lilic the Old Man of the Sea, upon his 
back !''* — Fadladeen, it was plain, took 
this last luckless allusion to himself, and 
would treasure it up in his mind as a 
whetstone for his next criticism. A sud- 
den silence ensued; and the Princess, 
glancing a look at Feramorz, saw 
plainly she must wait for a more coura- 
geous moment. 

But the glories of Nature, and her 
wild, fragi-ant airs, playing freshly over 
the current of youthful spirits, will soon 
heal even deeper wounds than the dull 
Fadladeens of this world can inflict. In 
an evening or two after, they came to 
the small Valley of Gardens, which had 
been planted by_ order of the Emperor, 
for his favorite sister, Rochinara, during 
their progress to Cashmere, some years 
before, and never was there a more 
sparlding assemblage of sweets since the 
Gulzar-e-Irem, or Rose-bower of Irem. 
Every precious flower was there to bo 
found, that poetry, or love, or religion, 
has ever consecrated ; from the dark 
hyacinth, to which Hafez compares his 
mistress's hair,t to the Cdmalatd, by 
whose rosy blossoms the heaven of In- 
dra is scented. t As they sat in the cool 
fragrance of this delicious spot, and 
Lalla Rookh remarked that she could 
fancy it the abode of that Flower-loving 

Sinai, " who were satisfied with cutting the 
iinj)olished rook with any pointed instrument; 
adding to their names and the date of their 
loiirncjs some rude figures, which bespcali the 
hand o"f a people but little skilled in the arts." 
— Niebiihr. 

* The Story of Sinbad. 

i See Nott'ti Hafez. Ode v. 

; "The Camalatii (called by Linnaeus, Ipo- 
maea) is the most beautiful of its order, both in 
the color and form of its le.aves and flowers ; 
its elegant blossoms are ' celestial rosy red, 
Love's proper hue,' and have justly procured 
it the name of Camalati, or Love's Creepor.'— 

" Canialata may also meau a mythological 



iSTymph whom they worship in the tem- 
ples of Kathay,$ or of one of those Peris, 
those beautiful creatures of the air, who 
live upon perfumes, and to whom a 
place like this might make some amends 
for the Paradise they have lost — the 
young Poet, in whose eyes she appeared, 
while she spoke, to be ons of the bright 
spiritual creatures she was describing, 
said hesitatingly that he remembered a 
Story of a Peri, which, if the Princess 
had no objection, he would venture to 
relate. " It is," said he, with an ap- 
pealing look io Fadladeen, "in a 
lighter and humbler strain than the 
other;" then, striking a lew careless 
but melancholy chords on bis kitar, he 
thus began : — 



PARADISE AND THE PERI. 

One mom a Peri at the gate 
Of Eden stood, disconsolate ; 
And as she hsten'd to the Sprmgs 

Of Life within, like music flowing, 
And caught the light upon her wings 

Through the half-open portal glowing. 
She wept to think her recreant race 
Should e'er have lost that glorious place ! 

" How happy," exclaim'd this child of 

air, [there, 

"Are the holy Spirits who wander 

" 'Mid flowers that never shall fade or 

faU ; [and sea, 

" Though mine are the gardens of earth. 

" And the stars themselves have flov.ers 

for me, [them all ! 

" One blossom of Heaven outblooms 

" Though sunny the Lake of cool Cash- 
mere, 

" With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear, H 
" And sweetly the founts of that Yal- 
ley fall ; 

plant, by which all desii-cs are granted to snob 
as inhabit the heaven of Indra; and if ever 
flower was wortliy of paradise, it is oui' charm- 
ing IpomEea.'— i6. 

^ " Accordingto Father Premare, iuhis tract 
on Chinese Mythology, the mother of Fo-hi 
was the dtuighter of he.iven, surnamcd Flower- 
loving ; and as the nymph was walking alone 
on the bank of a river, she found herself en- 
circled by a rainbow, after which stie became 
pregnant, and, at the end of twelve years, 
was delivered of a son radiant as herself." — 
A fiat. lies. 

11 "■ ^Numerous small islands emerge from th9 
Lake of Cashmere. One is called Char Che 
iiaur, from the pluue trees upon it."— Foster, 




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iiiiitifliiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiinifliiiiiiiiiiiij&iiiiiiiiiifiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin^ 
426 MOORE'S WORKS. 




" Though bright are the waters of Sing- 

SU-HAY, 

■''And the golden floods that thither- 
ward stray,* 
" Yet — oh, 'tis only the blest can say 
"How the waters of Heaven outshine 
them all ! 

" Go, wing thy flight from star to star, 

■' From world to luminous world, as far 

" A? the universe spreads its flaming 

wall: [spheres, 

"Take all the pleasures of all the 

*' And multiply each through endless 

years, [them all ! 

"One minute of heaven is worth 

The glorious Angel, who was keeping 
The gates of Light, beheld her weeping ; 
And, as he nearer drew and listeu'd 
To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten'd 
Within bis eyelids, Uke the spray 

From I'li en's fountain, when it lies 
On the Id'ie flow'r, which — Bramins 
say- - 

Blooms iiDwhere but in Paradise. f 
" K ymph of a fair but erring hue !" 
Gently he said— "One hope is thme. 
" 'Tis wi-itten in the Book of Fate, 

" Tlie Peri yet may he forgiv'n 
*■ Who brings to this Eternal gate 

*' Tlie Gift that, is most dear to 
Ueav'71 ! 
"Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin — 
" 'Tis sweet to let the pardon'd in." 

Rapidly as comets run 

To th' embraces of the Sun ; — 

* " The Altnn Kol or Golden River of Tibet, 
w]ii';h runs into the Lakes of Singsu-hay, 
has abundance of pold in its sands, v hich em 
ploys the inhabitants all the summer in gather- 
ing it." — DcDcnpton of Tibet in Pinker-ton. 

T "The Brahmins of this province insist that 
the blue campac flowers only in Paradise." — 
Sir W. Jones. It appears, however, from a 
curious letter of the Sultan of Menangcabow, 
given by Marsden, that one place on earth may 
lay claim to the possession of it. " This is the 
Su'tan, who keeps the flower charapaka that is 
blue, and to be found in no other country but 
his, being yellow elsewhere."— JTari'den's 
Sumatra. 

t " The Mahometans suppose that fallmg 
stars are the firebrands wherewith the good 
angels drive away the bad, when they ap- 

E roach too near the empyrean or verge of the 
eavens. "—Fn/er. 

5 The Forty Pillars; so the Persians call the 
ruins of Persepolis. It is imagined by them 
that this palace and the edifices at Balbe'c were 
built by Genii, for the purpose of hiding iu 



Fleeter than the starry brands 
Fhmg at night from angel handst 
At those dark and daring sprites 
Who would climb th' empyreal heights. 
Down the blue vault the Peri flies. 

And, hghted earthward by a glance 
That just then broke from morning's 
eyes, [panse. 

Hung hov'ring o'er our world's ex- 

But whither shall the Spirit go 
To find this gift for Heav'n ?— " I know 
"The wealth," she cries, "of every urn, 
" In which unnumber'd rubies burn, 
" Beneath the pillars of Chiliiinar ;§ 
" I know where the Isles of Perfume 

are, II 
" Many a fathom down in the sea, 
" To the south of sun-bright Arabt ;1[ 
" I know, too, where the Genii hid 
" The jeweU'd cup of their King Jam- 

SHIl),** 

" With Life's elixir sparkling high — 
" But gifts like these are not for "the sky. 
" Where was there ever a gem that shone 
" Like the steps of Alla's wonderful 
Throne ? [would they be 

" And the Drops of Life — oh ! what 
" In the boundless Deep of Eternity ? " 

While thus Bhe mused, her pinions fann'd 
The air of that sweet Indian land, 
Whose air is balm ; whose ocean spreads 
O'er coral rocks, and amber beds,tt 
Whose mountains, pregnant by the 

beam 
Of tne warm sun, with diamonds teem ; 
Whose ri^Tilets are like rich brides, 

their subterraneous caverns immense treasures, 
which still remain there." — D'Htrbelot. Tolncy. 

II Diodonis mentions the Isle of Panchaia, 
to the south of Arabia Felix, where there was 
a temple of Jupiter. This island, or rather 
cluster of isles, has disappeared, " sunk (says 
Qrandpre) in the abyss made by the tire be- 
neath their foundations." — Voyage to the Indian 
Ocean. 

H The Isles of Panchaia. 

*- " Thecupof Jamshid, discovered, they say, 
when digging for the foundationsof Persepolis ' 
— Richardson. 

it '■ It is not like the Sea of India, whose bot- 
tom is rich with pearls and ambergris, whose 
mountains of the coast are stored with gold 
and precious stones, whose gulfs breed crea- 
tures that yield ivory, and among the plants of 
whose shores are ebony, red wood, and the 
wood of Hairzan. aloes, camphor, cloves, 
sandal-wood, and all other spices and aromat- 
ics: where parrots and peacocks are birds ot 
the forest, and musk and civet are collected up- 
on the \&nds "—Travels of tivo Mohammedans. 




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LALLA EOOKH. 



42? 



Lovely, -with gold beneath their tides ; 
Whose sandal gi-oves and bow'rs Of spice 
Might be a Peri's Paradise ! 
But crimson now her rivers ran 

With human blood — the smell of death 
Came reeking from those spicy bow'rs, 
And man, the sacrifice of man, 

Mingled his taint with ev'ry breath 
Upwafted from th' innocent flow'rs. 
Land of the Sun ! what foot mvades 
Thy Pagods and thy pillar'd shades *— 
Thy cavern shrmes, and Idol stones, 
Thy Monarchs and theu' thousand 

Thrones ? t 
'Tis He of GaznaI — fierce in wrath 

He comes, and India's diadems 
Lie scattered in his ruinous path. — 

His Ijloodhounds he adorns with gems, 
Tom from the violated necks 

Of many a young and loved Sultana; $ 

Maidens within their pure Zenana, 

Priests in the very fane he slaughters. 
And chokes up with the glitt'ring 
wrecks 

Of golden shrines the sacred waters ! 
Downward the Peri turns her gaze, 
And, through the war-field's bloody haze 
Bekolds a youthful warrior stand, 

Alone beside his native river, — 
The red blade broken in his hand, 

And the last arrow in his quiver. 
"Live/' said the Conqu'ror, "live to 

share 
" The trophies and the crowns I bear !'' 
Silent that youthful warrior stood — 
Silent he pointed to the flood 
All crimson with his country's blood, 
Then sent his last remaining dart, 
For answer, to th' Invader's heart. 

* in the ground 

The bended twigs take root, and daughters 
grow 

About the mother-tree, a pillared shade, 

Sigh ovcrarcj"'d, and echoing walks between. 
Milton. 

For a particular description and plate of the 
Banyan-tree, see Cordiner's Ceylon. 

t"'With this immense treasure Mahmood 
returned to Ghizni, and in the year 400 pre- 
pared a nviijuificent festival, where he dis- 
played to the people his wealth in golden 
thrones and in other ornaments, in a great plain 
without the city of Gh\zm."—Ferishta. 

t "Mahmood of Gazna, or Ghizni, who con- 
quered India in the beginning of the 11th cen- 
tury."— See his History in Doiv and Sir J. 
Malcolm. 

§ " It is reported that the hunting equipage 
of the Sultan M.ihraood was so magnilicent 
that he kept 400 greyhounds and bloodhounils, 
each of which wore a collar set with jewels, 



False flew the shaft, though pointed 

well; 
The Tyrant lived, the Hero fell !— 
Yet mark'd the Peri where he lay, 

And, when the rush of war was past, 
Swiftly descending on a ray 

Of morning light, she caught the last — 
Last glorious drop his heart had shed, 
Before its free-bom spirit fled ! 

" Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her 

flight, 
" My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. 
" Though foul are the drops that oft 

distU 
"On the field of warfare, blood hke 

this, 
"For Liberty shed, so holy is,|| 
" It would not stain the pm-est itII, 
" That sparkles among the Bowers of 

Bliss. 
" Oh, if there be, on this earthly sphere, 
" A boon, an ofiering Heav'n holds dear, 
" 'Tis the last libation Liberty draws 
" From the heart that bleeds and breaks 

m her cause 1 " 

" Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave 

The gift into his radiant hand, 
" Sweet is our welcome of the Brave 
"WTio die thus for their native 

Land.— 
"But see — alas I— the crystal bar 
"Of Eden moves not— holier far 
" Than ev'n this drop the boon must be, 
"That opes the Gates of Heav'n for 

thee!" 

Her first fond hope of Eden blighted, 
Now among Afric's lunar mountains, IT 

and a covering edged with gold and pearls." 
— Universal History , vol. iii. 

II Objections may be made to my use of the 
word Liberty in this, and more espechvUy in 
the story that follows it, as totally inapplicable 
to any state of things that has ever existed in 
the East; but though I cannot, of course, 
mean to employ it in tliat enlarged and noble 
sense which is so well understood at the pres- 
ent day, and, I grieve to say, so little acted 
upon, yet it is no disparagement to the word to 
apply it to that national independence, that 
ft'eedom from the interference and dictation of 
foreigners, without which, indeed, no liberty 
of any kind can exist ; and for -which both 
Hindoos and Persians fought against their 
Mussulman invaders with, in many cases, a 
bravery that deserved much better success. 

H " The Mountains of the Moon, or Moutes 
Lunaj of antiquity, at the foot of which the 
Nile is supposed to arise."— JSrwce. 

"Sometimes culled," says Jackson, "Jibbci 



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428 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Far to the South, the Peri lighted ; 
And sleek'd her plumage at the fouU' 
tains 
Of that Egyptian tide — whose birth 
Is hidden from the sons of earth 
Deep in those solitary -n-oods 
Where oft the Genii of the Floods 
Dance round the cradle of their Nile, 
And hail the new-hom Giant's smile.* 
Thence over Egypt's palmy groves. 

Her grots and sepulchres of Kings, f 
The exiled Spmt sighing roves ; 
And now hangs list'ning to the doves 
In warm Rosetta's valet— now loves 

To watch the moonlight on the wings 
Of the white pelicans that break 
The azure calm of Mceris' Lake.$ 
'Twas a fair scene — a I^and more bright 

Never did mortal eye behold ! 
Who could have thought, that saw this 
night 

Those valleys and their fiTiits of gold 
Basking in Heav'n's serenest light ; — 
Those groups of lovely date-trees bend- 
ing 

Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads, 
Like youthful maids, when sleep de- 
scending 

Warns them to their silken beds ; — 1| 
Those virgin lilies, all the night 

Bathing their beauties in the lake, 
That they may rise more fresh and 
bright, 

When their beloved Sun's awake ;— 
Those ruin'd shrines and tow'rs that 
The relics of a splendid dream ; [seem 

Amid whose fairy loneliness 
Naught but the lapwing's cry is heard, 
Naught seen but (when the shadows, 

flitting 
East from the moon, unsheath its gleam, ) 

Kumrie, or the white or lunar-colored moun- 
tains; so a -white horso is called by the Ara- 
bians a moon-colored horse." 

* "The Kile, -^hich the Abyssinians know by 
the names of Abey and Alawy, or the Giant. ' 
—Asiat. Research, vol. i. p. 387. 

ISee Perry's View of tne Levant for an ac- 
count of the sepulchres in Upper Thebes, and 
the numberless grots covered all over with 
hieroglyphics in the mountains of Upper Egypt. 

I "The orchards of Rosetta are lilled with 
tnrtl e-do vea . ' ' — Sonnini. 

\ Savary mentions the pelicans upon Lake 
Moeris. 

II "The superb date-tree, whose head lan- 
guidly reclines, like that of a handsome woman 
overcome with sleep."— -Da/aj-d el Hadad. 

t "That beautiful bird, witli plumage of the 
finest shining blue, with purple beak and legs, 
the natural and living ornament of the temples 



Some purple-wing'd SultanalT sitting 

Upon a column, motionless 
And glitt'ring like an Idol bird ! — 
Who could have thought, that there, 

ev'n there, 
Amid those scenes so still and fair, 

The Demon of the Plague hath cast 

From his hot wing a- deadlier blast, 
More mortal far than ever came 
From the red Desert's sands of flame i 
So quick, that ev'ry living thing 
Of human shape, touch'd by his wing. 

Like plants, where the Simoom hath 
pass'd. 
At once falls black and withering ! 
The sun went down on many a brow 

Which, full of bloom and freshness 
Is rankling in the pest-house now, [then. 

And ne'er will feel that sun again. 
And, oh ! to see th' unbm-ied heaps 
On which the lonely moonlight sleeps — 
The very vultures turn away, 
And sicken at so foul a prey ! 
Only the fierce hyena stalks** 
Throughout the city's desolate walkstt 
At midnight, and his carnage plies : — 

Wo to the half-dead wretch, who meets 
The glaring of those large blue eyestt 

Amid the darkness of the streets ! 

" Poor race of men ! " said the pitying 
Spirit, 
" Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall — 
"Some flow'rets of Eden ye still in- 
herit, 
" But the trail of the Serpent is ovei 
them all ! " 

She wept — the air grew pure and clear 
Around her, as the bright drops ran 

For there's a magic in each tear. 
Such kindly Spirits weep for man ! 

and palaces of the Greeks and Romans, which, 
from the stateUness of its poH, as well as the 
brilliancy of its colors, lias obtained the title ot 
Sultana. — Sonnini. 

*' Jackson, speaking of the plague that oc- 
curred in "West Barbary, when he was there, 
says, " The birds of the air fled away from the 
abodes of men. The hya;nas, on the contrary, 
visited the cemeteries," &c. 

tt " Gondar was full of hyaenas from the time 
it turned dark, till the dawn of day, seeking 
the different pieces of slaughtered carcasses, 
which this cruel and unclean people expose in 
the streets without burial, and who firmly be- 
lieve that these animals are Falashta from the 
neighboring mountains, transformed by magic, 
and come down to eat human flesh in the dark 
in safety." — Bruce. 

n Ibid. 




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LALLA EOOKH. 



Just then beneath some orange trees, 
"Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze 
"Were wantoning together, free. 
Like age at play v^ith infancy — 
Beneath that fresh and springing bower. 

Close by the Lake, she heard the moan 
Of one -who, at this silent hour. 

Had thither stol'u to die alone. 
One who in life where'er ho moved. 

Drew after him the hearts of mauy ; 
Tet now, as though he ne'er were loved, 

Dies here unseen, unwept by any ! 
None to watch near him — none to slake 

The fire that in his bosom hes, 
"With ev'n a sprinkle from that lake, 

"Which shines so cool before his eyes. 
No voice, well known through many a 
day. 

To speak the last, the parting word, 
"Which, when all other sounds decay, 

Is still like distant music heard ; — 
That tender farewell on the shore 
Of this rude world, when all is o'er, 
"Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark 
Puts off into the unknown Dark. 

Deserted youth ! one thought alone 

Shed joy around his soul m death— 
That she, whom he for years hadknown. 
And loved, and might have called his 
own, [breath, — 

■Was safe from this foul midnight's 
Safe in her father's princely hal'-S, 
"Where the cool airs from fountain falls. 
Freshly perfumed by many a brand 
Of the sweet wood from India's land, 
Were pure as she whose brow they 
fann'd. 

But see — who yonder comes by stealth,* 

This melancholy bow'r to seek, 
Like a young envoy, sent by Health, 

"With rosy gifts upon her cheek ? [dim, 
'Tis she— far off, through moonlight 

He knew his own betrothed bride. 
She, who would rather die with him, 

Tliau live to gain the world beside ! — 
Her arms are round her lover now, 

Hi's livid cheek to hers she pi esses. 
And dips, to bind his burning br3w, 

Ie the cool lake her loosen'd iresses. 

Ah; once, how little did he thiik 

An hour would come, when h« should 

shrink 
Wy I horror from that dear emt ace, 

* his circumstance has been ofi )n intro- 
dUw I into iroetry;— by Vincentius 1 ibricius, 



Those gentle arms, that were to him 
Holy as is the cradling place 

Of Eden's infant cherubim ! 
And now he yields — now turns away, 
Shudd'ring as if the venom lay 
All in those nroffei-'d Mps alone — 
Those lips that, then so fearless grown, 
Never until that instant came 
Near his unask'd or without shame. 
" Oh ! let me only breathe the au-, 

"The blessed air, that's breathed by 
thee, 
"And, whether on its wings it bear 

" Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me ! 
"There— drink my tears, while yet they 
fall— 

" "Would that my bosom's blood were 
balm, 
"And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all, 

" To give thy brow one minute's calm. 

"Nay, turn not from me that dear 

face— [bride— 

"Am I not thine — thy own loved 
" The one, the chosen one, whose place 

" In life or death is by thy side 1 
"Think'st thou that she, whose only 
light [shone, 

" In this dim world, from thee hath 

"Could bear the long, the cheerless 

night, ' [gone 1 

"That must be hers when thou art 
" That I can live, and let thee go, 
""Who art my hfe itself?— No, no — 
" "When the stem dies, the leaf that grew 
" Out of its heart must perish too ! 
" Then turn to me, my ow^' ''^■^■e. turn, 
"Before, like thee, I fade and varu^ 
" Cling to these yet cool lips, and share 
"The lastpure life that lingers there !" 
She fails— she sinks— as dies the lamp 
In chamel airs, or cavern-damp, 
So quickly do his baleful sighs 
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes. 
One struggle— and his pain is past— 

Her lover is no longer living ! 
One kie.s the maiden gives, one last, _ 

Long kiss, which she expires in giv- 
ing ! 
" Sleep," said the Peri, as softly she stole 
The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul, 
As true as e'er warm'd a woman's 

])reast — 
" Sleep on, in visions of odor rest, 
"In balmier airs than ever yet stiiT'd 
" Th' ( nchanted pile of that lonely bird, 

by Dc rin, and lately, with very powerful 
effect, K r Mr. "Wilson. 




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430 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



" Who sings at the last his own death- 
lay,* [away !" 
"And in music and perfume dies 

Thus saying, from her lips she spread 

Unearthly breathings through the 

place, [ shed 

And shook her sparkling wreath, and 

Such lustre o'er each paly face, 
That Mke two lovely saints they seem'd, 

Upon the eve of doomsday taken 
From their dim graves, in odor sleeping ; 

While that benevolent PtRi beam'd 
Like their good angel, camly keeping 

"Watch o'er them till their souls would 
waken. 

But mom is blushing in the sky ; 

Again the Peri soars above. 
Bearing to lleav'n that precious sigh 

Of pure, self-sacrificing love. 
High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate, 

Th' Elysiau palm she soon shall win. 
For the bright Spirit at the gate 

Smiled as she gave that off'ring in ; 
And she already hears the trees 

Of Eden, with their crystal beUs 
Kinging in that ambrosial breeze 

That from the throne of Alla swells ; 
And she can see the staiTy bowls 

That lie around that lucid lake, 
Upon whose banks admitted Souls [take, t 

Their first sweet draught of glory 

But, ah ! ev'n Peris' hopes are vain — 

Again the Fates forbade, again 

Th' immortal barrier closed—" Not yet," 

The Angel said, as, with regret. 

He shut from her that glimpse of glory— 

" True was the maiden, and her story 

" Written in light o'er Alla's head 

"By seraph eyes shall long be read. 

" But, Pert, see— the crystal bar 

"Of Eden moves not— hoher far 

* " In the East, they suppose the Phcenix to 
have fifty oritices in his bill, -vrbich are con- 
tinued to his tail; and that, after living one 
thousantl years, he builds himself a funeral 
pile, sings a melodious air of different harmo- 
nies throusrh his fifty orp;an pipes, flaps his 
winprs with a velocity which sets fire to the 
ttood, and consumes himself.'' — Richardson. 

1 "On the shores of a quadrangular lake 
stand a thousand goblets, made of stars, oxit of 
which souls predestined to enjoy felicity drink 
the crystal ware." — From Chateaubriand's 
Description of the Mahometan Paradise, in his 
Beauties of Christianity 

JEichardson thinks that Syria had its name 
from Suri, a beautiful and delicate species of 
rose, for which that country has been always 
famous;— hence, Suristan, the Landof Eoses. 



" Than ev'n this sigh the boon must be 
"That opes the Gates of Heav'n foi 
thee." 

N'ow, upon Syria's land of roses$ 
Softly the light of Eve reposes. 
And, like a glory, the broad sun 
Hangs over sainted Lebanon ; 
Whose head in wintry grandeur tow'rs, 

And whitens with eternal sleet. 
While summer, in a vale of flow'rs, 

Is sleeping r'^sy at his feet. 

To one, who looked from upper air 
O'er all th' enchanted regions there, 
How beauteous must have been the 

glow. 
The life, the sparkling from below ! 
Fair gardens, shining streams, with 

ranks 
Of golden melons on their banks, 
More golden where the sunlight falls ; — 
Gay lizards, glitt'rtng on the walls§ 
Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright 
As they were all alive with light ; 
And, yet more splendid, numerous 
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, [ilocks 
With their rich restless wings, that 
Variously in the crimson beam [gleam 
Of the wai-m West,— as if inlaid 
With brilliants from the mine, or made 
Of tearless rainbows, such as span 
Th' unclouded skies of Peristan. 
And then the mingling sounds that come, 
Of shepherd's ancient reed,|l with hum 
Of the wild bees of Palestine, "ff 

Banqueting through the fiow'ry vales ; 
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine, 

And woods, so full of nightingales.** 

But naught can charm the luckless Peri ; 
Her soul is sad — her wings are weary- 
Joyless she sees the Sun look down 
On that great Temple, once his own,tt 

§ " The number of lizards I saw one day in 
the great court of the Temple of the Sun at 
Balbec amounted to many thousands; the 
ground, the walls, and stones of the ruined 
liuildings, were covered with them."— -Brtfce. 

II " The Syrinx, or Pan's pipe, is still a pasto- 
ral instrument in Syria."— Jiussel. 

t "Wild bees, frequent in Palestine, in hol- 
low trunks or branches of trees, and the 
clefts of rocks. Thus itis said, (Psalm Ixsxi..) 
'honey out of the stony rock.'"— Bur der's Ori- 
ental Customs. 

** ' ' Th* river Jordan is on both sides beset 
with little thick and pleasant woods, among 
wliich thousands of nightingales warble all to- 
gether."— rfterenoi. 

II The Temple of thoSun at Balbec. 




Thus saying, from her lips she spread 

Unearthly breathings through tiie place, 
And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed 

Such lustre o'er each paly face, 
That like two lovely saints they seemed, 

Upon the eve of doomsday taken 
From their dim graves in odour sleeping ; 

While that benevolent Peri beam'd 
Like their good angel, calmy keeping 

Watch o'er them till their souls should waken. 




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LALLA ROOKH. 



431 



WTiose lonely columns stand sublime, 
Flinging their shadows from on high, 

Like dials, whicn the wizard, Time, 
Had raised to count his ages by ! 

Yet haply there may lie conceal'd 

Beneath those Chambers of the Sun, 
Some amulet of gems, anneal'd 
In upper fires, some tablet seal'd 
With the great name of Solomon, 
"Which, spell'd by her illumined eyes, 
May teach her where, beneath the moon. 
In earth or ocean, lies the boon. 
The charm, that can restore so soon 
An erring Spirit to the skies. 

Cheer'd by this hope she btnds her 
thither ; — [ven. 

Still laughs the radiant eye of Hea- 

Nor have the golden bowers of Even 
In the rich West begun to wither ;— 
When, o'er the vale of Balbec wmging 

Slowly, she sees a chdd at play. 
Among the rosy wild-flow'rs singing, 

As rosy and as wild as they ; 
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes. 
The beautiful blue damsel-flies,* 
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems, 
Like winged flow'rs or flying gems : — 
And, near the boy, who tired with play 
Now nestlmg 'mid the roses lay, 
She saw a wearied man dismount 

From his hot steed, and on the blink 
Of a small imaret's rustic fountt 

Impatient fling him down to drink. 
Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd 

To the fair child, who fearless sat. 
Though never yet hath day-beam bum'd 

Upon a brow more fierce than that, — 
Sullenly fierce — a mixture dire, 
Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire ; 
In which the Peri's eye could read 
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed ; 
The ruiu'd maid— the shrine profaned — 
Oaths broken — and the threshold staiu'd 

* "You behold there a cousiderable number 
of a remarkable species of beautiful insects, 
the elegance of whose appearance and their 
attire procured for them the name of Damsels." 
—Sonnini. 

I Imarct, "hospice ou on loge et nourrit, 
gratis, les p61cnns pendant trois jours."— 
Toderini, translated by the Abbe da Coiirnand. 
—See also Castellan's Mceurs des Othomans, 
tom. v., p. 145. 

t "Such Turks as at the common hours of 
prayer are on the road, or so employed as not 
to find convenience to attend the mosqnes, are 
still obliged to execute tliat duty ; nor are they 
ever known to fail, whatever business they are 



With blood of guests I— there written 

all. 
Black as the damning drops that fall 
From the denouncing Angel's pen, 
Ere Mercy weeps them out agaui. 

Yet tranquil now that man of crime 
(As if the balmy evening time 
Soften'd his spuit) look'd and lay, 
Watching the rosy infant's play : — 
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance 
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance 

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, 
As torches, that have buru'd all night 
Through some impure and godless rite, 

Encounter morning's glorious rays. 

But, hark ! the vesper call to pray'r, 

As slow the orb of daylight sets, 
Is rising sweetly on the air, 

From Syria's thousand minarets ! 
The boy has started from the bed 
Of flow'rs, where he had laid his head, 
And down upon the fragrant sod 

Kneelst with his forehead to the south, 
Lisping th' eternal name of God 

From Purity's own cherub mouth, 
And looking, while his hands and eyes 
Ai-e lifted to the glowing skies, 
Like a stray babe of Paradise, 
Just lighted on that flow'ry plain. 
And seeking for its home again. 
Oh ! 'twas a .sight — that Heav'n— that 

child- 
A scene, whi?^ might have well beguiled 
Ev'n haughty Eblts of a sigh 
For glories lost and peace gone by ! 

And how felt he, the wretched Man 
Reclining there— while memory ran 
O'er many a year of guilt and strife. 
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, 
Nor found one sunny resting-place, 
Nor brought him back one l:)ranch of 

grace, 
then about, but pray immediately wlicn the 
hour alarms them, whatever they are about, in 
that veiy place they chance to stand on ; inso- 
much that when a janizary, whom you have to 
guard you up and down the city, hears the 
notice which is given him from the steeples, be 
will turn alwut, stand still, and beckon with his 
hand, to fell liis charge he must have patience 
for awhile, wlien, tak'ing out his handkerchief, 
he spreads it ou the ground, sits cross-logged 
thereupon, and says his prayers, though in^he 
open market, which having ended, ho leaps 
briskly up, salutes the person whom he under- 
took to convey, and resumes his journey with 
the mild expression of Ghell gohnnumgkell. or 
Come, dear, follow mey— Aaron HilVs Travels, 



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432 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



" There was a time," he said, in mild, 
Heai-t-hiimbled tones— "thou blessed 

child ! 
'• When, young and haply pure as thou, 
" I look'd and pray'd like thee— but 

now " — 
He hung his head— each nobler aim. 
And hope, and feeling, which had 
slept 
From boyhood's hour, that instant came 
Tresh o'er him, and he wept— he 
wept! 
Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! 

In whose benign, redeeming flow 
Is felt the first, the only sense 

Of guiltless joy that guOt can know. 
"There's a drop," said the Peri, "that 

down from the moon 
" Falls thi-oughthe withering airs of June 
"Upon Egypt's land,* of so healing a 

pow'r, 
"So balmy a virtue, that ev'n in the horn- 
" That di-op descends, contagion dies, 
"And health reanimates earth and 

skies ! — 
' ' Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin, 

' ' The precious tears of repentance fall ? 
" Though foul thy fiery plagues within, 
"One heavenly drop hath dispeU'd 
them all !" 
And now— behold him kneeling there 
By the child's side, in humble pray'r, 
While the same sunbeam shmes upon 
The guilty and the guiltless one, 
And hymns of joy proclaim through 

Heav'n 
The triumph of a Soul Forgiv'n ! 
'Twas when the golden orb had set. 
While on their knees they linger'd yet, 
There fell a light more lovely far 
Thau ever came from sun or star, 
Upon the tear that, warm and meek, 
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek. 
To mortal eye this light might seem 
A northern flash or meteor beam — 
But well th' enraptured Peri knew 
'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw 

* The Nucta, or Miraculous Drop, wliicli 
falls lu Egypt precisely on St. John's day, in 
June, and is supposed to liave the effect of 
stopping the plague. 

t The Country of Delight— the name of a 
province in the kingdom of Jinnistan, or Fairy 
Land, the capital ot which is called the City of 
Jewels. Amberabad is another of the cities of 
Jmnistan. 

i The tree Tooba, that stands in Paradise, 



From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear 
Her harlnnger of glory near ! 

" Joy, joy forever ! my task is done— _ 
" The gates are pass'd, and Heav'n is 

won! 
" Oh ! am I not happy ? I am, I am— 
" To thee, sweet Eden ! how dark 
and sad [KiAM,t 

"Are the diamond tm-rets of Shadu- 
" And the fragrant bowers of Amber- 
abad ! 
" Farewell, ye odors of Earth, that die 
" Passing away like a lover's sigh ;— 
" My feast is now of the Tooba Tree,| 
" Whose scent is the breath of Eternity ! 

"Farewell, ye vanishing flowers, that 

shone [brief;— 

" In my fairy wreath, so bright and 

" Oh ! what are the brightest that e'er 
have blown, [throne, § 

" To the lote-tree, springing by Alla's 
"Whose flowers have a soul in every 
leaf. 

" Joy, joy forever !— my task is done— 

" The Gates are pass'd, and Heav'n is 



" And this," said the Great Chamber- 
lain, " is poetry ! this flimsy manufac- 
tm-e of the brsin, which, in comparison 
with the lofty and durable monuments 
of genius, is as the gold fihgree-work of 
Zamara beside the eternal architecture 
of Egypt!" After this gorgeous sen- 
tence, wLiich, with a few more of the 
same kind, Fadladeen kept by him for 
rare and important occasions, he pro- 
ceeded to the anatomy of the short poem 
just recited. The lax and easy kind of 
metre m which it was written ought to 
be denounced, he said, as one of the 
leading causes of the alarming growth 
of poetry in our times. If some check 
were not given to this lawless facihty, 
we should soon be overrun by a race of 
bards as numerous and as shallow as 
the hundred and twenty thousand 

m the palace of Mahomet. See Sale's Prelim. 
Di.vc— Tooba, says D'Herbeiot, signifies beati- 
tude, or eternal happiness. 

^ Mahomet is described, in the 53(1 chapter 
of the Koran, as having seen the angel Gabriel 
' by the lotetree, beyond which there is no 
passing; near it is the Garden of Eternal 
Abode." This tree, say the commentators, 
stands in the seventh Heaven, on the right 
hand of the Throne of God. 



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LALLA ROOKH. 433 





Streams of Basra.* They -who suc- 
ceeded in this style deserved chastise- 
ment for their very success ; — as war- 
riors have been punished, even after 
gaining a victory, because they had 
taken the liberty of gaining it in an ir- 
regular or uuestablished manner. What, 
then, was to be said to those who failed ? 
to those who presumed, as in the pres- 
ent lamentable instance, to imitate the 
license and ease of the bolder sous of 
song, without any of that grace or vigor 
which gave a dignity even to negli- 
gence ; — who, like them, flung the 
jereedt carelessly, but not, like them, 
to the mark; — " and who," said he, 
raising his voice to excite a proper de 
gree of wakefidness in his hearers, "con- 
trive to appear heavy and constrained 
in the midst of all the latitude they 
allow themselves, like one of those 
young pagans that dance before the 
Princess, who is ingenious enough to 
move as if her limbs were fettered, in a 
pair of the hghtest and loosest drawers 
of Masulipatam !" 

It was but httle suitable, he con- 
tinued, to the grave march of criticism 
to follow this fantastical Peri, of whom 
they had just heard, through all her 
flights and adventures between earth and 
heaven ; but he could not help advert- 
ing to the puerile conceitedness of the 
Three Gifts which she is supposed to 
carry to the skies,— a drop of blood, for- 
sooth, a sigh, and a tear! How the 
first of these articles was delivered into 
the Angel's "radiant hand" he professed 
him.?elf at a loss to discover ; and as to 
the safe carriage of the sigh and the tear, 
such Peris and such poets were beings 
by far too incomprehensible for him even 
to guess how they managed such mat- 

* " It IS said that the rivers or streams of 
Basra were rockoued in the time of Pelal ben 
Abi Bordeh, and amounted to the number of 
one hundred and twenty thousand streams. — 
iLbn Haukal. 

t The name of the javelin with which the 
Easterns exercise. See Castellan, Moeurs des 
Othomans.tom. iii. p. ICl. 

; " Tliis account excited a desire of visitijg 
the Banyan Hospital, as I had heard mucli of 
tlieir benevolence to all kinds of animals that 
were cither sick, lame, or infirm, through age 
or accident. On my arrival, there were pre- 
sented to my view many horses, cows, and 
oxen, in one apartment ; in another dogs, 
sheep, goats, and monkeys, with clean straw 
for them to repose on. Above stairs were de- 



ters. "But, in short," said he, "it is a 
waste of time and patience to dwell 
longer upon a thing so incurably frivo- 
lous, — puny even among its own puny 
race, and such as only the Banyan Hoi- 
pitalt for Sick Insects should under- 
take." 

In vain did Lalla Rookh try to soft- 
en this inexorable critic ; in vain dio 
she resort to her most eloquent common- 
places, — reminding bim that poets were 
a timid and sensitive race, whose sweet- 
ness was not to bo drawn forth, like 
that of the fragrant grass near the 
Ganges, by crushing and trampUng upon 
them ;§— that severity often extinguish- 
ed every chance of the perfection which 
it demanded; and that, after all, perfec- 
tion was like the Mountain of the Talis- 
man, — no one had ever yet reached its 
summit. II jS'either these gentle axioms, 
nor the still gentler looks with which 
they were inculcated, could lower foi 
one instant the elevation of Fadla- 
deen's eyebrows, or charm him into any 
thing like encouragement, or even toler- 
ation, of her poet. Toleration, indeed, 
was not among the weaknesses of Fad- 
LADEEN :--he carried the same spirit 
into matters of poetry and of rehgiou, 
and, though little versed in the beauties 
and sublimities of either, was a perfect 
master of the art of persecution in both. 
His zeai was the same, too, m either 
pursuit ; whether the game before him 
was pagans or poetasters, — worshipper? 
of cows, or writers of epics. 
_ They had now arrived at the splendid 
city of Lahore, whose mausoleums and 
shrines, magnificent and numberless, 
where Death appeared to share equal 
honors with Heaven, would have pow- 
erfully afl'ected the heart and imagina- 

positories for seeds of many sorts, and flat, 
l)road dishes for water for the use of birds and 
insects."— F«r«o?i',s' Travels. 

It is said that all animals know the Banyans, 
that the most timid approach thom, and that 
birds will fly nearer to them than to other 
people.— See Grandprc. 

^ 'A very fragrant grass from the banks of 
the Ganges, near Heridwar, which in some 
places covers whole acres, and diffuses, when 
crushed, a strong odor."— /Sir TT Jonen on the 
Spikenard of tlie Ancients. 

II " Near this is a curious hill, called Koh 
Talism, the Mountain of the Talisman, be. 
cause, according to the traditions of the coun- 
try, no person ever succeeded iu gaiuina' its 
sum mit.^ —Kinneir. 




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434 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



tion of Lalla Rookh, if feelings more 
of this earth had not taken enth'e posses- 
sion of her abeady. She was here met 
by messengers, dispatched from Cash- 
mere, who informed her that the King 
had arrived in the Valley, and was him- 
self superintending the sumptuous prep- 
arations that were then making in the 
Saloons of the Shalimar for her recep- 
tion. The chill she felt on receiviug 
this intelligence,— which to a hride 
whose heart was free and light would 
have brought only images of affection 
and pleasure, — convinced her that her 
peace was gone forever, and that she 
was in love, m-etrievably in love, with 
young Feramorz. The veil had fallen 
off in which this passion at first dis- 
guises itself, and to know that she loved 
was now as painful as to love without 
knowing it had been deUcious. Fera- 
morz, too,— what misery would be his, 
if the sweet hours of intercoui'se so im- 
prudently allowed them should have 
stolen into his heart the same fatal fas- 
cination as into hers ; — if, notwithstand- 
ing her rank, and the modest homage he 
always paid to it, even he should have 
yielded to the influence of those long 
and happy interviews, where music, 
poetry, the dehghtful scenes of nature, — 
all had tended to bring their hearts close 
together, and to waken by every means 
that too ready passion, which often, li-ke 
the young of the desert-bird, is warmed 
into life by the eyes alone !* She saw 
but one way to preserve herself from be- 
ing culpable as well as unhappy, and 
this, however painful, she was resolved 
to adopt. Feramorz must no more be 
admitted to her presence. To have 
strayed so far into the daugerous laby- 
rinth was wrong, but to linger m it, 
while the clew was yet in her hand, 
would be criminal. Though the heart 
she had to offer to the King of Bucharia 
might be cold and broken, it should at 
least be pure; and she must only en- 
deavor to forget the short dream of hap- 

* " The Arabians believo that the o-striches 
hatch their young by only looking at them."— 
P. Yanslebe, Relat. d'Egi/pte. 

f See Sale's Koran, note, vol. ii. p. 484. 

' Oriental Tales. 

^ Ferishta. "Or rather," says Scott, upon 
the passage of Ferishta, from which this is 
taken, " small coins, stamped with the figure 
of a flower. They are still used in India to 
distribute in charity and. (,ii oi'ousini., thrnwu 



pfness she had enjoyed,— like that Ara- 
bian shepherd, who, in wandering into 
the wilderness, caught a glimpse of the 
Gardens of Irim, and then lost them 
again forever ! t 

The arrival of the young Bride at La- 
hore was celebrated in the most enthusi- 
astic manner. The Rajas and Omras in 
her train, who had kept at a certain dis- 
tance during the journey, and never en- 
camped nearer to the Princess than was 
strictly necessary for her safeguard, 
here rode in splendid cavalcade thi-ough 
the city, and distributed the most costly 
presents to the crowd. Engines were 
erected in all the squares, which cast 
forth showers of confectionery among 
the people ; while the artisans, in ehari- 
otst adorned with tinsel and flying 
streamers, exhibited the badges of their 
respective trades through the streets. 
Such bnlliant displays of life and page- 
antry among the palaces, and domes, 
and gilded minarets of Lahore, made 
the city altogether like a place of en- 
chantment ;— particularly on the day 
when Lalla Rookh set out again upon 
her journey, when she was aci'ompauied 
to the gate by all the fairest and richest 
of the nobihty, and rode along between 
ranks of beautiful boys and girls, who 
kept waving over their heads plates of 
gold and silver flowers, § and then threw 
them around to be gathered by the 
populace. 

For many days after their departure 
from Lahore, a considerable degree of 
gloom hung over the whole party. 
Lalla Rookh, who had intended to 
make illness her excuse for not admit- 
ttag the young minst-rel, as usual, to the 
pavilion, soon found that to feign indis- 
position was unnecessary ;— Fadladeen 
felt the loss of the good road they had 
hitherto travelled, and was very near 
cursing Jeban-Guire (of blessed mem- 
ory ! ) for not having continued his de- 
lectable alley of trees, || at least as far as 
the mountains of Cashmere, — while the 
l5y the purse-bearers of the great among the 
populace." 

II The fine road made by the Emperor Jehan- 
Guire from Agra to Lahore, planted with trees 
on each side. Tills road is 2'0 l(!agncs iu 
length. It has " little pyramids or turrets," 
says Eernier. " erected every half league, to 
mark the -ways, and frequent wells to afford 
drink to pass'engeis, aud to water the young 
trees." 




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LALLA ROOKH. 



435 



Ladies, who had nothing now to do all 
day but to be faun'd by peacocks' fea- 
thers and listen to Fadladeen, seemed 
heartily weary of the life they led, and 
in spite of all the Great Chamberlain's 
criticisms, were so tasteless as to wish 
for the poet again. One evening, as 
they were proceeding to then- place of 
rest for the night, the Princess, who, 
for the freer enjoyment of the air, had 
mounted her favorite Ai-abian palfrey, 
in passmg by a small grove heard the 
notes of a lute from within its leaves, 
and a voice which she but too well knew, 
siugmg the following words : — 

Tell me not of joys above. 
If that world can give no bliss, 

Traer, happier than the Love 
■Which enslaves our souls in this. 

Tell me not of Houris' eyes; — 
Par from me their dangerous glow, 

If those looks that light the skies 
Wound like some that burn below. 

"Who, that feels what Love is here, 
All its falsehood — all its pam — 

"Would, for ev'n Elysium's sphere, 
Eisk the fatal dream again ? 

Who, that midst a desert's heat 
Sees the waters fade away, 

WoiUd not rather die than meet 
Streams again as false as they ? 

The tone of melancholy defiance in 
which these words were uttered, went 
to Lalla Rooku's heart; — and, as she 
reluctantly rode on, she could not help 
feehng it to be a sad but still sweet cer- 
tainty, that Feramorz was to the full 
as enamored and miserable as herself. 

The place where they encamped that 
evening was the first delightful spot they 
had come to suice they left Lahore. On 
one side of them was a grove full of small 
Hindoo temples, and planted with the 
most graceful trees of the East; where 
the tamarind, the cassia, and the silken 
plantams of Ceylon were mingled in 
rich contrast with the high fan-like foli- 

» " The Baya, or Indian Gross-beak." — Sir 
W. Jones. 

t " Here is a lar^e pagoda by a tank, on the 
•waters of which float multitudes ot the beauti- 
ful red lotus ; the flower is larger than that of 
the white water lily, and is the most lovely of 
the nymphaeas I have seen.' — Mrs- Graham's 
Joui-nal of a Kesideuce in India. 



age of the Palmyra, — that favorite tree 
of the luxm-ious bird that lights up the 
chambers of its nest with fire-fiies.* In 
the middle of the lawn where the pavil- 
ion stood there was a tank suiTOundcd 
by small mango-trees, on the clear cold 
waters of which floated multitudes of 
the beautiful red lotus ;t while at a dis- 
tance stood the ruins of a strange and 
awful-looking tower, which seemed old 
enough to have been the temple of some 
religion no longer known, and which 
spoke the voice of desolation in the 
midst of aU that bloom and loveliness. 
This singular ruin excited the wonder 
and conjectures of all. Lalla Rookh 
guessed in vain, and the all-pretending 
Fadladeen, who had never till this 
journey been beyond the precmcts of 
Delhi, was proceeding most learaedly to 
show that he knew nothing whatever 
about the matter, when one of the Ladies 
suggested that perhaps Feramorz could 
satisfy their curiosity. They were now 
approaching his native mountains, and 
this tower might perhaps be a relic cf 
some of those dark superstitions, which 
had prevailed in that coimtry before the 
hght of Islam dawned upon it. The 
Chamberlain, who usually prefen-ed his 
own Ignorance to the best knowledge 
that any one else could give him, was 
by no means pleased with this ofiicious 
reference ; and the Princess, too, was 
about to interpose a faint word of objec- 
tion, but before either of them could 
speak, a slave was disisatched for Fera- 
morz, who, m a very few minutes, made 
his appearance before them— looking so 
pale and unhappy in Lalla Rookh's 
eyes, that she repented already of her 
craelty in having so long excluded him. 
That venerable tower, he told them, 
was the remains of an ancient Fire- 
Temple, built by those Ghcbers or Per- 
sians of the old religion, who, many hun- 
dred years since, had fled hither from 
their Arab conquerors, J prefemng lib- 
erty and their altars in a foreign land to 
the alternative of apostacy or persecu- 
tion m their own. It was impossible, 

{ " On les voit pers^cut^s par les Kliahfes se 
retirerdanslesmontagnesduKerman: plusieurs 
clioisireut pour retraite la Tartaric ct la Chine; 
d'autres s'avrfiterent sur les bords du Gauge 
a Test de Delhi.'' — JLf. Anqnetil, M^moires de 
I'Academie, torn, xxxi., p. 34(i 



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*33 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



he added, not to feel interested in the 
many glorious but unsuccessful strug- 
gles, which had been made by these ori- 
ginal natives of Persia to cast off the 
yoke of their bigoted conquerors. Like 
their own Fire in the Burning Field at 
Bakou, * when suppressed m one place, 
they had but broken out with fresh llame 
in another; and, as anative of Cashmere, 
of that fair and Holy Yalley, which had 
in the same manner become the prey of 
strangers, t and seen her ancient shiines 
and native princes swept away before 
the march of her intolerant invaders, he 
felt a sympathy, he owned, with the suf- 
ferings of the persecuted Ghebers, which 
every monument like this before them 
but tended more powerfully to awaken. 
It was the first time that FEriAMORZ 
had ever ventured upon so much prose 
before Fadladeen, and it may easily be 
conceived what effect such prose as this 
must have produced upon that most or- 
thodox and most pagan-hating person 
age. He sat for some mmutes aghast, 
ejaculating only at mtervals, " Bigoted 
conquerors ! — sympathy with Fire-wor- 
shippers r't— while Feramorz, happy 
to take advantage of this almost speech- 
less horror of the Chamberlaui, pi-oceed- 
ed to say that he knew a melancholy 
story, connected with the events of one 
of those struggles of the brave Fire- wor- 
shippers against their i.rab masters, 
which, if the evening was not too far ad- 
vanced, he should have much pleasure 
in being allowed to relate to the Prin- 
cess. It was impossible for Lalla 
RooKn to refuse ; — he had never before 
looked half so animated ; uad when ho 
spoke of the Holy Yalley hi.:, eyes had 
sparkled, she thought, like the talis- 
mauic characters on the cimeter cf Solo- 
mon. Her consent was therefore most 



* The " Aper ardens,' described by Kempcrf, 
Amcenitat. Exot. 

\ " Cash'.nere (says its historians) had its 
own princes 4000 years before its conquest by 
Akl)ar in 1585. Akbar would luivc found some 
difficulty lO reduce this paradise of the Indies, 
situated as it is within such a fortress of moun- 
tains, but its monarch, Yusef-Khan, was 
basely betrayed by hisOmrahs. ' — Pennant. 

\ Voltaire "tolls us that in bis Tragedy, " Les 
Guebres," he was generally supposed to have 
alluded to the Jansenists. I should not be 
surprised if this story of the Fire-worshippers 
were found capable of a similar doubleness of 
application. 



readily granted ; and while Fadladeen 
sat in unspeakable dismay, expecting 
treason and abomination in every line, 
the poet thus began his story of the Fire- 
worshippers : — 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

'Tis moonlight over Oman's Sea ;§ 

Her banks of pearl and palmy isles 
Bask in the night-beam beauteously, 

And her blue waters sleep in smiles. 
'Tis moonhght in Harmozia's|| walls, 
And through her Emir's porphyry halls, 
Where, some hom-s since, was heard the 

swell 
Of trumpet and the clash of zel,1I 
Bidding the bri,:zht-eyed sun farewell ; — 
The peaceful sim, whom better suits 

The music of the bulbul's nest. 
Or the light touch of lovers' lutes, 

To Slug him to his golden rest. [ tion ; 
Al l hush'd — there's not a breeze m mo- 
Tho shore is silent as the ocean. 
If zephyrs come, so light they come, 

Nor leaf is stirr'd nor wave is driven ; 
The wind-tower on the Emir's dome** 

Can hardly win a breath from heaven. 

Ev'n he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps 
Calm, while a nation round him weeps ; 
While curses load the air he breathes, 
And falchions from uuuumber'd sheaths 
Are starting to avenge the shame 
His race hath brought on Iran's tfname. 
Hard, heartless Chief, immoved alike 
Mid eyes that weep, and swords that 

strike ;— 
One of that saintly, murd'rous brood, 

To carnage and the Koran giv'n, 
Who think through unbelievers' blood 

Lies their directest path to heav'n ; 
One, who will pause and kneel unshod 

In the warm blood his hand hath 
pour'd. 
To mutter o'er some text of God 

5. The Persian Gulf, sometimes so called, 
which separates the shores of Persia and 
Arabia. 

II The present Gombaroon, a town on the 
Persian side of the Gulf. 

H A Moorish instrument of music. 

*" •' At Gombaroon and other places in Per 
isia, they have towers for the purpose oi catch- 
ing the wind and cooliug the houses."— !;« 
Brwjn. 

II "Iran is the true general name for the 
tmpirc uf Persia." — Asiat. Res., Disc. 6. 




Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare, 

The stony look of horror and despair, 

Which some of these expiring victims cast 

Upon their souls' tormentor till the last ; — 

Upon that mocking P'iend, whose veil, now raised, 

Showed them, as in death's agony they gazed, 

Not the long promised light, the brow, whose beaming 

Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming 

But features horrible than Hell e'er traced 

On its own brood : — 




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LALLA EOOKH. 



437 



Engraven on his reeking sword ;—* 
Nay, who can coolly note the line, 
The letter of those words diviae, 
To which his hlado, with searching art, 
Had sunk into its victim's heart ! 

Just All a! what must be thy look, 

"When such a wretch before thee 
stands 
Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book, — 

Turning the leaves with blood-staia'd 
hands. 
And wresting from its page subHme 
His creed of lust, and hate, and crime ; — 
Ev'n as those bees of Trebizond, 

"WTiich, from the sunniest flow'rs that 
glad 
"With their pure smile the gardens round, 

Draw venom forth that drives men 
mad.t 
Never did fierce Arabia send 

A satrap forth more direly great ; 
Never was Iran doom'd to bend 

Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight. 
Her throne had fall'n — her pnde was 

crush'd — 
Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd, 
In their own land, — no more then: own, — 
To crouch beneath a stranger's throne. 
Her tow'rs, where Mithra once had 
burn'd, [tum'd, 

To Moslem shrines— oh shame !— were 
Where slaves, converted by the sword, 
Then- mean, apostate worship pour'd, 
And cursed the faith their skes adored. 
Yet has she hearts, mid all this ill, 
O'er all this wreck high buoyant still 
"With hope and vengeance ; — hearts that 
yet— 

Like gems, in darkness, issuing rays 
They've treasured from the sun that's 
set,— 

Beam all the light of long-lost days ! 
And swords she hath, nor weak nor 
slow 

To second all such hearts can dare ; 
As he shall know, well, dearly know, 

Who sleeps in moonlight lus'ry there, 
Tranquil as if his spirit lay 

* ' On the blades of their cimeters some 
verse from the Koraa is usually inscribed." — 
liu^sd. 

t "There is a kind of Ehododendros about 
Trebuond, whoso flowers the bee feeds upon, 
and the honey thence drives people mad."- 
Touriiefort. 

; '■ Their kintrs-n-ear plumes of black herons 
feathers upon tl'.e rijrht side, as a badge of 
sovereignty. '—Hanway. 



Becalm'd in Heav'u's approving ray. 
Sleep on— for purer eyes than thine 
Those waves are hush'd, those piauets 

shine ; 
Sleep on, and be thy rest unmoved 
By the white moonbeam's dazzling 
power;— 
None but the loving and the loved 
Should be awake at this sweet hour. 

And see — where, high above those rocks 
That o'er the deep theii" shadows fling. 
Ton turret stands ; — where ebon locks, 
As glossy as a heron's wing 
Upon the turban of a king, |. 
Hang from the lattice, long and wild — 
'Tis she, that Emir's blooming child, 
All truth, and tenderness, and grace. 
Though bom of such ungentle race ; — 
An image of Youth's radiant Fountain 
Springing in a desolate mountain I^^ 

Oh what a pure and sacred thing 

Is Beauty, curtain 'd from the sight 
Of the gross world, illumining 

One only mansion with her light ! 
Unseen by man's disturbing eye,— 

The flow'r that blooms beneath the sea, 
Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie 

Hid in more chaste obscurity. 
So, Hinda, have thy face and mind, 
Like holy myst'nes, lam' enshrined. 
And oh, what transport for a lover 

To lift the vale that shades them 
o'er!— 
Like those who, all at once, discover 

In the lone deep some fauy shore, 

Where mortal never trod before. 
And sleep and wake in scented airs 
No hp had ever breathed but theirs. 

Beautiful are the maids that glide. 
On summer-eves, through Yemen'sH 
dales. 
And bright the glancing looks they hide 

Behind their litters' roseate veils;— 
And brides, as dehcate and fair 
As the white jasmine flow'rs they wear, 
Hath Yemen in her blissful clime, 
Who, lull'd m cool kiosk or bow'r,1[ 
^ • The Fountain of Youth, by a Mahome- 
tan tradition, is suuatcd ia some dark region 
of th'i East. —Richardson. 
II Arabia Fehx. 

11 "lu the midst of the garden is the chiosk, 
that is, a large room, commonly beautified 
with a fine fountain in the midst of it. It is 
raised nine or ten steps, and enclosed with 
gilded lattices, round which vines. Jessamines, 
and honeysuckles, make a sort of green wall; 



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438 



MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



Before their mirrors count the time,* 
And grow still lovelier ev'ry hour. 

But never yet hath bride or maid 
In Araby's gay Haram smiled, 

Whose boasted brightness would not 
fade 
Before Al Hassan's blooming child. 

flight as the angel shapes that bless 
/yu infant's dream, yet not the less 
Rich in all woman's loveliness ; — 
With eyes so pm-e, that from their ray 
Dark Vice would tmTi abash'd away, 
BUnded like sei*peuts, when they gaze 
Upon the em'rald's virgin blaze;— f 
Yet fill'd with all youth's sweet desires, 
Miugling the meek and vestal fires 
Of other worlds with all the bHss, 
The fond, weak tenderness of this: 
A soul, too, more than half divine, 

"Where, through some shades of earthly 
feeling, 
Eehgion's soften'd glories shine, 

Like light through summer fohage 
stealing, 
Shedding a glow of such mild hue. 
So warm, and yet so shadowy too, 
As makes the very darkness there 
More beautiful than hght elsewhere. 

Buch is the maid who, at this hour. 

Hath risen from her restless sleep. 
And sits alone m that high bow'r, 

Watching the still and shining deep. 
Ah ! 'twas not thus— with tearful eyes 

And beating heart, — she used to gaze 
On the magnificent earth and skies, 

In her own land, in happier days. 

large trees are planted rountl this places, which 
IS the scene of their greatest pleasures.' —iadi/ 
M. W. Montagu. 

' The women of the East are never without 
their looking-glasses. "In Barbary,' says 
iShaw, "they are so fond of their looking- 
glasses, which they hang upon their breasts, 
that they will not lay them aside, even when 
after the drudgery of the day they are obliged 
to go two or three miles with a pitcher or a 
goat's skin to fetch water."— Tmoefe. 

In other parts of Asia they wear little look- 
ing-glasses on their thumbs. '-Hence (and 
from the lotus being considered the emblem of 
beauty) is the meaning of the following mute 
mtercourse of twolovers before their parents:— 

" ' He with salute of defrence due, 
A lotus to his forehead press'd ; 
She raised her mirror to his view, 
Thenturn'd it inward to her breast.'" 
Asiatic Miscellany, vol. ii 

t " They say that if a snake or serpent fix his 
eyes on the lustre of those stones, (emeralds,) 



Wdy looks she now so anxious down 
Among those rocks, whose rugged 
frown 

Blackens the mirror of the deep ? 
Whom waits she all this lonely night ? 

Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep,. 
For man to scale that turret's height!— 

So deem'd at least her thoughtful sire, 

When high, to catch the cool night- 
air, 
^.fter the day-beam's with'ring lke,|; 

He built her bow'r of fi-eshness there, 
And had it deck'd with costliest skill. 

And fondly thought it safe as fair: — 
Think, reverend dreamer ! thiulj so still, 

Nor wake to learn what Love can 
dare ; — 
Love, all-defying Love, who sees 
No charm in trophies won with ease ;— 
Whose rarest, dearest fniits of l)hss 
Are pluck'd on Danger's precipice ! 
Bolder than they, who dare not dive 

For pearls, but when the sea's at Test, 
Love, in the tempest most ahve, 

Hath ever held that pearl the best 
He finds beneath the stormiest water. 
Yes- Arabv's uurivall'd daughter, 
Though high that tow'r, that rock-way 
rude, [cheek. 

There's one who, but to kiss thy 
Would climb th' untrodden solitude. 

Of Ararat's tremendous peak,^ 
And think its steeps, though dark and 

dread, 
Heav'n's pathways, if to thee they led I 
Ev'n now thou seest the flashing spray, 

he immediately becomes blind." — Ahmed ben 
Abdalaziz, Treatise on Jewels. 

J '' At Gombaroon and the Isle of Ormus it 
is sometimes so hot, that the people are obliged 
to lie all day in the water."— J/acco Polo. 

§ This mountain is generally supposed to be 
inaccessible, Struy says, "I can well assure 
the reader that their opinion is not true, who 
suppose this mount to be inaccessible." He 
adds, that "the lower part of the mountain is 
cloudy, misty, and dark, the middlemost part 
very cold, and like clouds of snow, but the 
upper regions perfectly calm."— It wrs on tliis 
mountain that the Ark was supposed to have 
rested after the Deluge, and part vt it, they 
say, exists there still, wlii h Struy thus gravely 
accounts for:— ""Whereas none can remember 
that the air on top of the hill did ever chanjje 
or was subject either to wind or rain, which is 
presumed to be the reason that tlie Ark has 
endured so long without being rotten.''— See 
Carreri's Travels, where the doctor laughs at; 
this whole account of Mount Ararat. 



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LALLA ROOKH. 



43^ 



That lights his oar's impatient way ; 
Ev'n now thou hear'st the sudden shock 
Of his swift bark against the rock, 
And stretchest down thy arms of snow, 
As if to lift him from below ! 
like her to whom, at dead of night, 
The bridegroom, with his locks of light,* 
Came, in the flush of love and pride. 
And scaled the terrace of his bride ;— 
TiThen, as she saw him rashly spring. 
And midway up m danger cling, 
She flung him down her long black hair, 
Exclaiming, breathless, "There, love, 

there !" 
And scarce did manlier nerve uphold 

The hero Zal in that fond hour, 
Than wings the youth who, fleet and 
bold, [bower. 

Now olimbs the rocks to Hinda's 
See— light as up then: granite steeps 

The rock-goats of Arabia clamber,t 
Fearless from crag to crag he leaps, 

And now is in the maiden's chamber. 

She loves— but knows not whom she 
loves, . [came ;— 

l^or what his race, nor whence he 
Like one who meets, in Indian groves, 

Some beauteous bird without a name. 
Brought by the last ambrosial breeze. 
From isles in th' undiscover'd seas, 
To show his plumage for a day 
To woud'ring eyes, and wing away ! 
Will he thus fly— her nameless lover? 

Alla forbid ! 'twas by a moon 
As fair as this, while singmg over 

Some ditty to her soft Kanoon.f 
Alone, at this same witching hour, 

She first beheld his radiant eyes 
Gleam through the lattice of the bow'r, 

Where nightly now they mix their 
sighs ; 
And thought some spirit of the air 
(For what could waft a mortal there ?) 
Was pausing on his moonlight way 
To hsten to her lonely lay ! 
This fancy ne'er hath left her mind : 

And— though, when terror's swoon 
had pass'd, 
She saw a youth of mortal kind, 

Before her in obeisance cast, — 

* lu one of the books of the Shah Nameb, 
wlien Zal (a celebrated hero of Persia, remark- 
able for his white hair) comes to the terrace of 
his mistress Eoduhver at night, she lets down 
her long tresses to assist him in his ascent;— 
he, however, manages it in a less romantic 
way, by fixing his crook in a projectuijj beam. 
-S\ie Champion's i'erdosi. 



Yet often since, when he hath spoken 
Strange, awful words, — and gleams have 

broken 
From his dark eyes, too bright to bear, 

Oh ! she hath fear'd her soul was giv'n 
To some unhaUow'd child of an-. 
Some en-iug Spirit cast from heav'n. 
Like those angelic youths of old. 
Who bum'd for maids of mortal mould, 
Bewilder'd left the glorious skies, 
And lost their heav'n for woman's eyes. 
Fond girl ! nor fiend nor angel he 
Who woos thy young simplicity ; 
But one of earth's impassion'd sons, 

As warm in love, as fierce in ire. 
As the best heart whose current runs 

Full of the Day God's living fii-e. 

But quench'd to-night that ardor seems. 
And pale his cheek, and sunk his 
brow ; — 
ISTever before, but in her dreams, 

Had she beheld him pale as now : 
And those were dreams of troubled 
sleep, [weep ; 

From which 'twas joy to wake and 
Visions that will not be forgot. 

But sadden every waking scene. 
Like warning ghosts, that leave the spot 
All wither' d where they once have 
been. 

" How sweetly," said the trembling 

maid, 
Of her own gentle voice afraid. 
So long had they in silence stood, 
Looking upon tJiat tranquil flood— 
"How sweetly does the moonbeam 

smile 
'•' To-night upon yon leafy isle ! 
"Oft, m my fancy's wanderings, 
"I've wish'd that little isle had wings, 
"And we, within its fairy bow'rs, 

" Were wafted ofl" to seas unknown, 
" Where not a pulse should beat but 
ours, 

"And we might live, love, die alone ! 
" Far from the cruel and the cold,— 

' = Where the bright eyes of angels only 
" Should come around us, to behold 

"A paradise so pure and lonely. 

rOn the lofty hills of Arabia Petrsea are 
rock-goats." — Niehuhr. 

}"Canun, espfece do psalt^rion, nvec des 
cordes de boyaux ; les dames en toucliont dans 
le sorail, avec des decaiUes arraees do pointes 
do cooa."—Toderini, trans, ly De Ooumand. 




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440 



MOORE'S "VV^ORKS. 



''"Would this be world enough for 

thee ?"— 
Playful she tum'd, that he might see 

The passing smile her cheek jjut on; 
But when she mark'd how mournfuUy 

His eyes met hers, that smUe was gone; 
And, bm-sting into heartfelt tears, 
"Yes, yes," she cried, "my hourly 

fears, 
" My di-eams have boded aU too right — 
" We part — forever part— to night ! 
" I knew, I knew it could not last — 
"'Twas bright, 'twas heav'nly, but 'tis 

past! 
" Oh ! ever thus, from childhood's hour, 

"I've seen my fondest hopes decay; 
" I never luved a tree or flow'r, 

" But 'twas the first to fade away. 
" I never nursed a dear gazelle, 

" To glad me with its soft black eye, 
" But when it came to know me well, 

" And love me, it was sure to die ! 
'' JSTow too— the joy most like divine 

" Of all I ever dreamt or knew, 
" To see thee, hear thee, callthee mine, — 

" Oh misery ! must I lose that tooV 
"Tet go — on peril's brink we meet; — 

" Those frightful rocks— that treach'r- 
ous sea — 
" No, never come again — though sweet, 

" Though heav'n, it may be death to 
thee. 
" Farewell— and blessings on thy way, 

"Where'er thou goest, beloved 
stranger ! 
"Better to sit and watch that ray, 
" And think thee safe, though far away, 

"Than have thee near me, and in 
danger !" 

' ' Danger ! — oh, tempt me not to boast'' — 
The youth exclaim'd — " thou little 
know'st [nursed 

"What he can brave, who, born and 
"In Danger's paths, has dared her 

worst ; 
" Upon whose ear the signal word [ing; 
" Of strife and death is hourly break- 
■ Who sleep':; with head upon the sword 
" His fevei-'d hand must grasp in 
waking. 
' * Danger !— " 

" Say on— thou fear'st not then, 
'• And we may meet — oft meet again ?" 

"Oh ! look not so — beneath the skies 
" I now fear nothing but those eyes. 



" If aught on earth could charm or force 
" My spirit from its destined course, — 
" If aught could make this soul forget 
" The bond to which its seal is set, 
"'Twould be those eyes; — they, only 

they, 
" Could melt that sacred seal away ! 
" But no — 'tis fix'd— jwy awful doom 
" Is fix'd — on this side of the tomb 
"We meet no more; — why, why did 

Heav'n 
" Mingle two souls that earth has riv'n, 
" Has rent asunder wide as ours? 
"Oh, Arab maid, as soon the Powers 
" Of Light and Darkness may combine^ 
" As I be hnked with thee or thine ! 
" Thy Father " 

"Holy All A save 

"His gray head from that lightning 

glance ! [brave ; 

"Thou know'st him not— he loves the 

" Nor lives there under Heaven's ex- 
panse [thee 
"One who would prize, would worship 
" And thy bold spirit, more than he. 
" Oft when, in childhood, I have play'd 

" With the bright falchion by his side, 
"I've heard him swear his lisping maid 

" In time should be a warrior's bride. 
"And still, whene'er at Haram hours, 
" I take him cool sherbets and flow'rs, 
" He tells me, when in playful mood, 

"A hero shall my bridegi-oom be, 
" Since maids are best in battle woo'd, 

" And won with shouts of victory ! 
"Nay, turn not from me— thou alone 
"Art form'd to make both hearts thy 
own. [know'st 

"Go— join his sacred ranks — thou 

"Th' unholy strife these Persians 

wage : — [thou glow'st 

"Good Heav'n, that frown— even now 

"With more than mortal warrior's 
rage. 
" Haste to the camp by morning's light, 
"And, when that sword is raised in 

fight, 
" Oh, still remember, Love and I 
" Beneath its shadow trembhng lie ! 
" One vict'ry o'er those Slaves of Fire, 
"Those impious Ghebers, whom my sirf 
" Abhors " 

" Hold, hold— thy words are death — " 
The stranger cried, as wild he flung 
His mantle back and show'd beneath 




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LALLA EOOKH. 



441 



The Glieber belt that round him 

clung.* — [see 

"Here, maiden, look— -vreep— blush to 
" All that thy sire abhors in me ! 
" Yes — I am of that impious race, 
" Those Slaves of Fire who, mom and 

Qxen, 
" Hail their Creator's dwelling-place 

" Among the living lights ot hes,ven '\ 
"Yes — / am of that outcast few, 
" To Iran and to vengeance trre, 
" "Who curse the hour your Arab& came 
" To desolate our shrines of flame, 
"And swear, before God's buiuing eye, 
"To break our country's °-hains, or die! 
" Thy bigot sire, — nay, tremble not, — 
"He, who gave birtb to those dear 

eyes, 
" With me is sacrt-d p.s the spot 

" From wb'ch our tires of worship rise! 
"But know — 'twas he I sought that 

night, [sea, 

" 'When, from my watch-boat on tho 

" T caught this turret's glimm'riug hght, 

"And up the rude rocks desp'rately 

" Sush'd to my prey — thou know'st the 

rest — 
'■* I climb'd the gory vulture's nest, 
" And found a trembling dove within ; — 
" Thine, thine the victory — thine the 

sm — 
" If Love hath made one thought his 

own, 
"That Yengeance claims first— last — 

alone! 
" Oh ! had we never, never met, 
" Or could this heart ev'nnow forget 
"How link'd, how bless'd we might 

have been, 
" Had fate not frown'd so dark between ! 
' ' Hadst thou been born a Persian maid, 

* " They (the Ghebers) lay so much stress •n 
their eushee, or girdle, as not to dare to be an 
instant without it." — Orose's Voyage.— " Le 
ieune homme nia d'abord la chose ; mais, ayant 
6t6 dt'jiouillS de sa robe, et la large ceinture 
qu'il portoit commeGhebre," &^e.,£c.—D'Her- 
belot, art. Agduani. "Pour se distinguer des 
Idolatres de I'lnde les Guebres se ceignent tons 
d'lin cordon de laine, ou de poll de chameau."— 
Encyclopedic Franfoise. 

D'Herbelot says this belt was generally of 
leather. 

_ t " They suppose the Throne of the Almighty 
is seated m tho sun, and hence their worship of 
that himinary. '— iTamva)/. ' As to fire, tho 
Ghebers place the spring-head nf it in tliat 
globe of fire, the Sun, by them called Mytliras, 
or Mihir, to which they pay the hijjhest rever- 



" In neighboring valleys had we dwelt, 

"Through the same iields in childhood 

play'd, 

" At the same kindling altar knelt, — 

"Then, then, while all those nameless 

ties, 
" Tn which the charm of Country lies, 
' Had round our hearts been hourly 

spun, 
" Till Iran's cause and thine were one; 
" "While in thy lute's awak'ning sigh 
" I heard the voice of days gone by, 
" And saw, in every smile of thine, 
"Ketm-ning hours of glory shine :— 
""While the wrong'd Spirit of our Land 
" Lived, look'd, and spoke her wrongs 
through thee,— 
" God ! who could then this sword with- 
stand ? 
" Its very flash were victory ! 
"But now — estranged, divorced forever, 
" Far as the grasp of Fate can sever ; 
" Our only ties what love has wove, — 
" In faith, friends, country, sunder'd 
wide ; 
"And then, then only, true to love, 

""When false to all that's dear beside) 
"Thy father Iran's deadliest foe — 
"Thyself, perhaps, ev'n now— but no — 
"Hate never look'd so lovely yet ! 
" ISTo — sacred to thy soul will be 
"The land of him who could forget 

"All but that bleeding land for thee. 

" "When other eyes shall see, immoved, 

" Her widows mourn, her warriors fall, 

"Thou'lt think how well one Gheber 

loved, [aU ! 

"And for Ms sake thou'lt weep for 

" But look '' 

"With sudden start he tum'd 
And pointed to the distant wave, 

ence, in gratitude for the manifold benefits 
flowing from its ministerial omniscience. But 
they are so far from confounding the subordi- 
nation of the Servant with the majesty of its 
Creator, that they not only attribute no sort of 
sense or reasoning to the sun or fire in any of 
its operations, but consider it as a purely pns- 
sire blind instrument, directed and governed 
by the immediate impression on it of the will 
of God ; but they do not even give that lumina- 
ry, all glorious ns it is, more than the second 
rank amongst his works, reserving the first for 
that stupendous production of divine power, the 
mind of man."— Orose. The false charges 
brought against the rcngion of these people by 
their Mussulman tyrants is but one proot 
among many of the truth of thi.s writer's re- 
mark, tliat ■' calumny is often added to oppros 
siou, if but for the sake of justifying it." 




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442 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Where lights, like chamel meteors, 
bum'd, 

Bluely, as o'er some seaman's grave : 
And fiery darts, at intervals,* 

Flew up all sparkling from the main, 
As if each star that nightly falls, 

Were shooting back to heav'n again. 

"My signal lights !— I must away — 

"Both, both are ruiu'dif I stay. 

" Farewell— sweet life ! thou cling'st in 

vain — 
" ISTow, Vengeance, I am thine again I" 
Fiercely he broke away, nor stopp'd, 
Nor look 'd— but from the lattice di-opp'd 
Down mid the pointed crags beneath, 
As if he fled from love to death. 
While pale and mute young Hinda 

stood, 
Nor moved, tUl in the silent flood 
A momentary plunge below 
Startled her from her trance of wo : — 
Shrieking she to the lattice flew, 

" I come— I come — if in that tide 
" Thou sleep'st to-night, I'll sleep there 
too, 

"In death's cold wedlock, by thy 
side. 
-' Oh ! I would ask no happier bed 

'•Than the chill wave my love lies 
under :— 
•' Sweeter to rest together dead, 

" Far sweeter, than to live asunder !" 
But no— their hour is not yet come — 

Again she sees his pinnace fly, 
Wafting him fleetly to his home, [lie ; 

Where'er that ill-stan''d homo may 
And calm and smooth it seem'd to wia 

Its moonlight way before the wind, 
As if it bore all peace within. 

Nor left one breaking heart behind ! 

* "The Mamelukes that were in the other 
boat, when it was dark used to shoot up a sort 
of fiery arrows into the air, whieh in some 
measure resembled lightning or falling stars." 
—Baumgartcn. 

i ''AVithin the enclosure which surrounds 
this monument (at Gualior) is a small tomb to 
the memory of Tan-Scin, a musician of incom- 
parable skill, who flourished at the court of 
Akbar. The tomb is overshadowed by a tree, 
concerning which a superstitious notion pre- 
vails, that the chewing of its leaves will give 
an extraordinary melody to the voice." — Nar- 
rative of a Journey from Agrato Ouzein, by W- 
Hunter, Esq. 

X " It is usual to place a small white triangu- 
lar flag, fixed to a bamboo staff of ten or twelve 
feet long, at the place where a tiger has de- 
stroyed a man. It is common for the passen- 
gers" also to throw each a stone or brick near 



The Princess, whose heart was sad 
enough already, could have wished that 
Feramorz had chosen a less melancholy 
story ; as it is only to the happy that 
tears are a luxury. Her Ladies, how- 
ever, were by no means soiTy that love 
was once more the Poet's theme; for, 
whenever he spoke of love, they said, 
his voice was as sweet as if he had chew- 
ed the leaves of that enchanted tree 
which gi'ows over the comb of the musi- 
cian, Tan-Sein.t 

Their road all the morning had lain 
through a very dreaiy countiy;— through 
valleys, covered with a low, bu-shy jun- 
gle, where, in more than ^me place, the 
awful signal of the bamboo-staff, t with 
the white flag at its top, reminded the 
traveller that, in that very spot, the tigei 
had made some human creatuje his vic- 
tim. It was, therefore, with much plea- 
sure that they arrived at sunset in a safe 
and lovely glen, and encamped under 
one of those holy trees, whose sniootli 
columns and spreading roofs s-eem to 
destine them for natural temples of re- 
hgion. Beneath this spacious shade, 
some pious hands had erected a row of 
pillars, ornamented with the most beau- 
tiful porcelain, § which now supplied the 
use of mirrors to the young maidens, as 
they adjusted their hair in descending 
from the palankeens. Here, while, as 
usual, the Princess sat listening anx- 
iously, with Fadladken in one of his 
loftiest moods of criticism by her side, 
the young Poet, leaning against a 
branch of the tree, thus continued his 
story : — 
The mom hath risen clear and calm, 

And o'er the Green Sea§ palely shines, 
the spot, so that In the conr.se of a little time a 
pile equal to a good wagon-load is collected. 
The sight of these flags and piles cf stones im- 
parts a certain melancholy, not, perhaps, alto- 
gether void of apprehension."— Ortcjira^J'iWd 
Sports, vul. ii. 

^ " The Ficus Indica is colled the Pagod 
Tree and Tree of Councils; the first, from the 
idols placed under its shade ; the second, be- 
cause meetings were held under its cool 
branches. In some places it is believed to be 
the haunt of spectres, as the ancient spreading 
oaks of "Wales have been of fairies; in others 
are erected beneath the shade pillars of stone, 
or posts, elegantly carved, and ornamented 
with the most beautiful porcelain to supply the 
use of mirrors." — Pennant. 

5 The Persian Gulf.-—" To dive for pearli in 
the Green Sea, or Persian Gulf."— Sir W 
Jones- 



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LALLA EOOKH. 



443 



Revealing Bahrein's* groves of palm, 

And lighting Kishma's * amber vines 
Fresh smell the shores of Arabt, 
While breezes from the Indian Sea 
Blow round SELAMA'st sainted cape, 

And curl the shining flood beneath, — 
"Whose Avaves are ricii vrith many a 
grape, 

And cocoa-nut and *'o-w'ry wreath, 
Which pious seame*", as they pass'd, 
Had tow'rd that hjly headland cast — 
Oblations to the Genii there 
For gentle skies and breezes fair ! 
The nightingale now bends her fiightv 
From the high trees, where all the night 

She sung so sweet, with none to listen ; 
And hides her from the morning star 

Where thickets of pomegranate glisten 
In the clear dawn, — bespangled o'er 

With dew, whose night-drops would 
not stain 
The best and 1)rightest cimeter § 
That ever youthful Sultan wore 

On the first morning of his reign. 

And see— the Sun himself !— on wmgs 
Of glory up the East he spiings. 
Angel of Light! who from the time 
Those heavens began their march sub- 
lime, 
Hath first of all the starry choir 
Trod in his Maker's steps" -of fire ! 

Where are the days, thou wondrous 
sphere, 
When Iran, like a sun-flow'r, turn'd 
To meet that eye where'er it bum'd? — 

When, from the banks of Bendemeer 
To the nut-groves of Samarcand, 
Thy temples flamed o'er all the land ? 
Where are they 1 ask the shades of them 

Who on Cadessia'sH bloody plains. 
Saw fierce invaders pluck the gem 
From Iran's broken diadem. 

And l)ind her ancient faith in chains : — 
Ask the poor exile, cast alone 

* Islands in the Gulf. 

t Or Selemch, the geuuine name of the 
headland at tlic entrance of the Gulf, commonly 
called Cape Musseldom. " The Indians, when 
they pass the promontory, throw cocoa-nuts, 
fruits, or flowers into tlie sea, to secure a pro- 
pitious voyaire." — 3Ioricr. 

J "The nightingale sings from the pome- 
granate-groves in the day-time, and from the 
loftiest trees at night." — iiUAScrs Aleppo. 

§ In speaking of the climate ot Shiraz, 
rranckliu says, " The dew is of such a pure 
nature, that if the brightest cimeter should be 
exposed to it all night, it would not receive tho 
least rust." 



On foreign shores, unloved, unknown, 
Beyond the Caspian's Iron Gates, If 

Or on the snowy Mossian mountains, 
Far from his beauteous land of dates, 

Her jasmine bow'rs and sunny fouu- 
Yet happier so than if he trod [tains: 
His own beloved, but blighted, sod. 
Beneath a despot stranger's nod ! — 
Oh, he would rather houseless roam 

Where Freedom and his God may lead, 
Than be the sleekest slave at home 

That crouches to the conqu'ror's creed ! 

Is Iran's pride then gone forever, 
Quench'd with the flame in Mithra's 
caves ? 
N"o — she has sons, that never — never — 
Will stoop to be the Moslem's slaves. 
While heav'n has light or earth has 
graves;— 
Spirits of fire, that brood not long. 
But flash resentment back for wrong; 
And hearts where, slow but deep, the 
Of vengeance ripen into deeds, [seeds 
Till, in some treach'rous hour of calm. 
They burst, hke Zeilan's giant palm,"* 
Whose buds fly open with a sound 
That shakes the pigmy forests round I 

Yes, Emir ! he, who sealed that tow'r, 
And, had he reach'd thy slumb'ring 
breast. 
Had taught thee, in a Ghcber's pow'r 

How safe ev'n tyrant heads may rest— 
Is one of many, brave as he. 
Who loathe thy haughty race and thee ; 
Who, though they know the strife is vain, 
Who, though they know the riven chain 
Snaps but to enter in the heart 
Of him who rends its links apart, 
Yet dare the issue, — bless'd to be 
Ev'n for one bleeding moment free, 
And die in pangs of liberty ! 
Thou know'st them well — 'tis some 
moons since [flags, 

Thy turban'd troops and blood-red 

II The place where the Persians were finally 
defeated by the Arabs, and their ancient mon- 
archy destroyed. 

IT Derbend.— -" Les Turcs appeleiit cette ville 
Dcmir Capi, Porte de Fer ; cc sunt les Caspi;e 
PortSB des anciens." — D' Hcrbelot. 

** The Talpot or Talipot tree. " This beau- 
tiful palm-tree, which grows in the heart of tho 
forests, may be cl.assed among the loftiest trees, 
and becomes still higher when on tho point of 
bursting forth from its leafy summit. Tho 
^llcath which then envelopes the flower is very 
large, and, when it bursts, makes an expl 
like tho report of a cannon."— Thunberg. 




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444 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Thou satrap of a bigot Prince, [crags ; 

Have swarm'd among these Green Sea 
Yet here, ev'n here, a sacred band, 
Ay, ia the portal of that land 
Thou, Arab, dar'st to call thy own, 
Their spears across thy path have 
thrown ; [o'er — 

Here— ere the witids half wing'd thee 
Rebellion braved thee from the shore. 
Rebellion ! foul, dishonoring word, 

Whose wrongful blight so oft has 
stain'd 
The holiest cause that tongue or sword 

Of mortal ever lost or gain'd. 
How many a spirit, born to bless, 

Hath sunk beneath that with'ring 
name, 
Whom but a day's, an hour's success 

Had wafted to eternal fame ! 
As exhalations, when they burst 
From the warm earth, if chUl'd at first, 
If check'd in soaring from the plain, 
Darken to fogs and sink again ; — 
But, if they ouce triumphant spread 
Their wings above the mountaiu-head, 
Become enthroned in upper air. 
And turn to sun bright glories there ! 

And who is he, that wields the might 

Of Freedom on the Green Sea brink, 
Before whose sabre's dazzling light * 

The eyes of Yemen's waniors wink? 
Who comes, embower'd in the spears 
Of Kerman's hardy moimtaineers ? — 
Those mountaineers that Lmest, last, 

Cling to their country's ancient rites, 
As if that God, whose eyelids cast 

Their closing gleam on Iran's heights, 
Among her snowy mountams threw 
The last light of his worship too ! 

'Tis Hafed — name of fear, whose sound 

Chills like the mutt'ring of a charm ! — 
Shout but that awful name aroimd, 

And palsy shakes the manliest arm. 
'Tis Hafed, most accursed and dire 
(So rank'd by Moslem hate and ire) 
Of all the rebel Sons of Fire ; 

* ""When tho bright cinieters make the eyes 
of our heroes wink."— The Moallakat, Poem of 
Ainru. 

t Tahmuras, and other ancient kings of Per- 
sia j ■whose Bdvcntiircs in Fairy-land among 
the Peris and Dircs may be found in Richard- 
son's curious Dissertation. The griffin Si- 
mnorgh, they say. took some feathers from her 
breast for Talimuras. with which he adorned 
his lielmot, and transmitted them afterwards to 
Ilia descendants. 

X This rivulet, says Dandini, is called the 



Of whose malign, tremendous power 
The Arabs, at their mid-watch hour, 
Such tales of fearful wonder teU, 
That each affrighted sentinel 
Pulls down his cowl upon his eyes, 
Lest Hafed in the midst should rise ! 

A man, they say, of monstrous birth, 
A mingled race of flame and earth, 
Sprung from those old, enchanted king.s, 

Who in their fairy helms, of yore, 
A feather from the mystic wings 

Of the Simoorght resistless wore ; 
And gifted by the Fiends of Fire, 
Who groan' d to see their shrines expire. 
With charms that, all in vain withstood. 
Would drown the Koran's light in blood ! 

Such were the tales, that won belief. 

And such the coloring Fancy gave 
Tea young, warm, and dauntless Chief, — 

One who, no more than mortal brave. 
Fought for the land his soul adored, 

For happy homes and altars free, 
His only talisman, the sword. 

His only spell-word. Liberty ! 
One of that ancient hero Une, 
Along whose glorious current shine 
Names, that have sanctified their blood 
As Lebanon's small mountaiu-flood 
Is render'd holy by the ranks 
Of sainted cedars on its banks. t 
'Twas not for him to crouch the knee 
Tamely to Moslem tyranny ; 
'Twas not for him, whose soul was cast 
In the bright mould of ages past, 
Whose melancholy spirit, fed 
With all the glories of the dead, 
Though framed for Iran's happiest 
years, [tears !— 

Was bom among her chains and 
'Twas not for him to swell the crowd 
Of slavish heads, that shrinking bow'd 
Before the Moslem, as he pass'd, 
Like shrubs beneath the poison-blast— 
No— far he fled— indignant iied 

The pageant of his country's shame; 
While every tear her children shed 
Holy Eiver from the "cedar saints" among 
which it rises. 

In the Lettres Edifiantes, there is a different 
cause assigned for its name of Holy. "In these 
are deep caverns, which formerly served as so 
many cells for a great number of recluses, who 
had chosen these retreats as tlie only witnesses 
upon earth of the severity of their penance. 
The tears of these pious penitents gave tho 
fiver of which ^ye have just treated the name 
of the Holy River."— See Chdteaubriand's 
Beauties of Christianity. 



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LALLA KOOKH. 



44^ 



Fell on his soul like drops of flame ; 
And, as a lover hails the dawn 

Of a first smile, so -^velcomed he 
The sparkle of the first sword drawn 

For vengeance and for liberty ! 

But vain was valor — vain the flow'r 
Of Kerman, in that deathful hour, 
Against Al Hassan's whelming pow- 
er, — 
In vain they met him, helm to helm, 
Upou the threshold of that realm 
He came in bigot pomp to sway, 
And with their corpses block'd his way — 
In vain — for every lance they raised, 
Thousands around the conqueror blazed ; 
For every arm that lined their shore, 
Myriads of slaves were wafted o'er, — 
A bloody, bold, and countless crowd, 
Before whose swarm as fast they bow'd 
As dates beneath the locust cloud. 
There stood— but one short league away 
From old Harmozia's sultry bay — 
A roclcy mountain o'er the Sea 
Of Oman beetling awfully; * 
A last and solitary link 

Of those stupendous chains that reach 
From the broad Caspian's reedy brink 

Down winding to the Green Sea beach. 
Around its base the bare rocks stood, 
Like naked giants, in the flood. 

As if to guard the Gulf across ; 
"While, on its peak, that braved the sky, 
A ruiu'd Temple tower'd, so high 

That oft the sleeping albatross t 
Struck the wild ruins with her wmg, 
And from her cloud-rock'd slumbering 
Started — to find man's dwelling there 
In her own silent fields of air ! 
Beneath, terrific caverns gave 
Dark welcome to each stormy wave 

* This mountain is my own creation, as the 
"stupendous chain," of -whicli I suppose it a 
linlv, does not extend quite so far as tlie slioros 
of tlie Persian Gulf. " Tliis lonsjj and lofty 
r inc^e of mountains formerly divided Media 
from Assyria, and now forms the boundary of 
the Persian and Turkish empires. It runs par- 
allel with the river Tigris "and Persian Gulf, 
and almost disappearing in the vicinity of Gom- 
beroon, (Harmozia,) seems once more to rise in 
the southern districts of Kerman, and following 
au easterly course through the centre of Meck- 
raun and Balouchistan, is entirely lost in the 
deserts of Sin(le."—Kinnier's Persian Empire. 

t These birds sleep in the air. They are 
most common about the Cape of Good Hope. 

I " There is an extraordinary hill in this 
neighborhood, called KohS Gubr, or tlio Gue- 
bro s mountain. It rises in tlie form of a lofty 
cupola, andon the summit of it, they say, arc the 



That dash'd, like midnight revellers, 

in;— 
And such the strange, mysterious din 
At times throughout those caverns 

roll'd,- 
And such the fearful wonders told 
Of restless sprites imprison'd there, 
That bold were Moslem, who would 

dare. 
At twilight hour, to steer his skiff 
Beneath the Gheber's lonely clJff.t 

On the land side, those tow'rs sublime. 
That seem'd above the gi'asp of Time, 
"Were sever'd from the haunts of men 
By a wide, deep, and wizard glen, 
So fathomless, so full of gloom, 

No eye could pierce the void between : 
It seem'd a place where Gholes might 

come 
"With their foul banquets from the tomb, 

And in its caverns feed unseen. 
Like distant thunder, from below. 

The sound of many torrents came. 
Too deep for eye or ear to know 
If 'twere the sea's imprison'd flow. 

Or floods of ever-restless flame. 
For, each ravine, each rocky spire 
Of that vast mountain stood on fire;$ 
And, though forever past the days 
"When God was worshipp'd in the blaze 
That from its lofty altar shone, — 
Though fled tlie priests, the vot'ries gone, 
Still did the mighty flame bum on,|| 
Through chance and change, through 

good and ill, 
Like its own God's eternal will, 
Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable ! 
Thither the vanquish'd Hafed led 

His little army's last remains ;— 
" "Welcome, temfio glen !" he said, 
remains of an Atusli Kudu, or Fire Temple. It 
is superstitiously held to be the residence of 
Ueevea or Sprites, and many marvellous stories 
are recounted of the injury and witchcraft suf- 
lered by those who essayed in former days to 
ascend or explore it."— Pottinger's Beloochis- 
tan. 

§ The Ghebers generally built their temples 
over subterraneous fii-es. 

II " At the city of Tezd, in Persia, which is 
distinguished by the appellation of the Darfib 
Abadut, or Seat of Keligion, tlio Guebres are 
permitted to have an Atush Kudu or Fire Tem- 
ple (which, they assert, has had thesacred fire 
in it since the days of Zoroaster) in their own 
compartment of the city ; but for this indul- 
gence they are indebted to the avarice, not the 
tolerance of the Persiaa government, which 
taxes them at twenty-five rupees each man,'' 
—Pottinger's Bcloochistau. 




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446 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



"Thy gloom, that Bblis' self might 

dread, [chains!" 

"Is Heav'n to him who flies from 
O'er a dark, narrow bridgeway, known 
To him and to his Chiefs alone, 
They cross'd the chasm and gain'd the 

towers, — [ours;— 

"This home," he cried, "at least is 
" Here we may bleed, immock'd by 

hymns 
" Of Moslem triumph o'er our head ; 
" Here we may faU, nor leave our limbs 

" To quiver to the Moslem's tread. 
" Stretch'd on this rock, while vultures' 

beaks 
" Are whetted on your yet warm cheeks, 
" Here— hapi)y that no tyrant's eye 
" Gloats on our torments— we may 

die !"— 

'Twas night when to those towers they 
And gloomily the fitful flame, [came, 
That from the niiu'd altar broke. 
Glared on his features as he spoke :— 
" 'Tis o'er — what men could do, we've 
" If Iran ioill look tamely on, [done— 
" And see her priests, her warriors diiv'n 

" Before a sensual bigot's nod, 
"A wretch who shrines his lust in 
heav'n, 

" And makes a pander of his God ; 
" If her proud sons, her high-bora souls, 

" Men in whose veins — oh last dis- 
grace ! 
" The blood of Zal and Rust am* rolls, — 

" If they will court this upstart race 
" And tm-n from Mithra's ancient ray, 
" To kneel at shrines of yesterday; 
" If they will crouch to Iran's foes, 

" Why, let them— till the land's de- 
spair [ grows 
"Cries out to Heav'n, and bondage 

"Too vile for ev'n the vile to bear! 
" Till shame at last, long hidden, bums 
"Their inmost core, and conscience 
turns 

♦Ancient heroes of Persia. "Amonf? the 
Ghebres there are some -wlio boast their de- 
scent from Rustam." — Stephen's Persia. 

t See Russel's account of the panthers at- 
tacking travellers in the nic^ht on the sea-shore 
about tlie roots of Lebanon. 

J "Among other ceremonies the Magi used 



to place upon the tops of high towers various 
kinds of rich viands, upon which it was sup 
posed the Peris and the spirits of their departed 
heroes regaled themselves." — Richardson. 

§ In the ceremonies of the Ghebers round 
their Fire, as described by Lord, "the Daroo," 
he says, ' giveth them water to drink, and a 



" Each coward tear the slave lets fall 
" Back on his heart in drops of gall. 
" Bnt here, at least, are arms unchain'd, 
"And souls that thraldom nevei 
stain'd ; — 

" This spot, at least, no foot of slave 
" Or satrap ever yet profaned ; 

"And though but few — though fast 
the wave 
" Of life is ebbing from our veins, 
" Enough for vengeance still remains. 
"As panthers, after set of sun, 
" Rush from the roots of Lebanon 
"Across the dark-sea robber's way,t 
" We'll bound upon our startled prey ; 
" And when some hearts that proudest 

swell 
"Have felt our falchion's last farewell; 
" When Hope's expiring throb is o'er, 
" And ev'n Despair can prompt no more, 
" This spot shall be the sacred grave 
" Of the last few who, vainly brave, 
" Die for the land they cannot save !'' 

His Chiefs stood round— each shining 
Upon the broken altar laid — [blade 
And though so wild and desolate [sate; 
Those courts, where once the Mighty 
Nor longer on those mould'ring tow'rs 
Was seen the feast of fruits and flow'rs, 
With which of old the Magi fed 
The wand' ring Spirits of their dead ;t 
Though neither priest nor rites were 
there, [ate ;§ 

N"or charmed leaf of pure pomegran- 
Nor hymn, nor censer's fragi-ant air, 

iS^or symbol of theirworshipp'dplanet;!] 
Yet the' same God that heard their sires 
Heard iheni, while on that altar's fires 
They sworeU the latest, holiest deed 
Of tiie few hearts, still left to bleed. 
Should be, in Iran's injured name, 
To die upon that Mount of Flame — 
The last of all her patriot line, 
Before her la-st untrampled Shrine ! 
pomegranate leaf to chew in the mouth, to 
cleanse them from inward uncleanness." 



Early in the morning, they (the 
or Ghebers at Oulam) go in crowds to pay their 
devotions to the Sun, to whom upon all the 
altars there are spheres consecrated, made by 
magic, resembling the ciroJes of the sun, and 
when the sun rises, these orbs seem to be in- 
flamed, and to turn round with a great noise. 
They have every one a censer in their hands, 
and offer incense to the sun."— J?a66t Benja- 

H " Nul d'entre euxoseroitso parjurer, quand 
il a pris a t6 moin cet 6Wraent terrible et ven- 
geui'." — Encp'^lop. Frangoise. 



MlllllllinilllllHH/lllllllllliniilllinilllllllllllilllllmmlilllHIUIIIIIlllllllllUllllllllllllllllllllllllllllltliHIIII^ 





LALLA KOOKH. 



447 



Brave, suffring souls ! they little knew 
How many a tear their injuries drew 
From one meek maid, oue gentle foe, 
"WTiom love first touch'd with others' 

wo — 
Whose life, as free from thought as sin, 
Slept like a lake, till Love threw in 
His talisman, and woke the tide, 
And spread its trembUng circles wide. 
Once, Emir ! thy unheeding child. 
Mid all this havoc, bloom'dand snnled,— 
Tranquil as on some battle plain 

The Persian lily shines and tow'rs, * 
Before the combat's redd'ning stain 

Hath fall'n upon her golden flow'rs. 
Lighthearted maid, unawed, unmoved. 
While Heav'n but spared the sire she 

loved, 
Once at thy evemng tales of blood 
TInhst'ning and aloof she stood — 
And oft, when thou hast paced along 

Thy Haram halls with furious heat. 
Hast thou not cursed her cheerful song. 

That came across thee, calm and 
sweet, 
Like lutes of angels, touch'd so near 
Hell's confines, that the damn'd can 
hear! 

Far other feelings Love hath brought — 

Her soul all flame, her brow all sad- 
ness. 
She now has but the one dear thought, 

And thinks that o'er, almost to mad- 
ness! 
Oft doth her sinking heart recall 
His words—" for my sake weep for all •" 
And bitterly, as day ou day 

Of rebel carnage fast succeeds. 
She wee.ps a lover snatch'd away 

In ev'ry Ghebei wretch that bleeds. 
There's not a sabre meets her eye, 

But with his life-blood seems to swim : 
There's not an arrow wings the sky 

But fancy turns its point to him. 
No more she brmo;s with footstep light 
Al Hassan's falchion for the fight ; 
And — had he look'd with clearer sight. 
Had not the mists, that ever nse 
Prom a foul spint, dimm'd bis eyes — 
He would have mark'd her shudd'ring 

frame, 
When from the field of blood he came,. 

f " A vivid verdure succeeds the autumnal 
rains, and the ploughed fields are covered with 
the Persian lily of a resplendent yellow color." 
—Rmsel's Aleppo. 



The falt'ring speech— the look estrang- 
ed— [ed— 

Voice, step, and life, and beauty chaug- 

He would have mark'd all this, and 
known 

Such change is wrought by Love alone ! 

Ah! not the Love, that should have 

bless'd 
So young, so innocent a breast ; 
Not the pure, open, prosp'rous Love, 
That, pledged ou earth and seal'd above, 
Grows in the world's approving eyes. 

In friendship's smile and home's ca- 
ress. 
Collecting all the heart's sweet ties 

Into one knot of happiness ! 
No, Hind A, no,— thy fatal flame 
Is nursed in silence, sorrow, shame ; — 

A passion, without hope or pleasure, 
In thy soul's darlmess buried deep. 

It lies like some ill-gotten treasure,— 
Some idol, without shrine or name. 
O'er which its pale-eyed vot'ries keep 
Unholy watch, while others sleep. 

Seven nights have darken'd Oman's Sea. 

Since last, beneath the moonlight ray 
She saw his light oar rapidly 

Hurry her Gheber's bark away, — 
And still she goes, at midnight hour 
To weep alone in that high bow'r, 
And watch, and look along the deep 
For him whose smiles fii-st made hei 

weep;— 
But watching, weeping, all was vain, 
She never saw his bark again. 
The owlet's solitary cry. 
The night-hawk, flitting darkly by. 

And oft the hateful carrion bird, 
Heavily flapping his clogg'd wing, 
Which reek'd with that day's banquet- 
ing— 

Was all she saw, was all she heard. 

'Tis the eighth mom — Al Hassan's 
brow 

Is brighten'd with unusual joy— 
What mighty mischief glads him now , 

Who never smiles but to destroy? 
The sparkle upon Herkend's Sea. 
When toss'd at midnight furiously, f 
Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh, 
More surely than that smiling eye ! 

t ' It is observed, with respect to the Sea o* 
Herkend, that when it is tossed by tempestuous 
winds it sparkles like fire." — Travels of Two 
Mohammedans. 




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448 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



" Up, daughter, up— the Xerna's* 

breath 
" Has blown a blast would waken death, 
' And yet thou sleep'st — up, child, and 

see 
" This blessed day for Heaven and me, 
" A day more rich in Pagan blood 
" Than ever flash'd o'er Oman's flood. 
" Before another dawn shall shine, 
" His head— heart — limbs — will all be 

mine ; 
"Tills very night his blood shall steep 
" These hands aU over ere I sleep !" — 

" His blood !" she faintly scream'd— 

her mind 
Still singling one from all mankind — 
"Yes — spite of his ravines andtow'rs, 
" Hafed, my child, this night is ours. 
" Thanks to all-conqu'ring treachery, 
"Without whose aid the links ac- 
cursed, [be 
"That bind these impious slaves, would 
" Too strong for Alla's self to burst ! 
"That rebel fiend, whose blade has 

spread 
" My path with pUes of Moslem dead, 
"Whose baffling spells had almost driv'n 
" Back from their course the Swords of 

Heav'n, [know 

' This mght, with all his band, shall 
■' How deep an Arab's steel can go, 
" When God and Vengeance speed the 

blow. 
" And— Prophet! by that holy wreath 
" Thouwor'st on Ohod's field of death, f 
" I swear, for ev'ry sob that parts 
" In anguish from these heathen hearts, 
"A gem from Persia's plunder'd mines 
" Shall gutter on thy Shriue of Shrines. 
" But, ha !— she sinks— that look so 

wild— 
" Those livid lips — my ch;ld, my child, 
•' This hfe of blood befits not thee, 
" And thou mi;st back to Arabt. 

" Ne'er had I risk'd thy timid sex 
' In scenes that man himself might 

dread, 

"A kind of trumpet :— it "was tliat used by Ta- 
merlane, the sound or wliicli is described as un- 
commonly dreadful, and so loud as to be heard 
at the distance of several vaWos."— Richardson. 

1 " Mohammed had two helmets, an interior 
and exterior one; the latter of which, called 
Al Mawashah, the fillet, wreath, or wreathed 
garland, he wore at the battleof Ohod."— ?7ni- 
versal History. 

t"They say thatthere are apple-trees upon the 
tides of this sea, which bear very lovely fruit, 



" Had I not hoped our ev'ry tread 
"Would be on prostrate Persian 

necks— 
" Cursed race, they ofier swords instead ! 
" But cheer thee, maid, — the wind that 

now 
" Is blowing o'er thy feverish brow, 
" To-day shall waft thee from the shore ; 
" And, ere a drop of this night's gore 
" Have time to chill in yonder tow'rs, 
"Thou'lt see thy own sweet Arab 

bow'rs !" 

His bloody boast was all too true ; 
There lurk'd one wretch among the few 
Whom Hafed's eagle eye could count 
Around him on that Fiery Mount, — 
One miscreant, who for gold betray'd 
The pathwa,y through the valley's shade 
To those high tow'rs, where Freedom 

stood 
In her last bold of flame and blood. 
Left on the field last dreadful night, 
When, sallying from their Sacred height, 
The Ghebers fought hope's farewell fight. 
He lay — but died not with the brave ; 
That sun, which should have gilt his 

grave. 
Saw him a traitor and a slave ; — 
And, wMle the few, who thence retum'd 
To their high rocky fortress, moum'd 
For him among the matchless dead 
They left behind on glory's bed. 
He lived, and, in the face of mom. 
Laugh' d them, and Faith, and Heav'n 

to scorn. 

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave. 

Whose treason, like a deadly bUght, 
Comes o'er the councils of the brave, 

And blasts them in their hour of might ! 
May Life's vmblessed cup for him 
Be drugg'd with treach'ries to the brim,— 
With hopes, that but allm'e to fly. 

With joys, that vanish while he sips, 
Like Dead Sea fruits, that tempt the eye, 

But turn to ashes on the lips ! t 

but -within are all full of ashes."— Thevenot. 
The same is asserted of the oranges there ; vide 
Witman's Travels in Asiatic Turkey. 

" The Asphalt Lake, known by the name of 
the Dead Sea, is very remarkable on account 
of the considerable proportion of salt which it 
contains. In this respect it sui-passes every 
other known water on the surface of the earth. 
This great proportion of bitter-tasted salts is 
the reason why neither animal nor plant can 
live in this water." — KlaprotKs Chemical An- 




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LALLA ROOKH. 




His country's curse, his children's 

shame, 
Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame, 
May he, at last, with lips of flame 
On the parch'd desert thirsting die,— 
"While lakes, that shone in mockery 

nigh,* 
Are fading off, untouch'd, untasted, 
Like the once glorious hopes he blasted ! 
And, -vrhen from earth his spirit flies. 

Just Prophet, let thedamn'd one dwell 
Fxill in the sight of Paradise, 

Beholding heav'n, and feeling hell ! 



Lalla Eookh had, the night before, 
been visited by a dream which, in spite 
\of the impending fate of poor Hafed, 
made her heart more than usually 
cheerful during the morning, and gave 
her cheeks all the freshened animation 
of a flower that the Bidmusk has just 
passed over.t She fancied that she was 
sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where 
the sea- gipsies, who live forever on the 
water, t enjoy a perpetual summer in 
wandering from isle to isle, when she 
saw a small gilded bark approaching 
her. It was like one of those boats 
which the Maldivian islanders send 
adrift, at the mercy of winds and waves, 
loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odor- 

alysis of the Water of the Dead Sea, Annals 
ot" Philosophy, January, 1813. Hasselquut, 
however, doubts the truth of this last assertion, 
as there are shell-fish to bo found in the lake. 

Loixl Byron has a similar allusion to the 
fruits of the Dead Sea, in that wonderful dis- 
play of {renins, his third Cauto of Childe Har- 
old,— magnificent, beyond any thing, perhaps, 
that even he has ever written. 

* " The Suhrab or Water ofthe Desert is said 
to be caused by the rarefaction of the atmo- 
sphere from extemeheat ; and, wliich augments 
the delusion, it is most frequent in hollows, 
where water might bo expected to lodge. I 
have seen bushes and trees reflected in it, with 
as much accuracy as though it had been the 
face of a clear and still lake." — Fottinc/cr. 

" As to the unbelievers, their works arcliko 
a vapor in a plain, which the thirsty travel- 
ler thmketh to Be water, until when he cometh 
thereto he findeth it to be nothing.'"— E'oran, 
chap. 24. 

t " A wind which prevails in February, 
called Bidmusk, from a small and odoriferous 
flower of that name." — " Tlio wind which blows 
these flowers commonly lasts till the end of the 
mouth."— Le Bruyn. 

J " The Biajus are of two races : the one is 
settled on Borneo, and are a rude but warlike 
and industrious nation, who reckon themselves 
the original possessors of the island of Borneo. 
The other is a species of sea-gipsies or itiner- 



iferous wood, as an offering to the Spmt 
whom they caU King of the Sea. At 
first this httle bark appeared to be emp- 
ty, but, on coming nearer 

She had proceeded thus far in relating 
the dream to her Ladies, when Fepa- 
MORz appeared at the door of the pavil- 
ion. In his presence, of course, everj 
thing else was forgotten, and the con- 
tinuance of the story was instantly re- 
quested by all. Fresh wood of aloes 
was set to bum in the cassolets;— the 
violet sherbets^ were hastily handed 
round, and after a short prelude on his 
lute, in the pathetic measure of Xava,|| 
which is always used to express the la- 
mentations of absent lovers, the Poet 
thus continued:— 



The day is low'ring — stilly black 
Sleeps the grim wave, while heav'n's 

rack. 
Dispersed and wild, 'twixt earth and sky 
Hangs like a shatter'd canopy. 
There's not a cloud in that blue plain 

Bat tells of storm to come or past; 
Here, flying loosely as the mane 

Of a young war-horse in the blast ;— 
There, roU'd in masses dark and swell- 
ing. 
As proud to be the thunder's dwelling I 

ant fi.shermen, who live in small covered boats, 
and enjoy a perpetual summer on the eastern 
ocean, shifting to leeward from island to island, 
with tlie variations of the monsoon. In some 
of their customs this singular race resemble 
the natives ofthe Maldivia islands. The Mal- 
divians annually launch a small bark, loaded 
with perfumes, gums, flowers, and odoriferous 
wood, and turn it adrift at the mercy of wind 
and waves, as an offering to the Spirit of the 
Winds; and sometimes similar otierings are 
made to the spirit whom they term the King of 
the Sea. In like manner the Biajus perform 
their offering to the god of evil, launching a 
small bark, loaded with all the sins and misfor- 
tunes ofthe nation, which are imagined to fall 
on the unhappy crew that may be so unlucky 
as first to meet with it."— Dr. Leyden on the 
Language and Literature of the Indo-Chinese 
Nations^ 

§ " The sweet-scented violet is one of the 
plants most esteemed, particularly for its gren^ 
use in Sorbet, which they make of violet 
sugar. ' ' — Hasselquist. 

" The sherbet they most esteem, and which 
is drunk bv the Grand Signer himself, is made 
of violets and sugar."— Tavernier. 

II " Last of all she took a guitar, and sung a 
pathetic air in tlie measure called Nava, which 
IS always used to express the lamentations o5 
absent lovers."— Persian Tales. 



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iiS^lllllllllllllllliymHffilllllllBUllWmHlllBUUtllllmiilllWIlHllllllllUllllllUllllllllllllllltllll^ 



450 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



While some, already burst and riv'n, 
Seem melting down the verge of heav'n ; 
As though the infant storm had rent 

The mighty -vv-omb that gave him 
birth, 
And, having swept the firmament, 

Was now in fierce career for earth. 

On earth 'twas yet ail calm aronud, 
A pulseless silence, dread, profound, 
More awful than the tempest's sound. 
The diver steer'd for Oemus' bowers, 
And moor'd his skiff till calmer hours; 
The sea-birds, Tvith portentous screech, 
Flew fast to land ;— upon the beach 
The pilot oft had paused, Avith glance 
Turu'd upward to that wUd expanse; — 
And all was boding, drear, and dark 
As her own soul, when Hinda's bark 
Went slowly from the Persian shore. — 
i^o music timed her parting oar,* 
Nor friends upon the less'ning strand 
Linger'd, to wave the unseen hand, 
Or speak the farewell, heard no more ; — 
But lone, unheeded, from the bay 
The vessel takes its mournful way. 
Like some ill-destined bark that steers 
In silence through the Gate of Tears.! 

And where was stem Al Hassan then ? 
Could uot that saintly scom-ge of men 
From bloodshed and devotion spare 
One minute for a farewell there ? 
N"o — close within, in changeful fits 
Of cursing and of pray'r, he sits 
In savage loneliness to brood 
Upon the coming night of blood, — 

With thatkeen, second-scent of death. 
By which the vulture snuiis his food 

In the still warm and living breath \t 
While o'erthe wave his weeping daugh- 
ter [ter,— 
Is wafted from these scenes of slaugh- 
As a young bird of Babylon, — § 
Let loose to tell of vict'iy won, 

* " The Easterns used to set out on their 
loimer voyages with music."— if armer. 

t ■• The" Gate of Tears, the straits or passages 
into tlie Ked Sea, commonly called Babelman- 
del. it received this name from the old Ara- 
bians, on account of the danger of the iiavisja- 
tion, and the number of shipwrecks by which 
it was distinguished; which induced them to 
consider as dead, and to wear mourning- for, 
all who had the boldness to hazard the passage 
through it into the Ethiopia ocean."— Bichard- 
son. 

I "I have been told that whensoever an ani- 
mal falls down dead, one or more vultures, un- 
seen before, instantly appear."— Pennant. 



Flies home, with wing, ah ! not unstain'd 
By the red hands that held her chain'd. 

And does the long-left home she seeks 
Light up no gladness on her cheeks 1 
The fiow'rs she nursed— the well-known 

groves. 
Where oft in dreams her spirit roves- 
Once more to see her dear gazelles 
Come bounding with their silver bells 
Her bu'ds' new plumage to behold. 

And the gay, gleaming fishes count, 
She left, all filleted with gold, 

Shooting arouud their jasper fount •,{ 
Her little garden mosque to see, 

And once again, at evening hour, 
To tell her ruby rosarylf 

In her own sweet acacia bow'r. — 
Can these delights, that wait her now, 
Call up no sunshine on her brow ? 
No, — silent, from her traia apart, — 
As even now she felt at heart 
The chiQ of her approaching doom, — 
She sits, all lovely in her gloom 
As a pale Angel of the Grave ; 
And o'er the wide, tempestuous wave, 
Looks, with a shudder to those tow'rs, 
Where, in a few short awful hours, 
Blood, blood, in streaming tides shall run, 
Foul incense for to-morrow's sun ! 
"Where art thou, glorious stranger.' 

thou, 
" So loved, so lost, where art thou now ? 
" Foe — Gheber —infidel — whate'er 
" Th' unhallow'd name thou'rt doomed 

to bear, 
" StiU glorious— still to this fond heart 
" Dear as its blood, whate'er thou art ! 
"Tes— Alla, di-eadful Alla ! yes — 
" If there be wrong, be crime in this, 
" Let the black waves that round us roll, 
"Whelm me this instant, ere my soul, 
" Forgetting faith — home — father — all — 
" Before its earthly idol fall, 
"Nor worship ev'n Thyself above him— 

§ " They fasten some writing to the wings 
of a Bagdat or Babylonian pigeon." —Travels 
of certain Englishmen 

II " The Empress of Jehan-Guire used to di- 
vert herself with feeding tame fish iu her ca- 
nals, some of which were many years afterwards 
known by fillets of gold which she caused to be 
put round thtm."— Harris. 

U " Le Tespih. qui est un chapelet, compose 
de 99 petites boules d'agathe, dejaspe, d am- 
bre, de corail, ou d'autre matiere prOeieuse. 
J'en ai vu un superbe au Se-ipneur Jerpos ; il 
^toit de belles et gvoises perlos parlaites et 
6gales,estimi5 treute mille piastres.' —Toderini 




His chiefs stood round— each shining blade 
Upon the broken altar laid— 
And though so wild and desolate 
Those courts, where once the Mighty sate ; 
No longer on those smouldering towers 
Was seen the feast of fruits and flowers, 
With which of old the Magi fed 
The wandering spirits of their Dead ; 




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LALLA ROOEH. 



45t 



'' For, oh, so wildly do I love him, 
" Thy Paradise itself were dim 
" And joj'less, if not shared with him I " 
Her hauds were clasp'd — her eyes up- 
turn' d, [rain ; 

Dropping their tears like moolight 
And, though her lip, fond raver ! bum'd 

With words of passion, bold, profane, 
Yet was there light around her brow, 

A holiness in those dark eyes, 
"Whichshow'd, — though wand'ring earth- 
ward now, — 

Her spirit's home was in the skies. 
Yes — for a spirit pm-e as hers 
Is always pure, ev'n while it errs ; 
As sunshine, broken in the rill. 
Though tum'd astray, is sunshine still ! 

So wholly had her mind forgot 
All thoughts but one, she heeded not 
The rising storm — the wave that cast 
A moment's midnight, as it pass'd — 
Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread 
Of gath'ring tumult o'er her head— 
Olash'd swords, and tongues that seem'd 

to vie 
"With the rude riot of the sky.— 
But, hark ! — that war-whoop on the 

deck — 
That crash, as if each engine there, 
Mast, sails, and all, were gone to wreck, 

Mid yells and stampings of despair! 
Merciful Heaven ! what can it be ? 
'Tisnotthe storm, though fearfully 
The ship has shudder'd as she rode 
O'er mountain waves— " Forgive me, 

God! [knelt, 

" Forgive me " — shriek'd the maid, and 
Trembling all over — for she felt 
As if her judgment-hour was near ; 
"WTiile crouching round, half dead with 

fear, [stirr'd — 

Her handmaids clung, nor breathed, nor 
When, hark !— a second crash — a third— 
And now, as if a bolt of thunder 
Had riv'n the laboring planks asunder. 
The deck falls in— what horrors then! 
Blood, waves, and tackle, swords and 

men 
Come mix'd together through the 

chasm, — 
Some wretches in their dying spasm 
StiU fighting on— and some that call 
" For God and Iran 1 " as they fall ! 

* The meteors that Pliny calls " faces.' 

* " The brilliant Canopus, unseen in Euro- 
pean climates." — Brown. 



"WTiose was the hand that tum'd away 
The perils of th' infuriate fray, [neath 
And snatch'd her breathless from be- 
This wilderment of wreck and death ? 
She knew not — for a faintness came 
Chill o'er her, and her sinking frame 
Amid the ruins of that hour 
Lay, like a pale and scorched flow'r. 
Beneath the red volcano's shower. 
But, oh ! the sights and sounds of dread 
That shock'd her ere her senses Hed ! 
The yawning deck — the crowd that 

strove 
Upon the tott'ring planlvs above— 
The sail, whose fragments, shiv'ring o'er 
The strugglers' heads, all dash'd with 

gore, 
Flutter'd like bloody flags — the clash 
Of sabres, and the Ughtuing's flash 
Upon their blades, high toss'd about 
Like meteor brands* — as if throughout 

The elements one fury ran, 
One gen'ral rage, that left a doubt, 

"Wliich was the fiercer, Heav'n or Man! 

Once too— but no— it could not be— 

'Twas fancy all — ^yet once she thought, 
"While yet her fading eyes could see, 

High on the ruin'd deck she caught 
A glimpse of that unearthly form, 

That glory of her soul, — even then. 
Amid the whirl of wreck and storm. 

Shining above his fellow-men, 
As, on some black and troublous night. 
The Star of Egypt,! whose proud light 
ISTever hath beam'd on those who rest 
In the "White Islands of the "West,t 
Bums through the storm with looks of 
flame [shame. 

That put Heav'n's cloudier eyes to 
But no — 'twas but the minute's dream — 
A fantasy — and ere the scream 
Had half-way pass'd her pallid lips, 
A deathlike swoon, a chill eclipse 
Of soul and sense its dai-kness spread 
Around her, and she sunk, as dead. 

How calm, how beautiful comes on 
The stilly hour, when stomis are gone , 
"When wan-ing winds have died away, 
And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, 
Melt off, and leave the land and sea 
Sleeping in bright tranquilHty, — 
Fresh as if Day again were bom, 
Again upon the lap of Mora ! — 



t See 'Wilford'a learned Essays on the Sacred 
Isles in the AVest. 



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452 



MOOEE'S "^OEKS. 



"When the light blossoms, rudely torn 
And scatter'd at the whirl\\'md's -nill, 
Hang floating in the pure air still, 
FilUug it all with precious balm, 
In gi-atitude for this sweet calm ; — 
And every drop the thunder-show'rs 
Have left upon the grass and flow'rs 
Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem* 
Whose Uqiud flame is born of them ! 
When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze, 
There blow a thousand gentle au-s, 
And each a different perfume bears, — 
As if the loveliest plants and trees 
Had vassal breezes of then- own 
To watch and wait on them alone. 
And waft no other breath than theirs : 
When the blue waters rise and fall, 
In sleepy sunshine mantling aU ; 
And ev'n that swell the tempest leaves 
Is like the full and silent heaves 
Of lovers' hearts, when newly bless'd, 
Too newly to be quite at rest. 

Such was the golden hour that broke 
Upon the world, when Hinda woke 
From her long trance, and heard around 
So motion but the water's sound 
Rippling agauist the vessel's side, 
As slow it mounted o'er the tide. — 
But where is she ?— her eyes are dark, 
\iG wilder'd stUl— is this the bark, 
The same, that from Harmozia's bay 
Bore her at mom — whose bloody way 
The sea-dog track'd?— no— strange and 

new 
Is all that meets her wond'ring view. 
Upon a galliot's deck she lies, 

Beneath no rich pavilion's shade, — 
)fo plumes to fan her sleeping eyes, 

In or jasmine on her pillow laid. 
But the rude litter, roughly spread 
t7ith war-cloaks, is her homely bed, 
ind shawl and sash, on javelins hung, 
For awning o'er her head are flung. 
Shudd 'ring she look'd around — there lay 

A group of warriors in the sun, 
Besting their limbs, as for that day 

Their ministry of death were done. 
Some gajiing on the drowsy sea. 
Lost in unconscious revery ; 
And some, who seem'd but ill to brook 

* A precious stone of the Indies, called by 
the imcieuts Ceraunium, because it was sup- 
posed to be found in places where thunder had 
fallen. Tertullian says it has a plitteriug ap- 
p3arance, as if tliere'had been lire in it; and 
tae author of tlie Uissertiition in Harris's Voy- 
f ges supposes it to be the opal. 



That sluggish calm, with many a look 
To the slack sail impatient cast, 
As loose it flagg'd around the mast. 

Blest Alla ! who shall save her now f 

There's not in aU that warrior band 
One Arab sword, one turban 'd brow 

From her own Faithful Moslem land. 
Then* gai'b— the leathern beltf that 
wraps 

Each yelloAV vestj— that rebel hue— 
The Tartar fleece upon their caps^ — 

Yes — yes — her fears are aU too true, 
And Heav'n hath, in this dreadful houK 
Abandon'd her to Hafed's power ; 
Hafed, the Gheber !— at the thought 

Her very heart's blood chills within ; 
He, whom her soul was hom-ly taught 

To loathe, as some foul fiend of sin. 
Some minister, whom Hell had sent 
To spread its blast, where'er he went, 
And fling, as o'er our earth he trod. 
His shadow betwixt man and God! 
And she is now his captive, — tkrown 
In his fierce hands, ahve, alone ; 
His th' infuriate band she sees, 
All infidels — all enemies ! 
What was the daring hope that then 
Cross'd her like lightning, as again. 
With boldness that despau- had lent. 

She darted through that aiTued crowd 
A look so searching, so intent, 

That ev'n the sternest warrior bow'd 
Abash'd, when he her glances caught, 
As if he guess'd whose fonn they 

sought. 
But no — she sees him not — 'tis gone. 
The vision that before her shone 
Through all the maze of blood and 

storm. 
Is fled,— 'twas but a phantom form- 
One of those passing rainbow dreams, 
Half light, half shade, which Fancy's 

beams 
Paint on the fleeting mists that roU 
In trance or slumber round the soul. 

But now the bark, with livelier bound. 
Scales the blue wave— the crew's io 
motion. 
The oars are out, and with light sound 

iD'Herbelot, art. Agduani. 

*" The Guebres are known by a dark yellow 
color, which the men affect in their clothes."— 
Thevenot. 

§ " The Kolah, or cap, worn by the Persians 
is made of the skin of the sheep of Tartary.' 
— Waring. 




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LALLa ROOKH. 



453 



Break the bright mirror of the ocean, 
Scatt'ring its brilliant fragments round. 
And now she sees — with hon-or sees, 

Their course is tow'rd that mountain- 
hold, — [freeze. 
Those tow'rs, that make her life-blood 
"Where Mecca's godless enemies 

Lie, like beleaguered scorpions, roll'd 

In their last deadly, venomous fold ! 
Amid th' illumined land and flood 
Sunless that mighty mountam stood ; 
Save where, above its awful head, 
There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red. 
As 'twere the flag of destiny [be ! 

Hung out to mark where 'death would 

Had her bewilder'd mind the pow'r 
Of thought in this terrific hour, 
She well might marvel where or how 
Man's foot could scale that mountain's 

brow. 
Since ne'er had Arab heard or known 
Of path but through the glen alone. — 
But every thought was lost in fear, 
When, as their bounding bark drew near 
The craggy base, she felt the waves 
Hurry them tow'rd those dismal caves, 
That from the Deep in windings pass 
Beneath that Mouut's volcanic mass ; — 
And loud a voice cm deck commands 
To low'r the mast aud light the brands : — 
Instantly o'er the dashing tide 
"Within a cavern's mouth they glide, 
Gloomy as that eternal Porch 

Through which departed spirits go :— 
Kot ev'n the flare of brand and torch 
Its flick'ring light could further throw 
Thau the thick flood that boil'd below. 
Silent they floated— as if each 
Sat breathless, and too awed for speech 
Jn that dark chasm, where even sound 
Seem'd dark,— so sullenly around 
The goblin echoes of the cave 
Mutter'd it o'er the long black wave, 
As 'twere some secret of the grave ! 

But soft— they pause— the current turns 
Beneath them from its onward 
track;— 
Some mighty, unseen banier spurns 
The vexed tide, all foaming, back. 
And scarce the oars' redoubled force 
Can stem the eddy's whirling course ; 
"When, hark !— some desp'rate foot has 

sprung 
Among the rocks — the chain is flung— 
The oars are up— the grapple chugs, 
And the toss'd bark m mooiings swings. 



Just then, a day-beam through the shade 
Broke tremulous— but, ere the maid 
Can see from whence the brightness 



Upon her brow she shudd'ring feels 
A viewless hand, that promptly ties 
A bandage round her burning eyes ; 
"While the rude litter where she Ues, 
Uplifted by the warrior throng, 
O'er the steep rocks is borne along. 

Blest power of sunshine !— genial Day, 
"What balm, what life is in thy ray ! 
To feel thee is such real bliss. 
That had the world no joy but this, 
To sit in sunshine calm and sweet, — 
It were a world too exquisite 
For man to leave it for the gloom, 
The deep, cold shadow of the tomb. 
Ev'n HiNDA, though she saw not where 

Or whither wound the perilous road. 
Yet knew by that awak'ning air, 

"Which suddenly around her glow'd, 
That they had risen from darkness then, 
And breathed the sunny world again ! 

But soon this balmy freshness fled — 
For now the steepy labyrinth led 
Through damp and gloom— 'mid crash 

of boughs, 
Aud fall of loosen'd crags that rouse 
The leopard from his hungry sleep, 

"Who, starting, thinks each crag a prey. 
And long is heard, from steep to steep, 

Chasing them down their thund'riug 
way! 
The jackal's cry, the diitant moan 
Of the hyfBua, fierce and lone — 
And that eternal sadd'ning sound 

Of torrents in the glen beneath. 
As 'twere the ever dark Profoimd 

That rolls beneath the Bridge of 
All, all is fearful — ev'n to see, [Death ! 

To gaze on those tei-rific things 
She now but blindly hears, would be 

Relief to her imaginings ; 
Since never yet was shape so dread. 

But Fancy, thus in dai'kness thrown, 
And by such sounds of horror fed, 

Could frame more dreadful of her own. 

But does she dream ? has Fear again 
Perplex'd the workings of her brain, 
Or did a voice, all music, then [near- 
Come fi-om the gloom, low whisp'ring 
" Tremble not, love, thy Gheber's here V 
She does not dream — all sense, all ear, 



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454 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



She drinks the words, "Thy Gheber's 

here." [err — 

'Twas his own voice — she could not 

Throughout the breathing world's ex- 
tent 
There was but one such voice for her, 

So kind, so soft, so eloquent ! 
Oh, sooner shall the rose of May 

Mistake her own sweet nightingale, 
And to some meaner minstrel's lay 
<i Open her bosom's glowing veil,* 
^han Love shall ever doubt'a tone, 
A breath of the beloved one ! 

Though blest, 'mid all her ills, to think 

She has that one beloved near, [brink, 
"Whose smile, though met on ruin's 

Hath power to make even ruin dear,— 
Yet soon this gleam of rapture, cross'd 
By fears for him, is chill'd and lost. 
How shall the ruthless Hafed Itrook 
That one of Gheber blood should look, 
"With aught but curses in his eye. 
On her, a maid of Araby — 
A Moslem maid— the child of him, 

Whose bloody banner's dire success 
Hath left their altars cold aud dim, 

And their fair land a wilderness ! 
And, worse than all, that night of blood 

"Which comes so fast — Ohl who shall 
stay 
The sword, that once hath tasted food 

Of Persian hearts, or turn its way ? 
"What arm shall then the victim cover. 
Or from her father shield her lover? 

"Save him, my God !" she inly cries— 
" Save him this night — aud if thine eyes 

•'Have ever welcomed with delight 
"The sinners' tears, the sacrifice 

" Of sinners' hearts — guard him this 
night, 
' ' And here, before thy throne, I swear 
' ' From my heart's inmost core to tear 

" Love, hope, remembrance, though 

they be [there, 

" Link'd with each quiv'ring life-string 

" And give it bleeding all to Thee! 
•'Let him but live, — the buiTiing tear, 
" The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear, 
" "Which have been all too much his own, 
" Shall from this hour be Heaven's alone. 
" Youth pass'd in penitence, and age 

* A frequent image amonp the oriental poets. 
"The nightingales warbled their enchanting 
notes, and rent the thin veils of the rose-buil 
and the rose." — Jami. 



" In long and painfal pilgrimage, 
" Shall leave no traces ol the flame 
"That wastes me now — nor shall his 



" E'er bless my lips, but when I pray 
" For his dear spirit, that away 
' ' Casting from its angehc ray 
" Th' eclipse of earth, he, too, may shine 
"Redeem'd, all glorious and all Thine ! 
" Think — think what victory to win 
" One radiant soul Mke his from sin, — 
" One wand'ring star of virtue back 
" To its own native, heavenward track ! 
" Let him but live, and both are Thine, 

' ' Together Thine — for, bless'd or 
cross'd, 
"Living or dead, his doom is mine, 

" And, if he perish, both are lost!" 



The next evening Lalla Rookh was 
entreated by her Ladies to continue the 
relation of her wonderful dream ; but the 
fearful interest that hung round the fate 
of Hind A and her lover had completely 
removed every trace of it from her mind; 
— much to the disappointment of a fair 
seer or two in her train, who prided 
themselves on their skill in interpreting 
visions, and who had already remarked 
as an unlucky omen, that the Princess, 
on the very morning after the dream, 
had worn a silk dyed with the blossoms 
of the sorrowful tree, Nihca.f 

Fadladeen, whose indignation had 
more than once broken out dming the 
recital of some parts of this heterodox 
poem, seemed at length to have made 
up his mind to the infliction ; aud took 
his seat this evening with all the patience 
of a martyr, while the Poet resumed his 
profane and seditious story as follows: — 



To tearless eyes and hearts at ease 
The leafy shores and sun- bright seas, 
That lay beneath that mountain's 

height. 
Had been a fair enchanting sight. 
'Twas one of those ambrosial eves 
A day of storm so often leaves 
At its calm setting— when the "West 
Opens her golden bowers of rest, 

t "Blossomsof the sorrowful Nyetantliescive 
durable color to silk." — liemarks on the. Hus- 
bandry of Bengal, p. 200. Nilica is one of the 
Indian names of this flower.— ,Sir W. Jones. 
The Persians call it Gui.—Carreri. 



'IIIIIIIIIUIIIlllUlllllllllllllllllUUIIIUIllUIIIIUHIIIlimillllllllllllllUlimillllllllllllllllllUlinilllllUIIIIIIIIIIIIIUtl^ 



LALLA EOOKH. 



455 



And a moist radiance from the skies 
Shoots trembhng down, as from the eyes 
Of some meek penitent, -whose last, 
Bright hours atone for dark ones past, 
And whose sweet tears, o'er wrong for- 
giv'n, [heav'n ! 

Shine, as they fall, with hght from 
'Twas stillness all— the winds that late 

Had rush'd through Kerman's almond 
groves, 
And shaken from her bow'rs of date 

That cooling feast the traveller loves, * 
Now, lull'd to languor, scarcely curl 

The Green Sea wave, whose waters 
Limpid, as if her mines of pearl [gleam 

"Were melted all to form the stream ; 
And her fair islets, small and bright, 

With then- green shores reflected there, 
Look like those Peri isles of hght, 

That hang by spell- work in the an-. 

But vamly did those glories burst 
On Hinda's dazzled eyes, when first 
The bandage from her brow was 
And, pale and awed as those who waken 
In their dark tombs— when, scowUng 

near, 
The Searchers of the Gravef appear, — 
She shudd'ring tura'd to read her fate 

In the tierce eyes that flash'd around ; 
And saw those towers all desolate, 

That o'er her head terrific frown'd. 
As if defyiusr ev'n the smile 
Of that soft heav'n to gild their pile. 
In vain with mingled hope and fear. 
She looks for him whose voice so dear 
Had come, like music, to her ear- 
Strange, mocking dream ! again 'tis fled. 
And oh, the shoots, the pangs of dread 
That through her inmost bosom run, 

When voices from without proclaim 
"Hafed, the Chief " — and, one by one. 

The warriors shout that fearful name ! 
He comes— the rock resounds his tread — 
How shall she dare to lift her head. 
Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare 
Not Yemen's boldest sons can bear? 
In whose red beam, the Moslem tells, 
Such rank and deadly lustre dwells. 
As in those hellish fires that Mght 
The mandrake's charnel leaves at night. { 
How shall she bear that voice's tone, 

* "In parts of Kermnn, whatever dates are 
shaken from the trees by the wind they do not 
touch, but leave them for those who have not 
auy, or for travellers.'"— £&» Haukal. 

( The two terrible angels, Monkir and Kakir, 
who are called "the Searchers of the Grate" 



At whose loud battle-cry alone 
Whole squadrons oft in panic ran, 
Scatter'd like some vast caravan. 
When, stretch'd at evening round th-' 

well, 
They hear the thirsting tiger's yell. 

Breathless she stands, with eyes cast 

down. 
Shrinking beneath the fiery frown. 
Which, fancy tells her, from that brow 
Is flashing o'er her fiercely now : 
And shudd'ring as she hears the tread 

Of his retiring warrior band. — 
Never was pause so full of dread ; 

Till Hafed with a treml)ling hand 
Took hers, and, leaning o'er her, said, 
" HiNDA ;" — that word was all he spoke. 
And 'twas enough — the shriek that broke 

From her full bosom, told the rest. — 
Panting with terror, joy, surprise. 
The maid but lifts her wond'ring eyes, 

To hide them on her Gheber's breast ! 
'Tis he, 'tis he -the man of blood, 
The fellest of the Fire-fiend's brood, 
Hafed, the demon of the fight. 
Whose voice unnerves, whose glancea 

blight,— 
Is her own loved Gheber, mild 
And glorious as when first he smiled 
In her lone tow'r, and left such 
Of his pure eye to light her dreams. 
That she believed her bow'r had giv'n 
Rest to some wanderer from heav'n ! 

Moments there are, and this was one, 
Snatch'd hke a minute's gleam of sun 
Amid the black Simoom's echpse— 

Or, like those verdant spots that bloom 
Around the crater's bm-uing lips, 

Sweet'ning the very edge of doom .' 
The past— the future— all that Fate 
Can bring of dark or desperate 
Around such hours, but makes them cast 
Intenser radiance while they last ! 

Ev'n he, this youth — though dimm'd 

and gone 
Each stai- of Hope that cheer'd him on — 
His glories lost — his cause betray'd — 
Iran, his dear-loved country, made 
A laud of carcasses and slaves. 
One dreary waste of chains andgi-aves !— 

in the " Creed of the orthodox Mahometans " 
given by Ockley, vol. ii. 

J ' The Arabians call the mandrake ' the 
Devil's candle,' on account of its shining ap- 
pearance in the rAg]it. "—Richardson. 




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456 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



Himself but ling'ring, dead at heart, 

To see the last, loug struggling breath 
Of Liberty's great soul depart, 
Then lay him down and share her 

death — 
Ev'n he, so sunk in wretchedness, 
With doom still darker gath'iiag o'er 

him, 
Yet, in this moment's pure caress, 
In the mild eyes that shone before him, 
Beaming that blest assurance, worth 
All other transports known on earth, 
That he was loved — well, wai-mly 

loved^ 
Oh ! in this precious hour he proved 
How deep, how thorough-felt the glow 
Of rapture, kindling out of wo ;— 
How exquisite one single drop 
Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top 
Of mis'ry's cup— how keenly quafFd, 
Though death must follow on the 

draught ! 

She, too, while gazing on those eyes 

That sink into her soul so deep. 
Forgets all fears, all miseries, 

Or feels them like the wretch ia sleep, 
Whom fancy cheats into a smile. 
Who dreams of joy, and sobs the wMle ! 
The mighty Euins where they stood. 

Upon the mount's high, rOcky verge, 
Lay open tow'rds the ocean flood. 

Where lightly o'er the illumined surge 
Many a fan- bark that, all the day. 
Had Im-k'd in shelt'iing creek or bay, 
ifow bounded on, and gave their sails. 
Yet dripping, to the ev'ning gales ; 
Like eagles, when the storm is done, 
Spreading their wet wings in the sun 
The beauteous clouds, though daylight 

Star 
Had sunk behind the hills of Lar, 
Were still with ling'ring glories bright, — 
As if, to grace the gorgeous West, 

The Spirit of departing Light 
That eve had left his sunny vest 

Behind him, ere he wing'd his flight. 
Never was scene so form'd for love ! 
Beneath them waves of crystal move 
In silent swell— Heav'n glows above. 
And their pure hearts, to transport giv'n, 
SweU like the wave, and glow like 
Heav'n. 

But ah ! too soon that dream is past — 
Again, again her fear retiuns ;— 

Night, di-eadful night, is gath'ring fast, 
More faintly the horizon bums. 



And every rosy tint that lay 
On the smooth sea hath died away. 
Hastily to the dark'ning skies 
A glance she casts— then wildly crie-i 
"At night, he said— and, look, 'tis near— 
" Fly, fly — if yet thou lov'st me, fly— 
" Soon will his murd'rous band be here, 
" And I shall see thee bleed and die. — 
"Hush ! heard'st thou not the tramp of 

men 
" Sounding fi-om yonder fearful glen ?— 
" Perhaps ev'n now they climb the 
wood — 
" Fly, fly— though still the West is 
bright, 
"He'll come— oh! yes — ^he wants thy 
blood— [night !" 

"I know him— he'll not wait for 

In terrors ev'n to agony 

She clings around the wond'ring 
Chief;- 
" Alas, poor wilder'd maid ! to me 

"Thou ow'stthisravingtrance of gi-ief . 
" Lost as I am, naught ever grew 
"Beneatll my shade but perish'd too— 
"My doom is hke the Dead Sea ah, 
" And nothing lives that enters there ! 
" Why were our barks together driv'n 
" Beneath this morning's furious hsav'n? 
"Why, when I saw the prize that chance 

"Had thi-own into my desp'rate 
arms — 
" When, casting but a single glance 

" Upon thy pale and prostrate charms, 
" I vow'd (though watching viewless o'er 

"Thy safety through that houi-'s 

alai-ms) [more — 

"To meet th' unmanning sight no 

" Why have I broke that heart- wrung 

vow? 
" Why weakly, madly met thee now ?— 
" Start not— that noise is but the shock 

" Of torrents through yon valley 
hurl'd- 
" Dread nothing here— u;pon this rock 

" We stand above the jarring world, 
" Alike beyond its hope — its dread — 
" In gloomy safety, like the Dead ! 
" Or, could ev'n earth and hell unite 
" In league to storm this Sacred Height, 
" Fear nothing thou— myself, to-night, 
"And each o'erlooking star that dwells 
" Near God, will be thy sentinels;— 
" And, ere to-morrow's dawn shall glovs'. 

'• Back to thy sire " 

" To-morrow ! — no "— 




iHiiiniiiniiimiiinmiiinniiimiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiitiiniiiniiiiiinitftmini. 



' MiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiniiittiiiiiHiHiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiidifiiiiiiiiiiiniiiinifriiunm^ 





LALLA EOOKH. 



457 



The maiden scream'd — "thou'lt never 

see [be 

" To-morro-n-'s sun— death, death will 
" The uight-cry through each reeking 

tower, 
" Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour ! [knew 
" Thou art betray'd— some wretch who 
" That dreadful glen's mysterious clew — 
" Xay, doubt not— by yon stars, 'tis 

true — 
" Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire ; 
" This morning, -nith that smile so dire 
" He wears in joy, he told me all, [hall, 
" And stamp'd in triumph through our 
"As though thy heart already beat 
" Its last life-throb beneath his feet ! 
" GoodHeav'n, how little dream'd I then 
"His victim was my own loved 

youth!— [glen— 

"Fly — send — let some one watch the 

" By all my hopes of heav'n 'tis truth ! '' 

Oh ! colder than the wind that freezes 

Founts, that but now iu sunshine 
play'd. 
Is that congealing pang which seizes 

The trastmg bosom, when betray'd. 
He felt it— deeply felt— and stood, 
^s if the tale had froz'n his blood, 

So mazed and motionless was he ; — 
Like one whom sudden spells enchant, 
Or some mute, marble habitant 

Of the still Halls of Ishmonie !* 

But soon the painful chiE was o'er, 
And his great soul, herself ouce more, 
Look'd from his brow in all the rays 
Of her best, happiest, gi-andest days. 
Never, in momeut most elate. 

Did that high spirit loftier rise ; — 
"While bright, serene, determinate, 

His looks are lifted to the skies, 
As if the signal lights of Fate 

"Were shining in those awful eyes ! 
'Tis come — his hour of martyrdom 
In Iran's sacred cause is come ; 
And, though his life hath pass'd away, 
Like lightning on a stormy day, 
Tet shall his death-hour leave a track 

* For an account of Ishmonie, the petrified 
city in Upper Ejrypt, where, it is said, tlierc are 
many statues ot men, women, &c., to be seen 
to this day, sec Perry's View of the Levant. 

t .fesus. 

t The Ghebers say that when Abraham, their 
gre;it Prophet, was thrown into the fire by 
order of is'imrod, the flame tui-ned instantly in- 
to " a bed of roses, where the child sweetly re- 
posed." — Tavernier. > 



Of glory, permanent and bright. 
To which the brave of after-times, 
The suflfring brave, shall long look back 

"With proud regret,— and by its light 

"Watch through the hours of slavery's 
night 
For vengeance on th' oppressor's crimes. 
This rock, his monument aloft. 

Shall speak the tale to many an age ; 
And hither bards and heroes oft 

Shall come in secret pUgi'image, 
And bring their wamor sons, and tell 
The wond'ring boys where Hafed fell ; 
And swear them on those loue remains 
Of their lost country's ancient fanes, 
ISTever- while breath of life shall live 
"Within them — never to forgive 
Th' accm-sed race whose ruthless chain 
Hath left on Iran's neck a stain 
Blood, blood alone can cleanse again ! 

Such are the swelling thoughts that now 
Enthrone themselves on Hafed's brow; 
And ne'er did Saint of IssAf gaze 

On the red wreath, for martyrs 
twined. 
More proudly than the youth siureys 

That pile, which through the gloom 
behind. 
Half lighted by the altar's fire. 
Glimmers— his destined funeral pyre! 
Heap'd by his own, his comrades' hands. 

Of ev'ry wood of odorous breath, 
There, by the Fke-God's shrine it stands, 

Eeady to fold in radiant death 
The few still left of those who swore 
To perish there, when hope was o'er — 
The iQ^, to whom that couch of flame, 
"Which rescues them from bonds and 

shame. 
Is sweet and welcome as the bed 
For their own infant Prophet spread, 
"When pitying Heav'n to roses tum'd 
The death-flames that beneath him 
bum'd ! I 

"With watchfulness the maid attends 
His rapid glance, where'er it bends— 
"Why snoot his eyes such awful beams ? 

Of their other Prophet, Zoroaster, there is a 
story told in Dion Frusceus, Orat. 36, that the 
love of wisdom and virtue leading him to a 
solitary life upon a mountain, he found it one 
day all in a flame, sliining with ccle.stial fire, 
out of which he came without anv harm, and 
instituted certain sacrifices to God, who, ho 
declared, then appeared to him."— Vide Patrick 
on Exodus, iii, 2. 




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458 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



"What plans he now? "what thinks or 

dreams ? 
Alas ! ■why stands he musing here, 
When ev'ry moment teems with fear ? 
"Hafed, my own beloved Lord," 
She kneeling cries— "first, last adored! 
" If in that soul thou'st ever felt 
"Half what thy lips impassion'd 
swore, 
■' Here, on my knees, that never knelt 

"To any but their God before, 
* I pray thee, as thou lov'st me, fly — 
•Now, now — ere yet their blades are 

nigh 
' Oh haste — the bark that bore me hither 
" Can waft us o'er yon dark'ning sea. 
East— west — alas, I care not whither, 
' ' So thou art safe, and I with thee ! 
'-<6rO where we will, this hand in thine, 
" Those eyes before me smiling thus, 
" Through good and ill, through storm 
and shine, 
"The world's a world of love for us I 
"On some calm, blessed shore we'll 

dwell, 
" "WTiere 'tis no crime to love too well ; — 
" Where thus to worship tenderly 
■' An eiTing child of light like thee 
" WiU not be sin, or, if it be, 
" Where we may weep ouj faults away, 
" Together kneeling, nij^ht and day, 
"Thou, for my sake, at Alla's shrine, 
" And I — at any God's, foi >hine !" 

Wildly these passionate «\'ords she 
spoke — [shame ; 

Then hung her head, and wept for 
Sobliing, as if a heart-string broke 

With ev'ry deep-heaved sob that c8.me. 
While he, young, warm — oh ! wonder 
not 
If, for a moment, pride and fame. 
His oath— his cause — that shrine of 
flame, 
And Iran's self are all forgot 
For her whom at his feet he sees 
Kneeling in speechless agonies. 
Xo, blame him not, if Hope awhile 
Dawn'd in his soul, and threw her smile 
O'er hours to come — o'er days and 

nights, 
Wing'd with those precious, pure delights 
Which she, who bends all beauteous 
there, 

*"The shell called Siiankos, common to 
India,_ Africa, and the Mediterranean, and still 
used in many parts as a trumpet for blowing 



Was bom to kindle and to share. 
A tear or two, which, as he bow'd 

To raise the suppliant, trembling stole. 
First wam'd him nf this dang'rous cloud 

Of softness passing o'er his soul. 
Starting, he brush'd the drops away, 
Unworthy o'er that cheek to stray ; — 
Like one who, on the mom of fight. 
Shakes from his sword the dews of night, 
That had but dimm'd, not stain'd its 
light. 

Yet, though subdued th' unnerving thrill, 
Its warmth, its weakness, linger'd still 

So touching in its look and tone. 
That the fond, fearing, hoping maid 
Half counted on the flight she pray'd. 

Half thought the hero's soul was 
grown 

As soft, as yielding as her own. 
And smiled and bless'd him, while he 

said, 
" Yes — if there be some happier sphere, 
"Where fadeless truth nke om's is 

dear, — 
" If there be any land of rest 

" For those who love and ne'er forget, 
" Oh ! comfort thee— for safe and bless'd 

" We'll meet in that calm region yet ! " 

Scarce had she time to ask her heart 
If good or ill these words impart, 
When the roused youth impatient flew 
To the tow'r wall, where, high in view, 
A pond'rous sea-hom* hung, and blew 
A signal, deep and dread as those 
The stoi-m-fieud at his rising blows. — 
Full well his Chieftains, swom and trae 
Through life and death, that signal knew ; 
For 'twas th' appointed warning blast, 
Th' alarm to tell when hope -was past, 
And the tremendous death-die cast ! 
And there, upon the mould'ring tow'r, 
Hath hung this sea-hom many an horn-. 
Ready to sound o'er land and sea 
Tnat dirge-note of the brave and free. 

They came— his Chieftains at the call 
Came slowly roimd, and with them all— 
Alas, how few !— the worn remains 
Of those who late o'er Kerman's plains 
Went gayly prancing to the clash 

Of Moorish zel and tymbalon, 
Catching new hope from every flash 

Of their long lances in the sun, 

alarms or giving signals; it sends forth a deep 
and hollow sound."— Pennant. 




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LALLA ROOKH. 



And, as their coursers charged the wind, 
And the white ox-tails stream'd behind,* 
Looking; as if the steeds they rode 
Were wing'd, and every Chief a God ! 
How fall'u, how alter'd now ! how wan 
Each scan-'d and faded visage shone 
As round the burning shrine they came ; 

How deadly was the glare it cast, 
As mute they paused before the flame 

To light their torches as they pass'd ! 
'Twas silence all — the youth had plann'd 
The duties of his soldier-band; 
And each determined brow declares 
His faithful Chieftains well knew theirs. 

But nunutes speed — ^night gems the 

skies — 
And oh, how soon, ye blessed eyes, 
That look from heaven, ye may bcho/d 
Sights that will tiun yom- star-fires cold ! 
Breathless with awe, impatience, hope, 
The maiden sees the veteran group 
Her litter silently prepare, 

And lay it at her trembUng feet ;- 
And now the youth, with gentle cere, 

Hath placed her iu the shelter' d scat, 
And press'd her hand— that ling'ring 
press 

Of hands, that for the last time sever ; 
Of hearts, whose pulse of happiness, 

When that hold breaks, is dead forever. 
And yet to her this sad caress 

Gives hope — so fondly hope can err ! 
'Twas joy, she thought, joy's mute ex- 
cess^ 

Their happy flight's dear harbinger ; 
'Twas warmth — assurance — tender- 
ness — 

'Twas anything but leaving her. 

" Haste, haste !" she cried, "the clouds 

grow dark, [bark ; 

" But still, ere night, we'll reach the 

" And by to-morrow's dawn — oh bliss ! 

" With thee upon the sau-bright deep, 

' Far off, I'll but remember this, 

"As some dark vanish'd dream of 

sleep ; [not — 

"And thou " hut ah ! — he answers 

Good Heav'n !— and does she go alone? 
She now has reach'd that dismal spot, 
Where, some hours since, his voice's 
tone 
Had come to soothe her fears and ills, 



" " The finest ornament for the horses is made 
of six lariro llviuj? tassels of lonij white hair, 
taken out of the tails of wild oxen, that arc tu 



Sweet as the angel ISRAFiL's,t 
When every leaf on Eden's tree 
Is trembling to his minstrelsy- 
Yet now— oh, now, he is not nigh— 

" Hafed ! my Hafed !— if it bo 
" Thy will, thy doom this night to die, 

" Let me but stay to die with thee, 
" And I will bless thy loved name, 
"Till the last life-breath leave this 

frame. 
" Oh ! let our lips, our cheeks be laid 
" But near each other while they fade ; 
" Let us but mix om* parting breaths, 
" And I can die ten thousand deaths ! 
" You too, who huiTy me away 
" So cruelly, one moment stay — 

"Oh! stay— one moment is not 
much — 
" He yet may come — for him I pray — 
"Hafed ! dear Hafed !" — all tlie way 

In wild lamentings, that would touch 

A heart of stone, she shriek'd his name 

To the dark woods — no Hafed came: — 

N"o — hapless pair — ^you've look'd your 

last : — [then. 

Your hearts should both have broken 
The dream is o'er — your doom is cast:— 

You'll never meet on earth again ! 

Alas for him, who hears her cries ! 

Still half-way down the steep he 
stands, 
Watching with fix'd and feverish eyes 

The ghmmer of those burning brands, 
That down the rocks, with mournful ray, 
Light aU he loves on earth away! 
Hopeless as they who, far at sea, 

By the cold moon have just consign'd 
The corse of one, loved tenderly. 

To the bleak flood they leave behind ; 
And on the deck still ling'ring stay. 
And long look back, with sad delay, 
To watch the moonlight on the wave, 
That ripples o'er that cheerless grave. 

But see — he starts — what heard he 
then? 
That dreadful shout !— across the glen 
Prom the land-side it comes, and loud 
Rings through the chasm ; as if the crowd 
Of fearful things that haunt that dell, 
Its Gholes and Dives and shapes of hell. 
Had all in one dread howl broke out, 
So loud, so terrible that shout ! 
be found in some places of the Indies."— 
Thevenot. 

t " The angel Israfil, who has the most melo 
dious voice of all God's creatures."— ;SaJe. 




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460 



MOOEB'S WOEKS. 



" They come — the Moslems come !" — 

he cries, 
His proud soul mounting to his eyes, — 
' ' iJfow, Spirits of the Brave, who roam 
" Enfranchised through yon stany 

dome, 
" Eejoice— for souls of kindred fire 
" Are on the wing to join yom* choir !" 
He said — and, light as bridegrooms 

bound [ steep 

Tc their young loves, reclimb'd the 

And gain'd the Shrine— his Chiefs stood 

round — 
Their swords, as with instinctive leap, 
Together, at that cry accursed, 
Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, 

burst. 
And hark !— again— again it rings ; 
Near and more near its echoings [then 
Peal through the chasm — oh ! who that 
Had seen those list'niug warrior-men, 
With their swords grasp 'd, their eyes of 

flame [shame, 

Tum'd on their Chief— could doubt the 
Th' indignant shame with which they 

thi-ill 
To hear those shouts, and yet stand still? 

He read their thoughts— they were 
his own — [these blades, 

" "What ! while our arms can wield 
•Shall we die tamely? die alone ? 

" Without one victim to our shades, 
" One Moslem heart, where, buried deep, 
"The sabre from its toil may sleep ? 
"N"o— God of Iran's burning skies ! 
" Thou soom'st th' inglorious sacrifice. 
"ISTo — though of all earth's hope bereft, 
" Life, swords, and vengeance still are 

left. 
" We'll make yon valley's reeking caves 

" Live in the awe-struck minds of men, 
"Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves 

"Teil of the Gheber's bloody glen. 
" Follow, brave hearts ! — this pile re- 
mains 
* Our refuge still from life and chains ; 
" But his the best, the holiest bed, 
*' Who sinks entomb'd in Moslem dead !" 

Down the precipitous rocks they sprung, 
While vigor, more than human, strung 
Each arm and heart. — Th' exulting foe 
Still through the dark defiles below, 
Track'd bv his torches' lurid fire, 

Wound'slow. as through Golconda's 
vale* 

* See Hoole upon the Story of Sinbad. 



The mighty serpent, in his ire, 

Glides on with glitt'ring, deadly trail. 
1^0 torch the Ghebers need— so well 
They know each myst'ry of the dell, 
So oft have in their wanderings, 
Cross'd the wild race that round them 
dweU, 
The very tigers firom then- delves 
Look out, and let them pass, as things 
Untamed and fearless like themselves! 

There was a deep ravine, that lay 
Yet darkling in the Moslem's way ) 
Fit spot to make invaders nie 
The many fall'n before the few. 
The torrents from that morning's sky 
Had fill'd the narrow chasm breast-high. 
And, on each side, aloft and wild. 
Huge cliffs and toppling crags were 
piled,— [lines 

The guards with which young Freedom 
The pathways to her mountain-shiines. 
Here, at this pass, the scanty band 
Of Iran's last avengers stand ; 
Here wait, in silence like the dead, 
And listen for the Moslem's tread 
So anxiously, the carrion-bird 
Above them flaps his wing unheard ! 

They come— that plunge into the wate 
Gives signal for the work of slaughter. 
Now, Ghebers, now — if e'er your Ijlade 

Had point or prowess, prove them 
now — 
Wo to the file that foremost wades ! 

They come — a falchion greets each 
brow. 
And, as they tumble, trunk on tinank, 
Beneath the goiy waters sunk. 
Still o'er their drowning bodies press 
New victims quick and numberless ; 
Till scarce an arm in Hafed's band. 

So fierce their toil, hath power to stir, 
But listless from each crimson hand 

The sword hangs, clogg'd with mas- 
Never was horde of tyrants met [sacre. 
With bloodier welcome — never yet 
To patriot vengeance hath the sword 
More terrible libations pour'd ! 

AU up the dreary, long ravine, 

By the red, murky glimmer seen 

Of half-quench' d brands, that o'er the 

flood 
Lie scatter'd round and bum in blood. 
What ruin glares ! what carnage swims J 
Heads, blazmg turbans, quiv'rmg hmbs, 




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LALLA KOOKH. 



461 



Lost swords that, dropp'd &om many a 

hand, 
In that thick pool of slaughter stand ;— 
Wretches who wading, half on fire 
From the toss'd brands that round 
them fly. 
Twist flood and flame in shrieks ex- 
pire ; — 
And some who, gi'asp'd by those that 
die, 
Sink woundless with them, smother'd o'er 
In their dead brethren's gushing gore ! 

But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed. 
Still Lundreds, thousands more succeed ; 
Countless as tow'rds some flame at night 
The North's dark insects wing their flight, 
And quench or perish in its light, 
To this terrific spot they pour — 
Till, bridged with Mof^lem bodies o'er, 
It bears aloft their slipp'ry tread, 
And o'er the dying and the dead, 
Tremendous causeway ! on they pass — 
Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas. 
What hope was left for you ? for you, 
Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice 
Is smoking in their vengeful eyes ; — 
Whose swords how keen, how fierce 

they knew, 
And bum with shame to find how few ? 

Crush'd down by that vast multitude. 
Some found their graves where first they 

stood ; 
"While some with hardier struggle died, 
And still fought on by Hafed's side. 
Who, fronting to the foe, trod back 
Tow'rds the high to^vers his gory track ; 
And, as a lion swept away 

By sudden swell of Jordan's pride 
Prom the wild covert where he lay,* 

Long battles with th' o'erwhelming 
tide. 
So fought he back with fierce delay, 
And kept both foes and fate at bay. 

But whither now ? their track is lost, 
Their prey escaped— guide, torches 
gone— 
3y torrent-beds and labyrinths cross'd. 
The scatter'd crowd rush blindly on — 
'' Curse on those tardy lights that wind,'' 
They panting cry, " so far behind ; 
" Oh for a bloodhound's precious scent, 
" To track the way the Gheber went !" 
* '-In this thicket upon the banks of the 
Jordan several sorts ot wild beasts are wont 
to liarbor themselves, whose being washed out 
of the covert by the overflowings of the 



Vain wish — confusedly along [wrong : 
They rush, more desp'rate as more 
Till, 'wilder'd by the far-ofi" lights. 
Yet glitt'ring up those gloomy heights, 
Their footing, mazed and lost, they miss. 
And down the darkling precipice 
Are dash'd into the deep abyss ; 
Or midway hang, impaled on rocks, 
A banquet, yet alive, for flocks 
Of rav'niug vultures,— while the dell 
Re-echoes with each homd yell. 

Those sounds— the last, to vengeance 

dear, 
That e'er shall ring in Hafed's ear,— 
]S"ow reach'd him, as aloft, alone. 
Upon the steep way breathless thrown, 
He lay beside his reeking blade, 

Resigned, as if life's task were o'er. 
Its last blood-ofi"ering amply paid. 

And Iran's self could claim no more. 
One only thought, one ling'ring beam 
Now broke across his dizzy dream 
Of pain and weariness — 'twas she. 

His heart's pure planet, shining yet 
Above the waste of memory, 

WTien all life's other lights were set. 
And never to his mind before 
Her image such enchantment wore. 
It seem'd as if each thought that staia'd, 

Each fear that chill'd their loves was 
past. 
And not one cloud of earth remain'd 

Between him and her radiance cast; — 
As if to chaiTQs, before so bright, 

New grace from other worlds was giv'n, 
And his soul saw her by the light 

Now breaking o'er itself from heav"n ! 

A voice spoke near him — 'twas the tone 
Of a loved friend, the onlj' one 
Of all his warriors, left with life 
From that short night's tremendous 

strife. — [here? 

"And must we then, my Chief, die 
"Foes round us, and the Shrine so 

near !" [mains 

These words have roused the last re- 

Of life within him—" What ! not yet 

" Beyond the reach of Moslem chains !" 

The thought could make ev'n Death 

forget 
His icy bondage— with a bound 
He springs, all bleeding, from the ground, 

river, gave occasion to that allusion of Jere- 
miah, he shall come np like a lion Jrovi the 
g^velling of Jordan."— MaundrcWs Aleppo. 





&-^^ 



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462 



MOOKE'S WOEKS. 



And grasps his comrade's arm, now 

grown 
Ev'n feebler, heavier than his own, 
And up the painful pathway leads, 
Death gaining on each step he treads. 
Speed them, thou God, who heardst 

their vow ! [them now— 

They mount— they bleed — oh save 
The crags are red they've clambei-'d o'er, 
The rock-weed's dripping with their 

gore ;— 
Thy blade too, Hafed, false at length, 
Now breaks beneath thy tott'ring 

strength! 
Haste, haste— the voices of the Foe 
Come near and nearer from below- 
One effort more— thank Heav'n ! 'tis 

past, 
They've gain'd the topmoststeep at last. 
And now they touch the temple s walls, 

Now Hafed sees the Fire divine — 
When, lo ! — his weak, worn comrade 

faUs 
Dead on the threshold of the Shrine. 
•'Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled ! 
"And must I leave" thee with'ring 

here, 
" The sport of every ruffian's tread, 

" The mark for every coward's spear? 
" No, by yon altar's. sacred beams !'' 
He cries, and with a strength that 

seems 
Not of this world, uplifts the frame 
Of the fall'n Chief, and tow'rds the 

flame [hand 

Bears him along;— with death-damp 

The corpse upon the pyre he lays, 
Then lights the consecrated brand, 

And fares the pile, whose sudden blaze 
Like hghtning bursts o'er Oman's 

Sea.— [Thee," 

" Now, Freedom's God ! I come to 
The youth exclaims, and with a smile 
Of triumph vaulting ou the pile. 
In that last effort, ere the fires 
Have harm'd one glorious limb, expires ! 

■WTiat shriek was that on Oman's tide ? 

It came from yonder drifting bark. 
That just hath caught upon her side 

The death-light— and again is dark. 
It is the boat--ah, why delay'd?— 
That bears the wretched Moslem maid ; 
Confided to the watchful care 

Of a small veteran band, with whom 
Their gen'rous Chieftain would not share 

The secret of his final doom, 



But hoped when Hinda, safe and free, 

"Was rendefd to her father's eyes, 
Their pardon, full and prompt, would be 

The ransom of so dear a prize. — 
Unconscious, thus, of Hafed's fate. 
And proud to guard thefr beauteous 

freight, 
Scarce had they clear'd the surfy waves 
That foam around those frightful caves, 
"WTien the cursed war-whoops, knov.Ti so 

well, 
Came echoing from the distant dell — 
Sudden each oar, upheld and still, 

Hung dripping o'er the vessel's side, 
And, driving at the current's will. 

They rock'd along the whisp'ring tide ; 
While every eye, in mute dismay, 

Was tow'rd that fatal mountain tum'd, 
Wbere the dim altar's quiv'ring ray 

As yet aU lone and tranquil bm-n'd. 

Oh ! 'tis not, Hinda, in the pow'r 

Of Fancy's most terrific touch 
To paint thy pangs in that dread hour — 

Thy silent agony — 'twas such 
As those who feel could paint too weU, 
But none e'er felt and lived to tell ! 
'Twas not alone the dreary state 
Of a lorn spirit, crush'd by fate. 
When, though no more remains to dread, 

The panic chill wiU not depart ; — 
When, though the inmate Hope be dead. 

Her ghost stiU haunts the mould'ring 
heart. 
No — pleasures, hopes, affections gone. 
The Avretch may bear, and yet live ou. 
Like things, within the cold rock found 
Alive, when all's congeal'd around. 
But there's a blank repose in this, 
A calm stagnation, that were bliss 
To the keen, burning, harrowing pain, 
Now felt through all thy breast and 

brain ; — 
That spasm of terror, mute, intense, 
That breathless, agonized suspense. 
From whose hot throb, whose deadly 

aching. 
The heart hath no relief but breaking ! 

Calm is the wave — heav'n's brilhant 
lights 

Eefleeted dance beneath the prow ; 
Time was when, on such lovely nights, 

She who is there, so desolate now, 
Could sit all cheerful, though alone. 

And ask no happier joy than seeing 
That starlight o'er the waters thrown— 
No joy but that, to make her blest, 



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LALLA KOOKH. 



463 



And the fresh, buoyant sense of 
Being, 
Which bounds in youth's yet careless 

breast, — 
Itself a star, not borrowing light, 
But in its own glad essence bright. 
How different now ! — but, hark, again 
The yeU of havoc rings — brave men ! 
In vain, with beating hearts, ye stand 
On the bark's edge — in vain each hand 
Half draws the falchion from its sheath ; 

AU's o'er — in rust your blades may 
lie: — 
He, at whose word they've scatter'd 
death, 

Ev'n now, this night, himself must die! 
Well may ye look to yon dim lower, 

And ask, and wond'ring guess what 
means 
The battle-ciy at this dead hour — 

Ah ! she could teU you — she who leans 
Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast. 
With brow against the dew-cold mast ; — 

Too well she knows — her more than 
Her soul's first idol and its last, [Hfe, 

Lies bleeding in that murd'rous strife. 

But see — what moves upon the height ? 
Some signal ! — 'tis a torch's light. 

What bodes its solitary glare ? 
In gasping silence tow'rd the Shrine 
All eyes are turu'd— thine, Hinda, thine 

Fix then- last fading life-beams there. 
'Twas but a moment — fiei'ce and high 
The death-pile blazed into the sky, 
And far away, o'er rock and flood 

Its melancholy radiance sent ; 
WhUe Hafed, like a vision stood 
Eeveal'd before the burning pyre. 
Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of Fue 

Shrined in its own grand element ! 
'"Tis he!" — the shudd'ring maid ex- 
claims, — ■ [more ; 

But, while she speaks, he's seen no 
High burst in air the funeral flames, 

And Iran's hopes and hers are o'er ! 

One wild, heart-broken shriek she gave ; 
Then sprang, as if to reach that blaze. 
Where still she fix*d her dying gaze. 

And, gazing, sunk into the wave, — 



* "This wind, (the Samoor) so Boftens the 
strings of lutes, that they can never bo tuned 
while it lasts." — Stephen's Persia. 

f " One of the greatest curiosities found in 
the Persian Gulf is a fish which the English 
eall Star-fish. It is circular, and at night Very 



Deep, deep, — where never care or pain 
Shall reach her innocent heart again ! 



Farewell— farewell to thee, Arabt's 

daughter! [dark sea,) 

(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the 

ISTo pearl ever lay, under Oman's green 

water, [in thee. 

More pure in its sheU than thy Spirit 

Oh ! fair as the sea-flower close to thee 
growing, [witchery came, 

How light was thy heart till Love's 
Like the wind of the south* o'er a sum- 
mer lute blowing, [its frame ! 
And hush'd all its music, and wither'(i 

But long, upon Araby's green sunny 

highlands, [ber the doom 

Shall maids and their lovers remem- 

Of her, who lies sleeping among the 

Pearl Islands, [up her tomb. 

With nawght but the sea-start to light 

And still, when the meny date-season 

is burning,^ [young and the old, 

And calls to the palm-groves the 

The happiest there, from their pastime 

returning [is told. 

At sunset, will weep when thy story 

The young viUage-maid, when with 
flow'rs she dresses [day. 

Her dark flowing hair for some festival 
Will think of thy fate till, neglecting 
her tresses, 
She mournfully turns from the mir- 
ror away. 

]Sror shall Iran, beloved of her Hero ! 

forget thee — [as they start. 

Though tyrants watch over her tears 

Close, close by the side of that Hero 

she'll set thee, [her heart. 

Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of 

Farewell — be it ours to embellish thy 

pUlow [in the deep'; 

With ev'ry thing beauteous that grows 

Each flow'r of the rock and each gem of 

the billow 

Shall sweeten thy bed and Ulumtne 

thy sleep. 

luminous, resembling the full moon surrounded 
by rays." — Mirza Abu Talcb. 

X For a description of the merriment of the 
date-time, of their work, their dances, and their 
return home from the palm-groves at the end 
of autumn with the fruit, see Kemiifer, 
Amcenitat. Exot. 




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4G4 



MOORE'S TTORKS. 



Around thee shall glisten the loveliest 
amber L^ept;* 

That ever the soiTOwing sea-bird has 
With many a shell, in vhose hollow- 
wreathed chamber, [have slept. 
We, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight 

We'll dive where the gardens of coral 

lie darkling, [head ; 

And plant all the rosiest stems at thy 

We'll seek where the sands of the Cas- 

piant are sparlding, [thy bed. 

And gather their gold to strew over 

FareweU— farewell — until Pity's sweet 

fountain [brave, 

Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the 

They'll weep for the Chieftain who died 

oq that mountain. 

They'll weep for the Maiden who 

sleeps in this wave. 

The singular placidity ivith which 
Fadladeen had listened, during the lat- 
ter part of this obnoxious stoiy, sur- 
prised the Princess and Perasiorz ex- 
ceedingly; and even iaclined towards 
him the hearts of these unsuspicious 
young persons, who little knew the 
source of a complacency so marvellous. 
The truth was, he had been organizing, 
for the last few days, a most notable plan 
of persecution against the poet, in con- 
sequence of some passages that had 
fallen from him on the second evening 
of recital, — T\hich appeared to this wor- 
thy Chamberlainto containlanguage and 
principles, for which nothing short of 
the summary criticism of the Chabuk|: 
would be advisable. It was his inten- 
tion, therefore, immediately on their arri- 
val at Cashmere, to give information to 
the King of Bucharia of the very dan- 
gerous sentiments of his minstrel; and 
if, unfortunately, that monarch did not 
act with suitable vigor on the occasion, 
(that is, if he did not give the Chabuk to 
Feramorz, and a place to Fadladeen), 

* Some naturalists have imagined that amber 
Is a concretion of the tears of birds. — See 
Trevowz, Chambers. 

i " The bay Kieselarlie, which is otherwise 
called the Golden Bay, the sand whereof shines 
as fire." — Struy. 

J "The application of whips or rods."— Du- 
iois. 

§ Kempfer mentions such an officer among 
the attendants of the King of Persia, and cull's 
Lim " formsB corporis estimator." His business 
was, at stated periods, to measure the ladies of 



there would be an end, he feared, of all 
legitimate government in Bucharia, He 
could not help, however, auguring bet- 
ter both for himself and the cause of 
potentates in general ; and it was the 
pleasure arising from these mingled an- 
ticipations that diffused such unusual 
satisfaction through his features, and 
made his eyes shine out like poppies ot 
the desert, over the wide and lifeless 
wilderness of that countenance. 

Having decided upon the Poet's chas- 
tisement in this manner, he thought it 
but humanity to spare him the minor 
tortures of criticism. Accordingly, when 
they assembled the following evening 
in the pavilion, and Lalla Rookh was 
expecting to see all the beauties of her 
bard melt away, one by one, in the acid- 
ity of criticism, like pearls in the cup of 
the Egyptian queen, — he agreeably dis- 
appointed her, by merely saj-ing, with 
an ironical smile, that the merits of such 
a poem deserved to be tried at a much 
higher tribunal; and then suddenly 
passed off into a panegyric upon all Mus- 
sulman sovereigns, more particularly 
his august and Imperial master, Au- 
nmgzebe, — the wisest and best of the 
descendants of Timur— who, among 
other gi-eat things he had done for man- 
kind, had given to him, Fadladeen, 
the very prolitable posts of Betel-carrier, 
and Taster of Sherbets to the Emperor, 
Chief Holder of the Girdle of Beautiful 
Forms, § and Grand K'azir, or Chamber 
lain of the Haram. 

They were now not far from that For- 
bidden River, II beyond wMch no pure 
Hindoo can pass ; and were reposing for 
a time in the rich valley of Hussun Ab- 
daul, which had always been a favorite 
resting-place of the Emperors in their 
annual migrations to Cashmere. Here 
often had the Light of the Faith, Jehan- 
Guire, been known to wander with his 
beloved and beautiful I^ommahal ; and 

the Haram by a sort of regulation-girdle, whose 
limits it was not thouglit graceful to exceed. 
If any of them outgrew this standard of shape, 
they were reduced by abstinence till they came 
within proper bounds. 

II The Attock. 

" Alibar on his way ordered afort to be built 
upon the Nilab, which he called Attock, which 
means in the Indian language Forbidden ; for, 
by the superstition of the Hindoos, it was held 
unlawful to cross that river." — Dows Hindo- 
Stan. 




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LALLA KOOKH. 



465 



here Avould Lalla Rookh have been 
happy to remain forever, giving up the 
throne of Bucharia and the "world, for 
Feramorz and love in this sweet lonely 
valley. But the time was now fast ap- 
proaching when she must see him no 
longer, — or, what was still worse, he- 
hold him with eyes whose eveiy look 
belonged to another ; and there' was a 
melancholy preciousness in these last 
moments, which made her heart cling 
to them as it would to life. During the 
latter part of the jomney, indeed, she 
had sunk into a deep sadness, from 
which nothing but the presence of the 
young minstrel could awake her. Like 
those lamps in tombs, which only light 
up when the air is admitted, it was only 
at his approach that her eyes became 
smiling and animated. But, here, in 
this dear valley, every moment appear- 
ed an age of pleasure ; she saw him all 
day, and was, therefore, aU day happy, — 
resembling, she often thought, that peo- 
ple of Zinge, * who attribute the unfad- 
ing cheerfulness they enjoy to one 
genial star that rises nightly over their 
heads, t 

The whole party, indeed, seemed in 
their liveliest mood dming the few days 
they passed in this deUghtful solitude. 
The young attendants of the Princess, 
who were here allowed a much freer 
range than they could safely be indulged 
with in a less sequestered place, ran wM 
among the gardens and bounded through 
the meadows lightly as young roes over 
the aromatic plains of Tibet. "WTiile 
Fadladeen, in addition to the spuitual 

* " The inhabitants of this country (Zinse) 
are never iilllicted with sadness or me'lancholy; 
on this subject the Sheikh Abu-al-Kheir-Azhari 
has the following distich : — 

" 'Who is the man without care or sorrow, 
(tell) that I may rub my hand to him. 

" ' (Behold), the Zing;ians, -without care or sor- 
row, frolicsome with tipsiness and mirth.' 

" The philosophers have discovered that the 
cause of this cheerfulness proceeds from the in- 
fluence of the star Soheil, or Canopus, which 
rises over them every nifrht." — Extract froma 
Gcoqraphical Persian Manuscript called Ilcft 
Aklin, or the Seven Climates, translated by W. 
Ouseley, Esq. 

t Tlie star Soheil, or Canopus. 

t " The lizard Stellio. The Arabs call it 
Hardun. The Turks kill it, for they lma}rine 
that by declininii the head it mimics them when 
they say tlieir prayers." — IIa>)sclqwst. 

§ For these particulars respectinu: Hussun 
4.bdaul I am indebted to the very interesting 



comfort derived by him from a pilgrim- 
age to the tomb of the saint from whom 
the valley is named, had also opportu- 
nities of indulging, in a small way, his 
taste for victims, by putting to death 
some hundreds of those unfortunate L't- 
tle lizards, t which aU pious Mussulmans 
make it a point to kill;— taking for 
granted, that the manner in which the 
creature hangs its head is meant as a 
mimicry of the attitude in which the 
Faithful say their prayers. 

About two miles from Hussun Abdaul 
were those Royal Gardens, § which had 
,CTOwn beautifiil under the care of so 
many lovely eyes, and were beautiful 
still, though those eyes could see them 
no longer. This place, with its flowers 
and its holy silence, interrupted only by 
the dipping of the wings of birds in its 
marble basins filled with the pure water 
of those hills, was to Lalla Kookh all 
that her heart could fancy of fragrance, 
coolness, and almost heavenly tranquil- 
lity. As the Prophet said of Damascus, 
"it was too delicious ;"11 — and here, in 
listening to the sweet voice of Fera- 
morz, or reading in his eyes what yet 
he never dared to tell her, the most ex- 
quisite moments of her whole life were 
passed. One evening, when they had 
been talking of the Sultana Xourmahal, 
the Light of the Haram,1I who had so 
often wandered among these flowers, and 
fed with her own hands, in those marble 
basins, the small shining fishes of which 
she was so fond,** the youth, inordcrto 
delay the moment of separation, pro- 
posed to recite a short story, or rather 

Introduction of Mr. Elphinstone's work upon 
Caubul. 

II " As you enter nt that Bazar, without the 
gate of Damascus, you see the Green Mosque, 
so called because it hatli a steeple faced with 
green glazed bricks, which render it very re- 
splendent ; it is covered at top with a pa\ilion 
of the same stuff. The Turks say this mosque 
was made in that place, because Mahomet be- 
ing come so far, would not enter the town, say- 
ing it was too delicious.'' — Thevenot. This re- 
minds one of the following pretty passage in 
Isaac Walton : — " Wheul sat last on this prim- 
rose bank, and looked down these meadows, I 
thought of them as Charles the Emperor did of 
the city of Florence, ' that they were too pleas- 
ant to be looked on, but only on holidays. " 

IT Nourmahal signifies Light of the Haram. 
She was afterwards called Jlonrjehan, or the 
Liffhtofthe World. 

** See note II p. 4.50. 




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-^-T 




MOORE'S WOEKS. 



rhapsody, of ■which this adored Sultana 
was the heroine. It related, he said, 
to the reconcilement of a sort of lovers' 
quan-el which took place between her 
and the Emperor during a Feast of Roses 
at Cashmere; and would remind the 
Princess of that diiference between 
Haroun-al-Raschid and his fair mistress 
Marida,* which was so happily made 
up by the soft strains of the musician, 
Moussali. As the story was chiefly to 
be told in song, and Fe'rabiorz had un- 
luckily forgotten his own lute in the val- 
ley, he boiTowed the vina of Lalla 
RooKn's little Persian slave, and thus 
began: — 

"Who has notheardof the Yale of Cash- 
mere, [ever gave,t 
TTith its roses the brightest that earth 
Its temples, and grottoes, and fountains 
as clear [over their wave"? 
As the love-hghted eyes that hang 

Oh ! to see it at sunset, —when warm 

o'er the Lake [throws, 

Its splendor at parting a summer eve 

Iiike a bride, full of blushes, when lin- 

g'ring to take [she goes ! — 

A last look of her mirror at night ere 

>?hen the shrines through the foliage 

are gleaming half shown, 
And each hallows the hour by some rites 
of its ow'n. [swells. 

Here the music of pray'r from a minaret 
Here the Magiau his urn, full of per- 
fume, is swinging, 
A.nd here, at the altar, a zone of sweet 
bells [dancer is ringing.t 

Round the waist of some fair Indian 
Or to see it by moonhght, — when mel- 
lowly shines [shrines ; 
The light o'er its palaces, gardens, and 

^ "Haroun Al Easchid, cinquidmo Khalife 
dcs Abassides, s'^taiit un jour brouill(5, avcc 
line de ses maitresses nominee Maridah, qu'il 
airaoit cependaut juscju'a I'exces, et cette m6s- 
intelligence ayant deja duree quelque terns, 
commen9a k s'ennuyer. Giafar Barmaki. son 
favori, qui s'en appercut, corau^anda a Abbas 
ben Ahnaf, excellent poete de ce tenis la, de 
composer quelques vers sur lo siijet de cette 
brouillerie. Ce poete executa Tordre de Gia- 
far, qui fit chanter ces vers par IMoussali en 
presence du Khalife, et ce prince fut telleraent 
toueli^ de la tendresse des vers du poete et de 
la douceur de la voix du musicicn, qn'il alia 
aussltot trouver Maridah, et fit sa paix avec 
e\\e:'—D'nerbelot. 

t " The rose of Kaslimire for its biilUancy 



When the water-falls gleam, like a quick 

fall of stars, [Isle of Cheuars 

And the nightingale's hymn from the 
Is broken by laughs and light echoes of 

feet [young people meet. — 

From the cool, shining walks where the 
Or at morn, when the magic of daylight 

awakes [it breaks, 

A new wonder each minute, as slowly 
HUls, cupolas, fountains, call'd forth 

every one [the Sun. 

Out oi darkness, as if but just born of 
When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with 

the day, [ing away ; 

From his Haram of night-flowers steal- 
And the wind, full of wantonness, woos 

like a lover [ble all over. 

The young aspen-trees, $ till they trem- 
"When the East is as warm as the light 

of first hopes, [unfurl'd. 

And Day, with his banner of radiance 

Shines in thi'ough the mountainous por- 

talll that opes, [the world ! 

Sublime, from that Valley of bliss to 

Bur never yet, by night or day, 
In dew of spring or summei^'s ray. 
Did the sweet Y alley shine so gay 
As now it shines— all love and Mght, 
Yisions by day and feasts by night ! 
A happier smile illumes each brow, 

With quicker spread each heart un- 
And all is ecstasy, — for now [closes. 

The Yalley holds its Feast of Roses ;1I 
The joyous time, when pleasures pour 
Profusely round, and, in their shower. 
Hearts open, hke the Season's Rose, — 

The flow'ret of a hundred leaves,** 
Expanding while the dew-fall flows, 

And every leaf its balm receives. 

'Twas when the hour of evening came 

Upon the Lake, serene and cool. 
When Day had hid his sultry flame 1 

and dolicncv of odor has long been proverbia 
in the East.""— ro)\s<e»-. 

; " Tied round her waist the zone of bells, 
that sounded with ravishing melody."— /S'oji^ 
of Jayadeva. 

§ "The little isles in the Lake of Cachemire 
are set with arbors and large-leaved aspen- 
trees, slender and tst\\."—Bernier. 

II "The Tuckt Suliman, the name bestowed 
bv the Mahommetans on this hill, forms one 
side of a grand portal to the Lake."— l-Vra^er. 

1i "The Feast of Hoses contirmes the whole 
time of tlieir remaining in bloom."- See Ptetco 
de la Talle. „ , , ^ 

•" ■Gul sad berk, the Rose of a hundr«il 
leaves. I believe a particular species.— Ow«e 
lev 




•'Now too — the joy most like divine 

"Of all I ever dreamt or knew, 
"To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine, — 

"Oh misery! must I lose that too? 
*' Yet go — on peril's brink we meet ; — 

"Those frightful rocks— that treacherous sea- 
"No, never come again— though sweet, 

" Though heaven, it may be death to thee 




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LALLA KOOKH. 



467 



Behind the palms of Baramoule,* 
When maids began to lift their heads 
Eefresh'd from their embroider'd beds, 
Where they had slept the sun awa}-, 
And waked to moonlight and to play. 

All were abroad— the busiest hivo 
On Bela'sI hills is less alive, 
"When saffron-beds are full in flow'r, 
Than look'd the Valley in that hour; 
A thousand restless torches play'd 
Through every grove and island shade, 
A thousand sparkling lamps were set 
On every dome and minaret ; 
And fields and pathways, far and near, 
Were lighted by a blaze so clear, 
That you could see, in wand'ring round, 
The smallest rose-leaf on the ground. 
Yet did the maids and matrons leave 
Their veils at home, that brilhant eve ; 
And there were glancing eyes about, 
And cheeks, that would not dare shine 
out 

In open day, but thought they might 
Look lovely then, because 'twas night. 
And all were free, and wandering, 

And all exclaim'd to all they met, 
That never did the summer bring 

So gay a Feast of Koses yet ; — 
The moon had never shed a light 

So clear as that which bless'd them 
there ; 
The roses ne'er shone half so bright, 

Nor they themselves look'd half so fair. 

And what a wilderness of flow'rs ! 
It seem'd as though from all the bow'rs 
And fairest fields of all the year. 
The mingled spoil were scatter'd here. 
The Lake, too, like a garden breathes. 
With the rich buds that o'er it lie, — 
As if a shower of fairy wreaths 

* liernier. 

f A place mentioned in the Toozek Jehan- 
ccpry, or Memoirs of Jehan-Giiire, where there 
is an account of the beds of safirou-flowers 
about Cashmere. 

' It is the custom among the women to 
employ the Maazeen to chant from the gallery 
of the nearest minaret, which on that occasion 
is illuminated, and the women assembled at 
the house respond at interTols with aziraleetor 
joyous chorus." — Russel. 

5 ■' The swing is a favorite jiastimo in the 
2nst, as promoting a circulation of air, ex- 
tremely refreshing in those sultry climates."— 
Iiichardson. 

" The swings are adorned with festoons. This 
pastime is accompanied with music of voices 
and of instruments, hired by the masters of the 
svhiga." —Thevenot. 



Had fall'n upon it from the sky ! 
And then the sounds of joy,— the beat 
Of tabors and of dancing feet ; - 
The minaret-crier's chant of glee 
Sung from his lighted gallery,t 
And answer'd by a ziraleet [sweet ;— 
From neighboiing Haram, wild and 
The merry laughter, echoing 
From gardens, where the silken swings 
Wafts some delighted girl above 
The top leaves of the orange-grove ; 
Or, from those infant groups at play 
Among the tents|| that line the way, 
Flinging, unawed by slave or mother, 
nandfuls of roses at each other.— 
Then, the sounds from the Lake, — the 
low wtiisp'ring in boats, 
As they shoot through the moonlight; - 
the dipping of oars, 
And the wild, airy warbling that ev'ry- 
where floats, 
Through the groves, round the islands, 
as" if all the shores, [and gave 
Like those of Kathay, utter'd music. 
An answer in song to the kiss of each 
wave. IT [full of feeling, 

But the gentlest of all are those sounds. 
That soft from the lute of some lover ara 

stealing, — 
Somo lover, who knows all the heart- 
touching power 
Of a lute and a sigh in this magical hour. 
Oh! best of delights as it ev'rywhere is 
To be near the loved One,— what a rap- 
ture is his [ly may glide 
Who in moonlight and music thus sweet- 
O'er the Lake of Cashmere, with that 
One by his side ! [dear, 
If woman can make the worst wilderness 
Think, think what a Heav'n she must 
make of Cashmere ! 



II " At the keeping of the Feast of Roses we 
beheld an infinite number of teuts pitched, with 
such a crowd of men, women, boys, and giris 
with music, dances," &.C., &c. — Herbert. 

n "An old commentator of the Chou-King 
says, the ancients Iiaviug remarked that a cur- 
rent of water made some of the stones near its 
banks send forth a sound, they detached some 
of them, and being charmed with the delightful 
sound they emitted, constructed King or musi- 
cal Instruments of them." — Grosier. 

This miraculous quality has been attributed 
also to the shore of Attica. " Hujus littus, ait 
Capella, concentum musicum illisis temB undis 
recfdere. quod propter tant.am eruditionis vim 
puto dictum." — Ludov. Vives in Auqustin. de 
Civitat. Dei, lib. xviii. c. 8. 




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468 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



So felt the magnificent Son of Acbar,* 
When from pow'r and pomp and the tro- 
phies of wai [all 
He flew to that vaUey, forgetting them 
With the Light of the Haram, his 

young NouRMAJiAJi. 
When free and uncrown'd, as the Con- 
queror roved [beloved, 
By the banks of that lake, with his only 
He saw, in the wreaths she would play- 
fully snatch [could not match, 
From the hedges, a glory his crown 
And preferr' d m his heart the least ring- 
let that cm-l'd [of the world. 
Down her exquisite neck to the throne 

There's a beauty, forever unchangingly 

bright, [day's light. 

Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer- 
Shining on, shining on, by no shadow 

made tender, [splendor. 

Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of 
This was not the beauty — oh, nothing 

like this, [magic of bliss ! 

That to young N"o0RMAHal gave such 
But the loveliness, ever in motion, which 

plays 
Like the light upon autunm's soft 

shadowy days, 
Now here and now there, giving warmth 

as it flies, [cheek to the eyes ; 
Prom the lip to the cheek, from the 
Now melting in mist and now breaking 

in gleams, [in his dreams. 

Like the glimpses a saint hath of Heav'n 
When pensive, it seem'd as if that very 

grace, [her face ! 

That charm of all others, was bora with 
And when angry, — for ev'n in the tran- 

quillest climes [sometimes- 

Light breezes will ruffle the blossoms 
The short, passing anger but seem'd to 

awaken [est when shaken. 

New beauty, like flow'rs that are sweet- 
If tenderness touch'd her, the dark of 

her eye 
At once took a darker, a heav'nHer dye, 
From the depth of whose shadow, like 

holy revealings [of her feelings. 
From innermost shrines, came the light 
Then her mu'th — oh ! 'twas sportive as 

ever took wing 

* Jehan-Guire was the son of the Great 
Acbar. 

t In the wars of the Dives with the Peris, 
whenever the former took the latter prisoners, 
' they shut them up in iron capes, and hung 
them on the highest trees. Hero they were 



Prom the heart with a burst, like the 

wild bird in spring ; [sages, 

Illumed by a wit that would fascinate 
Yet playful as Peris just loosed from 

their cages . t [ control 

While her laugh, fuU of hfe, without any 
But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung 

from her soul ; [could discover. 
And where it most sparkled no glance 
La lip, cheek, or eyes, for shebrighteu'd 

all over, — [upon, 

Like any fair lake that the breeze is 
When it breaks into dimples and laughs 

in the sun. [meuts, that gave 
Such, such were the peerless enchaut- 
NouRMAHAL the proud Lord of the 

East for her slave : 
And though bright was his Haram,— a 

living parterre 
Of the flow'rst of this planet— though 

treasures were there. 
For which Soliman's self might have 

giv'n all the store [to his shore. 
That the navy from Ophir e'er wiug'd 
Yet dim before her were the smiles of 

them all, [Nourmahal ! 

And the Light of his Haram was young 

But where is she now, this night of joy. 

When bliss is every heart's employ ?— 

When all around her is so bright. 

So like the visions of a trance, [chance 

That one might think, who came by 

Into the vale this happy night. 

He saw that City of Delight§ 

In Fairy-land, whose streets and tow'rs 

Are made of gems, and light, and 

flow'rs ! 
Where is the loved Sultana? where. 
When mirth brings out the young and 

fair. 
Does she, the fairest, hide her brow. 
In melancholy stiUness now ? 

Alas !— how light a cause may move 
Dissension between hearts that love ! 
Hearts that the world in vain had tried, 
And sorrow but more closely tied ; 
That stood the storm, when waves were 
Yet in a svmny hour fell oil", [rough, 
Like ships that have gone down at sea, 
When heaven was all tranquillity ! 

visited by their companions, who brought them 
the choicest oCLovs."—Iiichardson. 

• In the Malay language the same word sig- 
nifies women aiid flowers. 

& The capital of Shadukiam. See note p. 
432. 




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LALLA ROOKH. 



469 



A something, light as air — a look, 

A word unkind or wrongly taken — 
Oh ! love, that tempests never shook, 

A breath, a touch like this hath sha- 
And ruder words will soon rush in [ken. 
To spread the breach that words begin ; 
And eyes forget the gentle ray 
They wore iu courtship's smiling day ; 
And voices lose the tone that shed 
A tenderness round all they said ; 
Till fast dechniug, one by one. 
The sweetnesses of love are gone, 
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem 
Like broken clouds, — or like the stream. 
That smiling left the mountain's brow 

As though its waters ne'er could sever, 
Yet, ere it reach the plain below, 

Breaks into floods, that part forever. 

Oh, you, that have the charge of Love, 

Keep him in rosy bondage bound. 
As in the Fields of Bliss above 

He sits, with flow'rets fetter'd 
round ;* — 
Loose not a tie that round him clings. 
Nor ever let him use his wings ; 
For ev'n an hour, a minute's flight 
Will rob the plumes of half their light. 
Like that celestial bird, — whose nest 

Is found beneath far Eastern skies, — 
"Whose wings, thoug*! radiant when at 
rest. 

Lose all their glory when he flies !t 

Some difl'rence, of this dan g'rous kind,— 
Bj which, though light, the bnks that 

bind 
The fondest hearts may soon be riv'n ; 
Some shadow in Love's summer heav'n, 
"Which, though a fleecy speck at flrst, 
May yet in awful thunder burst ; — 
Such cloud it is that now hangs over. 
The heart of the Imperial Lover, 
And far hath bauish'd from his sight 
His NouRMAnAL, his Haram's Light ! 
Hence is it, on this happy night, 
When Pleasm-e through the fields and 

groves 

* See the representation of the Eastern Cu- 
pid, pinioned closely round with wreaths of 
flowers, in Picart's Ceremonies ReliRieuses. 

t *' Among tlie birds of Tonquiu is a species 
of goldfinch, which sinps so melodiously that it 
is called the Celestial Biid. Its wings, when 
it IS perched, appear variegated with beautiful 
colors, but when it flies they lose all their splen- 
dor." — Orosier. 

; •' As these birds on the Bosphorus are never 
known to rest, they are c.ilh'il liy the French 
' les umes damufies.' " — DoUuway. 



Has let loose aU her world of loves, 
And every heart has found its own. 
He wanders, joyless and alone, 
And weary as that bird of Thrace, 
"Whose pinion knows no resting-place. J 

In vain the loveliest cheeks and eyes 
This Eden of the Earth suppUes [pale, 

Come crowding round — the cheeks are 
The eyes are dim; -though rich the spot 
With every flow'r this earth has got. 

What is it to the nightingale. 
If there his darling rose is not ?§ 
In vain the Yalley's smiling throng 
Worship him, as he moves along ; 
He heeds them not— one smile of hers 
Is worth a world of worshippers. 
They but the Star's adorers are. 
She is the Heav'n that lights the Star 1 

Hence is it, too, that Nourmahal, 

Amid the luxuries of this hour, 
Far from the joyous festival. 

Sits in her own sequester'd bow'i 
With no one near, to soothe or aid, 
But that inspired and wondrous maid, 
ISTamouna, the Enchantress ;— one. 
O'er whom his race the golden sun 
For unremember'd years has nm, 
ret never saw her blooming brow 
Younger or fairer than 'tis now. 
Nay, rather, — as the west wind's sigh 
Freshens the flow'r it passes by, — 
Time's wing but seem'd, in stealing o'er, 
To leave her lovelier than before. 
Yet on her smiles a sadness hung. 
And when, as oft, she spoke or sung 
Of other worlds, there came a light 
From her dark eyes so strangely bright, 
That all believed nor man nor earth 
Were conscious of Namouna's buthi 

All speUs and talismans she knew, 

■ From the gi-eat Mantra, || which around 

The Air's sublimer Spirits di'ew. 

To the gold gemsIT of Afric, bound 
Upon the wand'ring Arab's arm, 

§"Tou may place a hundred handfuls of 
fragrant herbs and flowers before tlie nightin- 
gale, yet he wislies not, in his constant heart, 
for more than the sweet breath of his beloved 
rose." — Jami. 

II "He is said to have found the etc at Man- 
tra, spell or talisman, through which he ruled 
over the elements and spirits of all denomiua- 
tions.'—Wil/ord. 

H " The gold jewels of Jinnie, which are called 
by the Aral)8 El Uerrez, from the supposed 
star::! they contain." — Jacksuiv 




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470 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



To keep him from the Siltim's* harm. 
And she had pledged her powerful art,— 
Pledged it with all the zeal and heart 
Of one who knew, though high her 

sphere. 
What 'twas to lose a love so dear,— 
To find some spell that should recall 
Her Selim'st smile to Nourmahal ! 

'Twas midnight,— through the lattice, 

wreath'd [ed 

With woodbine, many a perfume breath- 
From plants that wake when others 

sleep, 
From timid jasmine buds, that keep 
Their odor to themselves all day, 
But, wheu the sunlight dies away, 
Let the delicious secret out 
To every breeze that roams about; — 
When tiius Namouna :— " 'Tis the hour 
" That scatters spells on herb and flow'r, 
"And garlands might be gather'dnow, 
"That, twined around the sleeper's 

brow, [lights, 

"Would make him dream of such de- 
" Such miracles and dazzling sights, 
" As Genii of the Sun behold, 
" At evening, from their tents of gold 
" Upon th' horizon — where they play 
" Till twilight comes, and, ray by ray, 
" Their sunuy mansions melt away. 
" N"ow, too, a chaplet might be wreath'd 
"Of buds o'er which the moon has 

breathed, [stray'd, 

" Which worn by her, whose love has 

" Might biing some Peri from the skies, 

" Some sprite, whose very soul is made 

" Of flow'rets' breaths and lovers' sighs, 

" And who might tell " 

" For me, for me," 
Cried N"ouRiiAHAL impatiently, — 

* " A demon, supposed to haunt woods, &c., 
in a human sliape." — Richardson. 

t The name of Jehan-Guire before his acces- 
sion to the throne. 

J " Hemasagara, or the Sea of Gold, with 
flowers of the brightest gold color." — Sir W. 
Jones. 

§ " This tree (the Nagaeesara) is one of the 
most delightful on earth, and the delicious odor 
of its blossoms justly gives them a place in the 
quiver of Camadeva, or the God of Love."— *'tr 
If. Jones. 

II "The Malayans style the tube-rose (Poli- 
anthes tuberosa) Sandal Malam, or the Mistress 
of the Night."— Pennant. 

t The people of the IJatta country in Suma- 
tra, (of which Zamara is one of the ancient 
names,) " when not engaged in war, lead an 
idle, inactive life, passing the day in playing on 



"Oh! twine that wreath for me to- 
night." 
Then, rapidly, with foot as light 
As the young musk-roe's, out she flew, 
To cull each shining leaf that grew 
Beneath the moonlight's hallowing 

beams. 
For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams, 
Anemones and Seas of Gold,| 

And new-blown lilies of the river, 
And those sweet flow'rets that unfold 

Their buds on Camadeva's qui- 
ver ;— § 
The tube-rose, with her silv'ry light. 

That in the Gardens of Malay 
Is call'd the Mistress of the l^ight,|| 
So like a bride, scented and bright, 

She comes out when the sun's away;— 
Amaranths, such as crown the maids 
That wander through Zamara's 

shades ; — U 
And the white moon-flow'r, as it shows. 
On Serendib's high crags, to those 
Who near the isle at evening sail. 
Scenting her clove-trees in the gale ; 
In short, all flow'rets and all plants, 

From the divine Amrita tree,** 
That blesses heaven's mhabitants 

Witti fruits of immortality, 
Down to the basil tuft,tt that waves 
Its fragrant blossom over graves. 

And to the humble rosemary. 
Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed 
To scent the descrttt and the dead: — 
All in that garden bloom, and all 
Are gather'd by young Nourmahal, 
Who heaps her baskets with the flow'rs 

And leaves, till they can hold no 
more; 
Then to Namouna flies, and show'rs 

Upon her lap the shining store. 

a kind of flute, crowned with garlands of flow- 
ers, among which the globe-amaranthus, a na- 
tive of the country, mostly prevails." — Alars- 
den. 

** The largest and richest sort (of the Jamhu, 
or rose-apple) is called Amrita, or immortal, 
and the mythologists of Tibet apply the same 
word to a celestial tree, bearing ambrosial 
fruit."— 5ir Tf. Jones. 

tt Sweet basil, called Rayhan in Persia, and 
generally found in churchyards. 

" The women in Egypt go, at least two days 
in the week, to pray and weep at the sepulchres 
of the dead; and the custom then is to throw 
upon the tombs a sort of herb which the Arabs 
call rihan, and which is our sweet basil."— 
Maillet, Lett. 10. 

;; "In the Great Desert are found many 
stalks of lavender and rosemary."— Asiat. Re». 



LALLA ROOKH. 



471 



"With-v^liat delight th' Enchantress views 
So many buds, bathed with the dews 
And beams of that bless'd hour ! — her 
glance [sures, 

Sjjoke something past all mortal plea- 
As, in a kind of holy trance, [sm"es, 

She hung above those fragrant trea- 
Bending to drink then- balmy airs, 
As if she mix'd her soul with theu's. 
And 'twas, indeed, the perfume shed 
From flow'rs and scented flame, that fed 
Her charmed life — for none had e'er 
Beheld her taste of mortal fare, 
2for ever in aught earthly dip, 
But the mom's dew, her roseate lip. 
Fill'd with the cool, inspiring smell, 
Th' Enchantress now begins her spell. 
Thus singing as she winds and weaves 
In mystic form the glittering leaves: — 

I know where the winged visions dwell 

That around the night-bed play ; 
I know each herb and flow'ret's bell, 
"Where they hide their wings by day. 
Then hasten we, maid. 
To twine our braid, [fade. 

To -moiTow the dreams and flowers will 

The image of love, that nightly flies 

To visit the bashful maid. 
Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs 

Its soul, like" her, in the shade. 
The dream of a futm-e, happier hour, 

That alights on misery's brow. 
Springs out of the silv'ry almond-flow'r. 

That blooms on a leafless bough.* 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, [fade. 

To-morrow the dreams and flowers will 

The visions, that oft to worldly eyes 

The ghtter of mines unfold, 
Inhabit the mountain-herb, t that dyes 

The tooth of the fawn like gold. 

* " The almond tree, with white flowers, blos- 
soms on the bare branches." — Kasselquixt. 

t An herb on Mount Libanus, whicli is said 
to communicate a yellow golden hue to tlie 
teeth of the goats and other animals that graze 
upon it. 

Hicbuhr thinks this may be the herb which 
the Eastern alchymists look to as a means of 
making gold, "ilost of those alchemical en- 
tliusinsts tliink themselves sure of success, if 
they could but find out the herb which gilds the 
teeth and gives a yellow color to the flesh of the 
sheep that eat it. Even the oil of this plant 
must be fif a golden color. It is called Hasch- 
inckat ed dab" 

Father Jerome Dandini, however, asserts 
that the teeth of the tfoats at Mount Libanus 



The phantom shapes — oh touch not 
them — 
That appal the murd'rer's sight, 
Lurk in the fleshly mandrake's stem. 
That shrieks, when pluck'd at night ! 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine oiu- braid, [fade. 

To-morrow the dreams and flowers will 

The dream of the injured, patient mind, 

That smiles with the wrongs of men. 
Is found in the bruised and wounded rind 
Of the cinnamon, sweetest then. 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, [fade. 

To-morrow the dreams and flowers wiU 

No sooner was the flow'ry crown 
Placed on her head, than sleep came 
Gently as nights of summer fall, [down, 
TJp()u''the lids of N'ourmahal ;— 
And, suddenly, a tuneful breeze. 
As fuU of small, rich harmonies 
As ever wind, that o'er the tents 
Of AzABt blew, was full of scents. 
Steals on her ear, and floats and swells 

Like the first air of morning creeping 
Into those wreathy. Red Sea shells, 

■Wliere Love himself, of old, lay sleep- 
ing ;§ 
And now a Spirit form'd, 'twould seem, 

Of music and of light, — so fair, 
So brilliantly his features beam, 

And such a sound is in the air 
Ofsweetness when he waveshis wings,— 
Hovers around her, and thus sings : 

From CniNDARA'sll warbling fount I 

come, [spell ; 

Call'd by that moonlight garland's 

From Chindara's fount, my fairy home. 

Where in music, mom and night, I 

dwell. 

"WTiere lutes in the air are heard about, 



are of a silver color; and adds, "this confirms 
to me that which I observed in Candia: to wit, 
that the animals that live on Mount Ida eat a 
certain herb, which renders their teeth of agold- 
en color; which, according to my judgment, 
cannot otherwise proceed than from the mines 
which are under ground."— i>andini, Voyage 
to Mount Lebanus. 

♦ The myrrh country. 

§ " This idea (of deities living in shells) was 
not unknown to the Greeks, who represent the 
young Kerites, one of tlie Cupids, as living in 
shells on the shores of the Red Sea.. '—Wilf or d. 

II " A fabulous fountain, where instruments 
are said to be constantly playing.' —Jiichard 
son. 



J 




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472 



MOOEB'S WORKS. 



And voices are singing the -n-hole day 

long, 
And every sigh the heart breathes out 
Is tum'd, as it leaves the lips, to song. 

Hither I come 

Trom my fairy home, 
And if there's "a magic in Music's strain, 

I swear by the breath 

Of that moonlight wreath, 
Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 

For mine is the lay that lightly floats, 
And mine are the murm'ring, dying 

notes, 
That fall as soft as snow on the sea. 
And melt in the heart as instantly : — 
And the passionate strain that, deeply 

going, 
Refinesthe bosom it tremble sthi-ough, 
As the musk-wind, over the water 

blowing, 
Ruffles the wave, but sweetens it too. 

Mine is the charm, whose mystic sway 
The spirits of past Delight obey ;— 
.Let but the tuneful talisman sound, 
And they come, like Genii, hov'ring 

round. 
And mine is the gentle song that bears 

From soul to soul, the wishes of love. 
As a bird, that wafts through genial airs 

The cinnamon-seed from grove to 
grove. * 

'Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure 

The past, the present, and future of 

pleasure ;t [gone 

When Memory linlis the tone that is 

With the biissful tone that's still in 
the ear ; 

* " The Pompadour pipeon is the species, 
which, by carrying the truit of the ciunamou to 
different place's, is a great disseminator of this 
valuBl)Ie tree."— See Brmcn's Illustr., Tab. 19. 

t " Whenever our pleasure arises from a suc- 
cession of sounds, it is a perception of a com- 
plicated nature, made up of a sensation of the 
E resent sound or note, and an idea or remem- 
ranee of the foregoing, while their mixture and 
concurrence produce such a mysterious delight, 
as neither could have produced alone. And it 
;s often heightened by an anticipation of the 
succeeding notes. Thus Sense, Memory, and 
Imagniation, are conjunctively employea." — 
Ocrrard on i?aste. 

This is exactly the Epicurean theory of Plea- 
sure, as explained by Cicero :—" Quocirca cor 
pu gaudere tamdiu. dum prtesentem sentiret 
roluptatem: animum et prascntem percipere 
paruer cum corpore et prospicere vonientem, 
nee pnieteritam prastorfluere sinere." 

Madame de Staol accounts upon the same 
principle for the gratification we derive from 



And Hope from a heavenly note flies on 
To a note more heavenly still that is 



The warrior's heart, when touch'd by me, 
Can as downy soft and as yielding be 
As his own white plume, tliat high amid 
death [with a breath ! 

Through the field has shone— yet moves 
And, oh, how the eyes of Beanty gUsten, 
When Music has reach'd her inward 
soul. 
Like the silent stars that wink and listen 
While Heaven's eternal melodies roll. 
So, hither I come 
From my faury home. 
And if there's a magic in Music's 
I swear by the breath [strain. 
Of that moonlight wreath, 
Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 

'Tis dawn — at least that earlier dawn, 
Whose ghmpses are again withdi-awu,t 
As if the morn had waked, and then 
Shut close her Mds of light again. 
And NouRMAHAL is up, and trying 

The wonders of her lute, whose 

strings — [ing 

Oh, bliss ! — now murmur like the sigh- 

From that ambrosial Spmt's wings. 
And then, her voice— 'tis more than hu- 
man— 

Never, till now, had it been given 
To lips of any mortal woman 

To utter notes so fresh from heaven ; 
Sweet as the breath of angel sighs, 

When angel sighs are most divine.^ 
" Oh ! let it last tiU night," she cries, 

" And he is more than ever mine." 
rhyme: — " EUe est I'image del'esperanceet du 
souvenir. Vn son nous fait d^sirer celui qui 
doit lui repondre. et quand le second retentit 
il nous rappelle celui qui vient de nous 6chap- 
per " 

t "The Persians have two mornings, the 
Soobhi Kaaini and the Soobhi Sadig, the false 
and the real daybreak. They account for this 
phenomenon in a most wliimsical manner. 
They say that as the sun rises from behind the 
Kohi Qaf, (Mount Caucasus,) it passes a hole 
perforated through that mountain, and that 
darting its rays through it, it is the cause of the 
Soobhi Kazim, or this temporary appearance of 
daybreak As it ascends, the earth is again 
veiled in darkness, until the sun rises above the 
mountain, and brings with it the Soobhi Sadig, 
or real morning."— /Sco« Waring. He thinks 
Milton may allude to this when he says,— 
" Ere the blabbing Eastern scout. 
The nice morn on the Indian steep 
From her cabin'd loop-hole peeA " 




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LALLA EOOKH. 



473 



AjQd houi'Iy she rene'tvs the lay, 

So fearful lest its heav'nly sweetness 
Should, ere the evening, fade away,— 

For things so heav'nly have such 
fleetness ! 
But, far from fading, it but grows 
Eicher, diviner as it flows ; 
'fill rapt she dwells on every string, 

And pours again each sound along. 
Like echo, lost and languishing, 

In love with her own wondrous song. 

That evening, (trusting that his soul 

Might be from haunting love released 
By mirth, by music, and the bowl, ) 

Th' Imperial Seliji held a feast 
In his magnificent Shalimar : — * 
In whose saloons, when the first star 
Of evening o'er the waters trembled, 
The Talley's loveMest all assembled ; 
AU the bright creatures that, like 
dreams, [beams 

Glide thi-ough its foliage, and diink 
Of beauty from its founts'and streams ;t 
And all those wand'ring minstrel-maids, 
WTao leave— how can they leave? — the 

shades 
Of that dear Yalley, and are found 

Singing in gardens of the South t 
Those songs, that ne'er so sweetly sound 

As fr-om"a young Cashmerian's mouth. 

There, too, the Haram's inmates snule ; — 
Maids fi-om the West, with sun-bright 

hair, 
* " In tlip centre of the plain, as it ap- 
proaches the Lake, one of the Delhi Emperors, 
I believe Shah Jehan, constructed a spacious 
frardca called the Shalimar, which is abun- 
dantly stored with fruit-trees and flowering 
shrubs. Some of the rivulets which intersect 
the plain are led into a canal at the back of the 
garden, and flowing through its centre, or oc- 
casionally thrown into a variety of water- 
works, compose the chief beauty of the Shali- 
mar. To decorate this spot the Mogul Princes 
of India have displayed an equal maguificeuce 
and taste; especi"Jly Jehan Glieer, who, with 
the enchanting KoorMahl, made Kashmirehis 
usual residence during the summer months. 
On arches thrown over the canal are erected, 
at equal distances, four or five suites of apart- 
ments, each consisting of a saloon, with four 
rooms at the angles, where the followers of the 
court attend, and the servants prepare sher- 
bets, cotTee, and the hookah. The frame of the 
doors of the principal saloon is composed of 
pieces of a stone of a black color, streaked with 
yellow lines, and of a closer grain and higher 
polish than porphyry. They were taken, it is 
said, from a Hindoo temple, by one of the Mo- 
gul princes, and are esteemed of great value." 
— Forstcr. 



And from the garden of the ITile, 
Delicate as the roses there; — § 
Daughters of love from Cyprus^ rocks, 
"With Paphian diamonds ia theit 

locks;— II 
Light Peri forms, such as they are 
On the gold meads of Candahar ;1[ 
And they, before whose sleepy eyes, 

In their own bright Kathaian bow'rs, 
Sparkle such rainbow butterflies, 

That they might fancy the rich flow'rs, 
That round them in the sun lay sigh- 

Had been by magic all set flying.** 

Every thing yovmg, every thing fair 
From East and West is blushing there, 
Except — except — oh, jS'ouRMAHAii! 
Thou loveliest, dearest of them all. 
The one whose smile shone out alone, 
Amidst a world the only one ; 
Whose light, among so many lights, 
Was like that star on starry nights. 
The seaman singles from the sky, 
To steer his bark forever by ! 
Thou wert not there — so Selim thought. 

And every thing seem'd drear without 
thee; 
But, ah! thou wert, thou wert, — ano 
brought 

Thy charm of song all fresh about thee. 
Mingling unnoticed with a l)and 
Of lutanists from many a land, 
And veil'd by such a mask as shades 

t " The waters of Cachemir are the more re- 
nownedfrom its beiugsupposed thattheCache- 
mirians are indebted tor their beauty to them." 
—AU Tczdi. 

t "From him I received the following little 
Gazzel, or Love Song, the notes of which he 
committed to paper from the voice of one of 
tliose singing girls of Cashmere, who wander 
from that delightful valley over the various 
parts of India."— Pe?-6-ian Miscellanies. 

§ " The roses of the Jinan Nile, or Garden 
of the Kile (attached to the Emperor of Moroc- 
co's palace), are unequalled, and mattresses are 
made of their leaves for the men of rank to re- 
cline upon." — Jackson. 

II " On the side of a mountain near PaphoB 
there is a cavern which produces the most 
beautiful rock-crystal. On account of its bril- 
liancy it has been called the Paphian dia- 
mond." — Jilariti. 

t " There is a part of Candahar, called Pe- 
ria, or Fairy Land " — Thevenot. In some of 
those countries to the north of India, vegetable 
gold is supposed to be produced. 

** " These are the butterflies which arc called 
in the Chinese language Flying Leaves. Some 
of them have such shining colors, and are so 
variegated, that they may be called flying flow 




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<74 



MOOEE'S WOKKS. 



The features of yoiing Arab maids, — * 
A mask that leaves but one eye free, 
To do its best in witchery, — 
bhe roved, with beating heart, around, 

And waited, trembling, for the minute, 
When she might try if still the sound 

Of her loved lute' had magic in it. 

The board was spread with fruits and 

wine; 
With grapes of gold, like those that shine 
On Casein's hills ;t— pomegranates full 

Of melting sweetness, and the pears, 
'And sunniest applest that Oaubul 

In all its thousand gardens^ bears ; — 
Plantains, the golden and the green, 
Malaya's nectai-'d mangusteeu ;|| 
Prunes of Bokhara, and sweet nuts 

From the far groves of Samarcand, 
And Basra dates, and apricots, 

Seed of the Sun, IT from Iran's land ; — 
With rich conseiTC of Visna chemes,** 
Of orange flowers, and of those berries 
That, wild and fresh, the young gazelles 
Feed on in Erac's rocky dells. tf 
All these in richest vases smile. 

In baskets of pure sandal-wood, 
And urns of porcelain from that isleJt 

Sunk underneath the Indian flood, 
Whence oft the lucky diver brings 
Yases to grace the halls of kings. 
Wines, too, of every clime and hue, 
Ai-ound their liquid lustre threw ; 
Amber Rosolli,§$ — the bright dew 
From vineyards of the Green-Sea gush- 
ing, II II 
And Shiraz wine, that richly ran 

As if that jewel, large and rare. 
The ruby for which KuBLAi-KnAN 

ers, and indeed thev are always produced in 
the finest flower-garilens." — Dunn. 

* "The Arabian women wear black masks 
with little clasps prettily ordered." — Carreri. 
Kiebuhr mentions their showing but one eye in 
conversation. 

t " The golden grapes of Ca.sbiu."— Descrip- 
tion of Persia. 

I " The fruits exported from Cabul are ap- 
ples, pears, pomegranates," &c. — Elphinstone. 

§ "Wo sat down under a tree, listened to 
the birds, and talked with the son of our Meh- 
maundar about our country and Caubul, of 
which he gave an enchanting account; that 
city audits 100,000 gardens," &c.— /6. 

II " The mangusteeu, the most delicate fruit 
in the world; the pride of the Malay islands." — 
Marsden. 

IT "A delicious kind of apricot called by the 
Persians tokmek-shems, signifying sun's seed." 
— Deseriptlon of Persia. 

** •• Sweetmeats, in a crystal cup, consisting 
of rose-leuvGs in conserve, with lemon of Visna 



Offer'd a city's wealth, HIT was blushing, 
Melted within the goblets there ! 

And amply Selim quaffs of each, 
And seems resolved the flood shall reach 
His inward heart, — shedding around 

A genial deluge, as they run. 
That soon shall leave no spot undi'own'd. 

For Love to rest his wings upon. 
He little knew how well the boy 

Can float upon a goblet's streams, 
Lighting them with his smile of joy. — 

As bards have seen him in their dreams, 
Down the blue Ganges laughing glide 

Upon a rosy lotus wreath,*** 
Catching new lustre from the tide 

That with his image shone beneath. 

But what are cups, without the aid 
Of song to speed them as they flow ? 

And see— a lovely Georgian maid, 
With all the bloom, the freshen'd glow 

Of her own country maidens' looks. 

When warm they rise from Teflis? 
brooks ; ttt 

And with an eye, whose restless ray, 
Full, floating, dark — oh, he, who know? 

His heart is weak, of Heav'n should pray 
To guard him from such eyes as 

those ! — 
With a voluptuous wildness flings 
Her snowy hand across the strings 
Of a syrinda.ttt and thus sings :— 

Come hither, come hither — by night and 

by day, [gone ; 

We linger in pleasures that never are 

Like the waves of the summer, as one 
dies away, 

cherry, orange flowers,'' &c.—Rv,ssel. 

tt ''Antelopes cropping the fresh berries of 
Erac."— The Moallakat, Poem of Tarafa. 

+t " Mauri-ga-Sima, an islund near Formosa, 
supposed to have been sunk in the sea for the 
crimes of its inhabitants. The vessels which 
the fishermen and divers bring up from it are 
sold at an immense price in China and Japan." 
— See Eempfer. 

§§ Persian Tales. 

III! The wliite wine of Kishma. 

HH " The king of Zeilan is said to have the 
very finest ruby that was ever seen. Kublni- 
Khan sent and offered the value of a city for it, 
but the King answered he would not give it for 
the treasure of the world."— Jlfarco Polo. 

*** The Indians feign that Cupid was first seen 
floating down the Ganges on the NymphoeaNe- 
lumbo. — See Pennant. 

ttt Teflis is celebrated for its natural warm 
baths.— See Hbn Haukal. 

Xil "The Indian Syrinda, or guitar."— /S^/- 




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LA.LLA ROOKH. 



475 



Another as sweet and as shining comes 

on. 

And the love that is o'er, in expiring, 

gives birth [in bliss ; 

To a new one as warm, as unequal'd 

And, oh ! if there be an Elysium on earth, 

It is this, it is this.* 

Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant 

their sigh [by a bee ;t 

As the ilow'r of the Amra just oped 

And precious their tears as that rain 

from the sky, J [the sea. 

"WTiich turns into pearls as it falls in 

Oh ! think what the kiss aud the smUe 

must be worth [perfect in bliss, 

"When the sigh and the tear are so 

And own if there bean Elysium on earth, 

It is this, it is this. 

Here sparkles the nectar, that, hallow'd 

by love, [from their sphere. 

Could draw down those angels of old 

Who for wine of this earthy left the 

fountains above, [wo have here. 

And forgot heav'n's stars for the eyes 

And, bless'd with the odor our goblet 

gives forth, [would miss '? 

"WTiat Spirit the sweets of his Eden 

For, oh ! if there be an Elysium on earth, 

It is this, it is this. 

The Georgian's song was scarcely mute, 

"WTien the same measure, sound for 
Was cai^ght up by another lute, [sound, 

And so divinely breathed around, 
That all stood hush'd aud wondering, 

And tum'd and look'd into the air, 
As if they thought to see the wing. 

Of IsRAFiL,|| the Angel, there;— 
So pow'rf'ully on ev'ry soul 

That new, enchanted measure stole. 
"While now a voice, sweet as the note 

Of the charm'd lute, was heard to float 
Along its chords, and so entwine 

Its sounds with theirs, that none knew 
whether 
The voice or lute was most divine, 

So wondrously they went together: — 

There's a bliss beyond all that the min- 
strel has told, [heav'uly tie, 
When two, that are link'd in one 

* "Around the exterior of tlioDewan Kliafs 
(a building of Shah Alhim's) iu the cornice nre 
the following lines in letters of gold upon a 
ground of white marble—' If there be a paradise 
upon earth, it is thin, it is this.' "—Francklin. 

t "Deliirhtful are tlie flowers of the Amra 
trees on the mountain-tops, whUo the murmur- 



With heart never changing, and brow 
never cold, [till they die ! 

Love on through all Uls, and love ou 
One hour of a passion so sacred is worth 
Whole ages of heartless and wander- 
ing bUss ; 
And, oh ! if there he an Elysium on earth. 
It is this, it is this. 

'Twas not the air, 'twas not the words, 
But that deep magic iu the chords 
And in the lips, that gave such pow'r 
As Music knew not till that hour. 
At once a hundred voices said, 
"It is the mask'd Arabian maid!" 
While Selim, who had felt the strain 
Deepest of any, and had lain 
Some minutes rapt, as in a trance, 

After the fairy sounds were o'er, 
Too irdy touch'd for utterance, [mere :— 

ISTow motion'd with his hand for 

Fly to the desert, fly with mc. 
Our Arab tents are rude for thee ; 
But, oh! the choice what heart can 

doubt. 
Of tents with love, or thrones without 1 

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there 
Th' acacia waves her yellow hair. 
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less 
For llow'ring in a wilderness. 

Our sands are bare, but down their slope 

The silv'ry-footed antelope 

As gracefully and gayly springs 

As o'er the marble com-ts of kings. 

Then come — thy Arab maid will be 
The loved and lone acacia-trce. 
The antelope, whose feet shall bless 
With their light sound thy loneliness. 

Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart 
Aninstant sunshme through the heart,— 
As if the soul that minute caught 
Some treasure it through life had sought, 

As if the very lips and eyes. 
Predestined to have aU our sighs, 
And never be forgot again. 
Sparkled and spoke before us then ! 
ingbees pursue their voluptuous toil."— /Sonjroj 
Jayadeva. 

t "The Nisan or drops of spring rain 
which they believe to produce pearls if they fall 
into shells."— iiic/iardson. . 

i For an account of the share which wino 
had in the fall of the angels, see Mariti. 

II The Angel of Music. See note t p. 459. 




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MOORE'S "V70RKS. 



So came thy ev'ry glance and tone 
When first on me they breathed and 

shone ; 
New, as if brought from other spheres, 
Yet welcome as if loved for years. 

Then fly with me, — if thou hast known 
No other flame, nor falsely thrown 
A gem awaj', that thou hadst Bwom 
Should ever in thy heart be wort. 

Come, if the love thou hast for me, 
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee, — 
Fresh as the fountain under ground, 
"When first 'tis by the lapwing found.* 

But if for me thou dost forsake 
Some other maid, and rudely break 
ller worshipp'd image from its base, 
To give to me the ruin'd place ; — 

Then, fare thee well — I'd rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake 
"When thawing suns begin to shine, 
Than trust to love so false as thine I 

There was a pathos in this lay, 

That, ev'n without enchantment's art, 
"Would instantly have found its way 

Deep into Selim's burning heart ; 
But, breathing, as it did, a tone 
To earthly lutes and lips unknown ; 
"With every chord fresh from the touch 
Of Music's Spirit; — 'twas too much ! 
Starting, he dash'd away the cup, — 

Which, all the time of this sweet air, 
His hand had held, untasted, up, 

As if 'twere fijs'd by magic there, — 
And naming her, so long unnamed, 
So long unseen, wildly exclaim'd, 

" Oh NOURMAHAL ! oh NOURMAHAL ! 

" Hadst thou but sung this witching 
strara, 
" I could forget— forgive thee all, 

" And never leave those eyes again." 

The mask is ofi"— the charm is 
wrought— 
And Selim to his heart has caught, 
In blushes more than ever bright, 
His NoURMAHAL, his Haram's Light ! 
And well do vanish'd frowns enhance 
The charm of every brighten'd glance ; 
And dearer seems each dawning smile 

* The Hiidlmd, or Lapwing, is supposed to 
have the powc-r of discovering water uuder 
ground. 

t Sw n. 449. 

t"Th"o Chinese had formerly the art of 
painting on the side.s of porcelain vessels fish 
and other animals, which were only perceptible 



For having lost its light awhile : 
And, happier now, for all her sighs, 

As on his arm her head reposes. 
She whispers him, with laughing eyes, 

"Remember, love, the Feast of Roses." 



Fadladeen, at the conclusion of this 
light rhapsody, took occasion to sum up 
his opinion of the young Cashmerian's 
poetry, — of which, he trusted, they had 
that evening heard the last. Having 
recapitulated the epithets, "frivolous" 
— " inhai-monious " — " nonsensical," he 
proceeded to say that, viewing it in the 
most favorable light, it resembled one 
of those Maldivian boats, to which the 
Princess had alluded in the relation of 
her dream, t — ashght, gilded thing, sent 
adrift without nidder or ballast, and 
with nothing but vapid sweets and 
faded flowers on board. The profusion, 
indeed, of flowers and birds, which this 
poet had ready on all occasions, — not to 
mention dews, gems, &c. — was a most 
oppressive kind of opulence to his hear- 
ers : and had the unlucky effect of giv- 
ing to his style all the glitter of the 
flower-garden without its method, and 
all the flutter of the aviary without its 
song. In addition to this, he chose his 
subjects badly, and was always most 
inspired by the worst partJ of them. 
The channs of paganism, the merits of 
rebellion, — these were the themes hon- 
ored with his particular enthusiasm ; 
and, in the poem just recited, one of his 
most palatable passages was in praise 
of that beverage of the TJufaitliful, 
wine ;— " being, perhaps," said he, re- 
laxing into a smile, as conscious of his 
own character in the Haram on this 
point, " one of those bards whose fancy 
owes all its illumination to the grape, 
like that painted porcelain,! so curious 
and so rare, whose images are only visi- 
ble when lic[uor is poured into it." Upon 
the whole, it was his opinion, from the 
specimens which they had heard, and 
which, he begged to say, were the most 
tiresome part of the journey, that — 
whatever other merits this well-dressed 

when the vessel was full of some liqnor. They 
call tliis species Kia-tsin, thr.t is, azure is put 
in 2}re8S, on account of tlie manner in -Hhich the 
azure is laid on." — " They are every now and 
then trying to recover the art of this magical 
painting, but to no purpose."— 2>M7tn. 




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LALLA KOOKH. 



477 



young gentleman might possess— poetry 
was by no means his proper avocation : 
" and indeed," concluded the critic, 
' ' from his fondness for flowers and for 
birds, I would venture to suggest that 
a florist or a bird-catcher is a much 
more suitable calling for him than a 
poet." 

They had now begun to ascend those 
barren mountaius, which separate Cash- 
mere from the rest of India ; and, as the 
heats were intolerable, and the time of 
their encampments limited to the few 
hours necessary for refreshment aud re- 

f)ose, there was an end to aU their de- 
ightful evenings.and Lalla Rookh saw 
nomoreof Feramorz. She now felt that 
her short di-eam of happiness was over, 
and that she had nothing but the recol- 
lection of its few bhssful hours, hke the 
one di-aught of sweet water that serves 
the camel across the wilderness, to be 
her heart's reti-eshment during the dreary 
waste of life that was before her. The 
blight that had fallen upon her spirits 
soon found its way to her cheek, and 
her ladies saw with regret— though not 
without some suspicion of the cause — 
that the beauty of their mistress, of 
which they were almost as proud as of 
then own, ■< as fast vanishing away at 
the very moment of all when she had 
most need of it. What must the King 
of Bucharia feel, when, instead of the 
lively and beautiful Lalla Rookh, 
whom the poets of Delhi had described 
as more perfect than the divinest im- 
ages in the house of Azor,* he should 
receive a pale and inanimate victim, 
upon whose cheek neither health nor 
pleasm*e bloomed, and from whose eyes 

" An eminent carver of idols, said in the 
Koran to bo father to Abraham. " I have such 
a lovely idol as is not to be met with in the 
house of Azor " — Rafiz. 

t Kachmire be Nazeer. —Forster. 

I "The pardonable superstition of the se- 
quP9tered inhabitants has multiplied the places 
of worship of Mahadeo, of Beschan, and of 
Brama. All Cashmere is holy land, and mirac- 
ulous fountains ahoxmd."— Major lienncVs Me- 
moirs of a Map of Hindostan. 

Jehan-Guirc mentions " a fountain in Cash- 
mere called Tirnagli, which signifies a snake; 
probably because some large snake had former- 
ly been seen there."— '-During the lifetime of 
my father, I went twice to tliis fountain, which 
is about twenty coss from the city of Caslimere. 
The vestiges of places of worship and sanctity 
are to be traced without number amongst the 
ruins and the caves which are intersperied ' 



Love had fled, — to hide himself in her 
heart ? 

If anything could have charmed away 
the melancholy of her spmts, it would 
have been the fresh airs and enchanting 
scenery of that Valley, which the Per- 
sians so justly called the Unequalled.! 
But neither the coolness of its atmos- 
phere, so Insurious after toiling up those 
bare and burning mountains, —neither 
the splendor of the minarets and pago- 
das, that shone out from the depth of 
its woods, nor the grottoes, hermitages, 
and miraculous fountaius,{ which make 
every spot of that region holy ground, — 
neither the countless wateifalls, that 
rush into the Valley from all those high 
and romantic mountains that ench-cle it, 
nor the fair city on the Lake, whoso 
houses, roofed with flowers, appeared 
at a distance like one vast and variegat- 
ed parterre : — not all these wonders and 
glories of the most lovely country under 
tiie sun could steal her heart for a min- 
ute from those sad thoughts, which but 
darkened, and grew bitterer every step 
she advanced. 

The gay pomps and processions that 
met her upon her entrance into the Val- 
ley, and the magnificence with which 
the roads all along were decorated, did 
honor to the taste and gallantry of the 
young King. It was night when they 
approached the city, and, for the last 
two mUes, they had passed under arches, 
thrown from hedge to hedge, festooned 
with only those rarest roses from which 
the Attar Gul, more precious than gold, 
is distUled, and illuminated in rich and 
fanciful forms with lartems of the triple 
colored tortoise-shell { f Pegu.|l Some- 
its neighborhood."— ToozcfcJeftanf/eeTT/. —Vide 
Asiat. Misc., vol. ii. 

There is another account of Cashmere by 
Abul-Fazil, the author of the Ayin-Acbaree, 
"who," says Major Ilcnnel, " appears to have 
caught some of the enthusiasm of the valley, by 
his description of the holy places in it." 

J " On a standing roof of wood is laid a cov- 
ering of fine earth, which shelters (lie building 
from the great quantity of snow tliat falls in 
the winter season. This fence coraraunicatea 
an equal warmth in winter, as a refreshing 
coolness in the summer season, when the tops 
of the houses, which are planted with a variety 
of flowers, exhibit at a distance the spacious 
Tiew of a beautifully checkered parterre."— 
Forster. 

II " Two hundred slaves there are, who have 
no other office than to hunt the woods and 
marshes for triple-colored tortoises for the 



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478 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



times, from a dark wood by the side of 
the road, a display of fireworks would 
Ijreak out, so sudden and so brilliant, 
that a Brahmin might fancy he beheld 
that grove, in whose purple shade the 
God of Battles was bom, bursting into a 
llame at the moment of his birth; — 
while, at other times, a quick and play- 
ful irradiation continued to brighten all 
the fields and gardens by which they 
passed, forming a line of dancing lights 
along the horizon; like the meteors of 
the north as they are seen by those him- 
ters* who pursue the white and blue 
fuxes on the confines of the Icy Sea. 

These arches and fireworks delighted 
the Ladies of the Princess exceedingly; 
and with their usual good logic, they 
deduced ft-om his taste for illuminations, 
that the King of Bucharia would make 
the most exemplary husband imagina- 
ble. jSTor, indeed, could Lalla Rookh 
herself help feeling the kindness and 
splendor with which the young brlde- 
gi-':^om welcomed her;— but she also felt 
how painful is the gratitude, which kind- 
ness fi-om those we cannot k)ve excites; 
and that their best blandishments come 
over the heart with all that chilling and 
deadly sweetness, which we can fancy 
m the cold, odoiiferous windf that is to 
blow over this earth in the last days. 

The marriage was fixed for the morn- 
ing after her amval, when she was, for 
the first time, to be presented to the 
monarch in that Imperial Palace beyond 
the lake, called the Shalimar. Though 
never before had a night of more wake- 
ful and anxious thought been passed in 
the Happy Valh y, yet, when she rose 
in the morning, and her Ladies came 
around her, to assist in the adjustment 
of the bridal ornaments, they thought 
they had never seen her look half so 
beautiful. "WTiat she nad lost of the 
bloom and radiancy of her charms was 
more than made up by that intellectual 
3xpression, that soul beaming forth from 
the eyes, which is worth all the rest of 
loveliness. "Wlien they had tinsed her 
fingers with the Henna leaf and placed 
upon her brow a small coronet of jewels 

King's Vivary. Ot the shells ot these also lan- 
terns are made." — Vincent le Blanc's Travels. 

* Por a description of the Anrora Borealis ns 
It appears to these hunters, \iA& Encyclopcedia. 

I This wind, which is to blow from Syria 



of the shape worn by the ancient Queens 
of Bucharia, they flung over her head 
the rose-colored bridal veil, and she pro- 
ceeded to the barge that was to convey 
her across the lake ; — first kissing, with 
a mom-uful look, the Httle amulet of 
cornelian which her father at parting 
had hung about her neck. 

The morning was as fresh and fair as 
the maid on whose nuptials it rose, and 
the shilling lake all covered with boats, 
the minstrels playing upon the shores of 
the islands, and the crowded stimmer- 
houses on the gi"een hills around, with 
shawls and banners waving from their 
roofs, presented such a picture of ani- 
mated rejoicing, as only she who was 
the object of it all, did not feel with 
transport. To Lalla Rookh alone it 
was a melancholy pageant; nor could she 
have ever borne to look upon the scene, 
were it not for a hope that, among the 
crowds around, she might once more 
perhaps catch a glimpse of Feramorz. 
So much was her imagination haunted 
by this thought, that there was scarcely 
an islet or -boat she passed on the way, 
at which her heart did not flutter with 
the momentary fancy that he was there. 
Happy, in her eyes, the hm blest slave 
upon whom the light of h<A dear looks 
feU !— In the barge immediately after the 
princess sat Fadladeen, with his silken 
curtains thrown widely apart, that all 
might have the benefit of his august 
presence, and with his head full of the 
speech he was to deliver to the King, 
" concerning Feramorz, and literature, 
and the Chabuk, as comiected there- 
with." 

They now had entered the canal which 
leads from the Lake to the splendid 
domes and saloons of the Shalimar, and 
went gliding on through the gardens that 
ascended Irom each bank, full of flow- 
ering shriibs that made the air all per- 
fume; while from the middle of the canal 
rose jets of water, smooth and unbrok- 
en, to such a dazzling height that they 
stood like tall pillars of diamond in the 
sunshine. After sailing under the arches 
of various saloons, they at length arrived 

Damascena, is, according to the Mahometans, 
one of the signs of the Last Day's approach. 

Another of the sings is. "Great distress in 
the world, so that a man when he passes by an- 
other's grave shall say, Would tu God I were 
in hi.s place!"— laic's Preliminary Discourse. 




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POLITICAL AOT) SATIKICAL POEMS. 



479 



at the last and most maguificent, -n-here 
the monarch awaited the coming of his 
bride; and such was the agitation of her 
heart and frame, that it was with diffi- 
culty she could walk up the marble steps 
which were covered with cloth of gold 
for her ascent from the barge. At the 
end of the hall stood two thrones, as 
precious as the Cerulean Tbrone of Cool- 
burga,* on one of which sat Aliris, the 
youthful King of Bucharia, and on the 
other was,iTi a few minutes, to be placed 
the most beautiful Princess in the world. 
Immediatelyupon the entrance of Lalla 
EOOKH into the saloon, the monarch de- 
scended from his throne to meet her; but 
scarcely had he time to take her hand in 
his, when she screamed with surprise, and 
fainted at his feet. It was Feramorz 
himself that stood before her!— Fera- 
morz was, himself, the Sovereign of 
Bucharia, who ia this disguise had ac- 
companied his young bride from Delhi, 
and, haying won her love as an humble 
minstrel, now amply desen'od to enjoy 
it as a King. 



TheconstemationofPADLADEENatthic 
discovery was, for the moment, almost 
pitiable. But change of opinion is a re- 
source too convenient in courts for this 
experienced courtier not to have learned 
to avail himself of it. His criticisms 
were all, of com'se, recanted instantly: 
he was seized with an admiration of the 
King's verses, as unbounded as, be beg- 
ged him to believe, it was disinterested; 
and the following week saw him in pos- 
session of an additional place, swearing 
by all the Saints of Islam that never had 
there existed so great a poet as the Mon- 
ai-ch Aliris, and, moreover, ready to 
prescribe his favorite regimen oftheCha- 
buk for every man, woman, and child 
that dared to think otherwise. 

Of the happiness of the King and 
Queen of Bucharia, after such a begin- 
ning, there can be but little doubt: and, 
among the lesser symptoms, it is re- 
corded of Lalla Rookh, that, to the 
day of her death, in memory of their de 
hghtful journey, she never called the Kinf 
by any other name than Feramorz. 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 



LDTES ON THE DEATH OF MR. 
P— EC— Y— L. 

In the dirge we sung o'er him no cen- 
sure was heard, [drop descend ; 
Unembitter'd and free did the tear- 
TVe forgot, in that hour, how the states- 
man had err'd, [and friend. 
And wept for the husband, the father, 

* "On Mahommed Shaw's return to Kool- 
burga, (the capital of Dekkan,) he made a 
great festival, and mounted this throne with 
much pomp and maffnificence, calling it Firo- 
zeh, or Cerulean. I have heard some old per- 
sons, who saw the throne Firozeh in the rei^n 
of Sultan Mamood Bhamenee, describe it. 
They say that it was in length nine feet, and 
three in breadth ; made of ebony, covered with 
plates of pure gold, and set with precious 



Oh, proud was the meed his integrity 
won, 
And gen'rous indeed were the tears 
that we shed, 
When, in grief, we forgot all the ill he 
had done, 
And, though wrong'd by him, living, 
bewail'd him, when dead. 

stones of immense value. Every prince of the 
house of Bhamenee, who possessed this throne, 
made a point of adding to it some rich stones ; 
so that when, in the reign of Sultan Mamood, it 
was taken to pieces, to remove some of the 
jewels to be set in vases and cups, the jewellers 
valued it at one corore of oons, (nearly four mil- 
lions sterling.) I learned also that it was called 
Firozeh from being partly enamelled of a sky- 
blue color, which was in time totally concealed 
by the number of jewels."— jFerwWa. 




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480 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



Even now, if one harsher emotion in- 
trude, 
'Tis to wish he had chosen some 
lowlier state, 
Had known what he was— and, content 
to be good, 
Had ne'er, for our ruin, aspired to be 
great. 

So, left through their own little orbit to 
move, 
His years might have roll'd inoffensive 
away ; 
His children might still have been 
bless'd with his love, 
And England would ne'er have been 
cm-sed with his sway. 



To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle. 
Sir, 
In order to explain the following 
Fragment, it is necessary to refer your 
readers to a late florid description of the 
Pavihon at Brighton, in the apartments 
of which, we are told, "Fum, Hie Chi- 
nese Bird of Royalty," h a principal or- 
nament. 

I am, Su-, yours, &c.. 

Mum. 

FUM XEJy HUM, THE TWO BIEDS 
OF ROYALTY. 

One day the Chinese Bird of Royalty, 

Fum, [Hum, 

Thus accosted our own Bird of Royalty, 

In that Palace or China-shop (Brighton, 

which is it ?) [a short visit. — 

Where Fum had just come to pay Hum 

Near akin are these Birds, though they 

differ in nation, [ation ;) 

(The breed of the Hums is as old as cre- 

Both, full-craw'd Legitimates — both, 

bii'ds of prey, [halfway 

Both, cacklmg and ravenous creatures, 

'Twixt the goose and the vulture, like 

Lord C— STL GH. [Bohea, 

While Fum deals in Mandarins, Bronzes, 
Peers, Bishops and Punch, Hum, are 

sacred to thee ! 
So congenial their tastes, that, when 

Fum first did light on 
The floor of that grand China-ware- 
house at Brighton, 
The lanterns, and dragons, and things 
round the dome 
* In consequence of an old promise, that he 
ehould be allowed to wear his own hair, when- 



Were so like what he left, " Gad," says 

Fum, " I'm at home." — 
And when, turning, he saw Bishop 

L GE, "Zooks, it is," 

Quoth the Bird, ' ' Yes — I know him — a 

Bonze, by his phiz — 
" And that jolly old idol he kneels to so 
low [head, fat Fo !" 

" Can be none but our roundabout god- 
It chanced at this moment, th' Episco- 
pal Prig [with his wig,* 

Was imploring the P e to dispense 

Which the Bird, overhearing, flew high 
o'er his head, [ronage shed, 

And some ToBiT-like marks of his pat- 
Which so dimm'd the poor Dandy's idol- 
atrous eye 
That, while Fum cried " Oh, Fo !" all 
the court cried " Oh fie !" 

But, a truce to digression ; — these Birds 
of a feather 

Thus talk'd, t'other night, on State mat- 
ters together ; 

(The P E just in bed, or about to de- 
part for't, [ofH— RTF— D,) 

His legs full of gout, and his arms full 

"I say, Hum," says Fum — Fum, of 
com'se, spoke Chinese, 

But, bless you, that's nothing — at 
Brighton one sees 

Foreign lingoes and Bishops translated 
with ease — 

" I say. Hum, how fares it with Royalty 
now? [or how f 

"Is it up f is it prime ? is it spooney — 

(The bu-d had just taken a flash-man's 
degree [young Master L e, ) 

Under B— rr — m— re, Y th, and 

"As for us in Pekin" here, a devil 

of a din [that long Mandarin, 

From the bedchamber came, where 

C— STL GH (whom Fum caUs the Con- 
fucius of Prose) [repose 

Was rehearsing a speech upon Europe's 

To the deep, double bass of the fat Idol's 



{Nota &ewe— his Lordship and L— v— R- 
p — L come, [Hum, 

In collateral lines, from the old Mother 

C— STL GH a HuM-bug— L— V— R- 

p— L a HuM-drum. ) [C— stl— gu, 

The speech being finish'd, out rush'd. 

Saddled Hum in a hurry, and, whip, 
spur, away, 

ever he might be elevated to a Bishopric by 

his II 1 H ss. 



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POLITICAL JlND satirical POEMS. 



481 



Through the regions of air, like a Snip 

on his hobby, 
Ne'er paused, till he lighted in St. 

Stephen's lobby. 



LIl^ES ON" THE DEATH OP 
SH— R— D— ¥. 

Principibus placuisse viris !— HORAT. 

Yes, grief will have -way— but the fast 

falling tear [tions'on those, 

Shall Ije mingled with deep execra- 

"Who could bask in that Spirit's meridian 

career, [at its close : — 

And yet leave it thus lonely and dark 

WTiose vanity flew round him only 

while fed [time gave ; — 

By the odor his fame in its siunmer- 

"Whose vanity now, with quick sceut for 

the dead, [to feed at his grave. 

Like the Ghole of the East, comes 

Oh ! it sickens the heart to see bosoms 

so hollow, [high-born. 

And spirits so mean in the great and 

To think what a long line of titles may 

follow [less and lorn ! 

The relics of him who died— fiiend- 

How proud they can press to the fun'ral 

array [sickness and son-ow: — 

Of one, whom they shunn'd in his 

How baliifs may seize his last blanket 

to-day, [to-morrow ! 

"WTiose pall shall be held up by nobles 

And Thou, too, whose life, a sick epi- 
cure's dream, [had pass'd, 
Incoherent and gross, even gi-osser 
Were it not for that cordial and soul- 
giving beam, [nothingness cast : — 
"WTii-ch his friendship and" wit o'er thy 
Ifo, not for the wealth of the land that 
supplies thee [shrine ; — 
TTith millions to heap upon Foppery's 
'No, not for the riches of all who despise 
thee, [whole opulence mine ; — 
Though this would make Europe's 

Would I suffer what— ev'n in the heart 

that thou hast — [ sciously bum'd. 

All mean as it is — must have con- 

" The sum was two hundred pounds— offered 
when Sh — r — d — n could no longer take any 
sustenance, and declined, for him, by his 



When the pittance, which shame had 
wrung from thee at last. 
And which found all his wants at an 
end, was return'd;* 

" Was this then the fate," — future ages 

will say, [history's curse ; 

"When some names shall live but in 

When Trath will be heard, and these 

Lords of a day [as worse ; — 

Be forgotten as fools, or remember'd 

"Was this then the fate of that high- 
gifted man, [and the hall, 
" The pride of the palace, the bow'r 
" The orator,— dramatist,— minstrel, — 
who ran [was master of all ; — 
"Through each mode of the lyre, and 

"Whose mind was an essence, com- 
pounded with art [men's pow'rs:— 
" From the finest and best of all other 
"Who ruled, like a ^^•izard, the world of 
the heart, 
" And could call up its sunshine, or 
bring dowTi its show'rs ; — 

" "Whose humor, as gay as the fire-fly's 

light, [as it play'd ;— 

' Tlay ' d round every subject, and shone 

" "Whose wit, in the combat, as gentle as 

bright, 

" Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its 

blade ;— 

""Whose eloquence — brighfnmg what- 
ever it tried, [the grave,— 
" "Whether reason or fancy, the gay or 
" Was as rapid, as deep, and as bnlliaiit 
a tide, [wave!" 
" As ever bore Freedom aloft on its 

Yes- such was the man, and so wretched 

his fate;— [to grieve, 

And thus, sooner or later, shall all have 

"Who waste their mom's dew in the beams 

of the Great, [them at eve. 

And expect 'twill return to refresh 

In the woods of the North there are m- 

sects that prey [last sigh ;t 

On the brain of the elk till his very 

Oh, Genius ! thy patrons, more cruel than 

they, [thee to die 1 

Ffrst feed on thy brains, and then leave 

tXaturalisfs have observed that, upon dis- 
secting an elk, there were found in its bead 
some larr/e flies, -ivith its brain almost eaten 
away by them.— History of Poland. 




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482 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



EPISTLE FROM TOM CRIB TO BIG 

BEN",* 

CONCEKXING SOME FOUL PLAY IN A LATK TKAN»- 
ACTION.t 

" AM, mio Ben I "— MetastasioI 
"What ! Ben, my old hero, is this your 

renown? [he'3 dovn ! 

Is this the new go ? — kick a man when 
When the foe has knock'd under, to tread 

on him then — [Ben ! 

By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, 
" Foul ! foul !" all the lads of the Fancy 

exclaim— [spits flame — 

Charley Shock is electrified— Belcher 
And MoLYNEUX— ay, even Blacky § 

cries " shame !" [ence spied 

Time was when John Bull little differ- 
'Twixt the foe at his feet, and the friend 

at his side : [ing and eating) 

When he foimd (such his humor in fight- 
His foe, like his heef-steak, the sweeter 

for beating. 
But this comes, Master Ben, of your 

cursed foreign notions, 
Your trinkets, wigs, tliingumbobs, gold- 
lace and lotions ; [knows what — 
Your Noyeaus, Cura9oas, and the Devil 
(One swig of Blue Buin\\ is worth the 

whole lot !) [what a brood ! 

Your great and small crosses— (my eyes, 
A cross-buttock from me would do some 

of them good !) 

* A nickname given, at this time, to the Pr— ce 
K-ff-t. 

t "Written soon after Bonaparte's transporta- 
tion to St. Helena. 

\ Tom, I suppose, was " assisted " to this 
Motto by Mr. Jackson, who, it is well known, 
k^eos the most learned comoany goinij. 



Which have spoil'd you, till hardly a di'op 

my old porpoise, 
Of pure English claret is left in your cor- 
pus; [orbati, 
And (as Jim says)the only one trick, good 
Of the Fancy you're up to, is jiUbing, my 

lad. [thy page !— 

Hence it comes, — Boxiana, disgrace to 
Having floor'd, by good luck, the first 

sioell of the age. 
Having conquer'd the prime one, that 

miWd us all round, 
Youkick'd him, old Ben, as he gasp'd on 

the ground! [yon'd got any — 

Ay — ^just at the time to show spunk, if 
Kick'd him, and jaw'd him, and lagg'd^ 

him to Botany ! [who, alas, 

Oh! shade of the cheesemonger .'** jon 
Doubled up, by the dozen, those Moun • 

seers in brass, [lay in lakes, 

On that great day oi milling, when blood 
When Kings held the bottle, and Europe 

the stakes, [all o'er, 

Look down upon Ben — see him, dunghill 
Insult the faU'n foe, that can harm him 

no more ! 
Out, cowardly sjjoowey .'—again and again, 
By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, 

Ben. 
To show the white feather is many men's 

doom, 
But, what of o»e feather? — Ben shows a 

whole Plume. 

§ Names and nicknames of celebrated nugil- 
ists at that time. 

II Giu. 

IF Transported. 

** A Life Guardsman, one of the Fancy who 
distinguished himself and was killed in the 
mfimorable '•^- to at Waterloo^ 



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THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



Le Leggi della Maschera richiedono che nna persona mascherata non sia aalntata per noma 
d& uno che la conosce malgrado il sno travestimento. — Castiguonk. 



PEEPACE. 

In -R^Tiat manner the following Epis- 
tles came into my hands, it is not neces- 
sary for the public to know. It will be 
seen by Mr. Fudge's Second Letter, 
that he is cue of those gentlemen whose 
Secret Services in Ireland, under the 

mild ministry of my Lord C GH, 

have been so amply and gratefully re- 
munerated. Like his friend and asso- 
ciate, Thomas Eeynolds, Esq., he had 
retired upon the reward of his honest in- 
dustry; but has lately been induced to 
appear again in active life, and superin- 
tend the training of that Delatorian Co- 
hort, which Lord S — dm — th, in his 
wisdom and benevolence, has organ- 
ized. 

WTiether Mr. Eudgk, himself, has yet 
made any discoveries, does not appear 
from the following pages. But much 
may be expected from a person of hia 
zeal and sagacity, and, indeed, to him. 
Lord S— DM— TH, and the Greenland- 
bound ships, the eyes of all lovers of 
discoveries are now most anxiously di- 
rected. 

I regret much that I have been 
obliged to omit Mr. Bob Fudge's Third 
Letter^ concluding the adventures of 
his Day with the Dinner, Opera, &c.. 
&c. ; but, in consequence of some re- 
marks upon Marinette's tiiin drapery, 
which, it was thought, might give of- 
fence to certain well-meanrug persons, 
the manuscript was sent back to Paris 
for his revision, and had not returned 
when the last sheet was put to press. 

It will not, I hope, be thought pre- 
sumptuous, if I take this opportunity of 



complaining of a very serious injustice I 
have suffered from the pubMc. Dr. 
King wrote a treatise to prove that 
Bentley " was not the author of his own 
book," and a similar absurdity has been 
asserted of me, in almost all the best in- 
formed literary circles. "With the name 
of the real author staring them in the 
face, tbey have yet persisted in attribut- 
ing my works to other people ; and the 
fame of the Twopenny Post-Bag— such 
as it is— having hovered doubtfully over 
various persons, has at last settled 
upon the head of a certain little gentle- 
man, who wears it, I understand, as 
complacently as if it actually belonged 
to mm; without even the honesty oi 
avowing, with his own favorite author, 
(he will excuse the pun,) 

Eyo»S' 'O MDPOS opas 
E6T)o-a|xrji' /ieTOJTrco. 

I can only add, that if any lady or gen- 
tleman, curious in such matters, will 
take the trouble of calling at my lodg- 
ings, 245 Piccadilly, I shall have the 
honor of assuring them, in propria per- 
sona, that I am — his, or her, 
Yery obedient 

And very humble Servant, 
Thomas Beown, the Younger. 

April n,-i8l8. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



LETTER L 

FROM MISS BIDDV FJDGE TO MISS DOEOTHt 
, OF CLONKILTY, DJ IRELAND. 

Amiens. 
Dear Doll, while the tails of our horses 
are plaiting, [door, 

The trunks tying on, and Papa, at the 




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4S4 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Into very bad French is, as usual, trans- 
lating [more. 
His English resolve not to give a sou 
I sit down to write you a line— only 
think !^ [and French ink, 
A letter from France, with French pens 
How delightful ! though, would you be- 
lieve it, my deai'f [here; 
I have seen nothing yet very wonderful 
No adventure, no sentiment, far as 

we've come, 
But the corn-fields and trees quite 

as dull as at home ; 

A.nd but for the post-boy, his boots, and 

his queue, [with you ! 

I might just as well be at Clonkilty 

In vain, at DESSEm's.didl take from my 

trunk [reading "The Mouk ;" 

That divine fellow, Sterne, and fall 

In vain did I think of Ms charming 

Dead Ass, [let— alas ! 

And remember the crust and the wal- 

ifo monks can be had now for love or 

for money, [Bonet ;) 

(All owing, Pa says, to that infidel 

And, though one little IvTeddy we saw 

in our drive [alive ! 

Out of classical jSTampont, the beast was 

By the by, though, at Calais, Papa had 
a touch [me much. 

Of romance on the pier, which affected 
At the sight of that spot where our dar- 
ling DixnuiT [feet,* 
Set the first of his own dear legitimate 
(Modell'd out so exactly, and— God 
bless the mark ! [a Monarque. ) 
'Tis a foot, Dolly, worthy so Grand 
He exclaim'd, "Oh, mon Roi!" and, 

with tear-dropping eye. 
Stood to gaze on the spot — while some 
Jacobin, nigh, [solent thing !) 
Mutter'd out with a shrug, (what an in- 
"Ma foi, he be right— 'tis de English- 
man's King ; [me vil say 
And dat gros pied de cochon — begar, 
Dat de foot look mosh better if turn'd 
toder way." [nearly forgot — 
There's the pillar, too— Lord! I had 
What a charming idea ! — raised close to 
the spot; [I suppose,) 
The mode being now, (as you've heard, 
To build tombs over legs,t and raise pil- 
lars to toes, 

* To commemorate the landin;^ of Louis le 
DOsire from Enjrlaiul, the impression of his 
foot is marked oiit on the pier at C'-'"' ■ ' k 



This is all that's occurr'd sentimental as 
yet; [we've met. 

Except, indeed, some little flow'r- nymphs 
Who disturb one's romance with pecu- 
niary views, [ bawlmg for so us ! 
Flinging flow'rs in your path, and then— 
And some picturesque beggars, whose 
multitudes seem [regime. 

To recall the good days of the ancien 
All as ragged and brisk, you'll be happy 
to leam, [of dear Sterne. 

And as thiis as they were in the time 

Our party consists (in a neat Calais job) 
Of Papa and myself, Mr. Connor and 

Bob. [at Kilrandy, 

You remember how sheepish BoBlook'd 
But, Lord ! he's quite alter'd — they've 

made him a Dandy ! 
A thing, you know, whisker'd, great- 

coated, and laced, [the waist : 
Like an hour-glass, exceedingly small in 
Quite a new sort of cr"features, unknown 

yet to scholars, [collars. 

With heads, so immovably stuck in shii-t- 
That seats, like our music-stools, soon 

must be found them. 
To twirl, when the creatures may wish 

to look round them: 
In short, dear, "a Dandy" describes 

what I mean, [I've seen : 

And Bob's far the best of the genus 
An improving young man, fond ol 

leai-ning, ambitious, [dishes. 

And goes now to Paris to study French 
Whose names — think, how quick! he 

already know^s pat, [call that 
A la hraise,petitsputes,a,ndi. — what d'ye 
They inflict on potatoes ? — oh ! maitre 

d'hotel — [them as well 

I assure you, dear Dolly, he knows 
As if nothing else all his Hfe he had eat, 
Though a bit of them Bobby has never 

touch'd yet ; [dishes and cooks. 
But just knows the names of French 
As dear Pa knows the titles of authors 

and books. 

As to Pa, what d'ye think ? mind, its all 
entre nous, [from you — 

But you know, love, I never keep secrets 

Why, he's wnting a book — what! a 
tale ? a romance ? 

N"o, ye Gods, would it were ! — but his 
Travels in France ; 

pillar with an inscription raised opposite to the 
spot, 
t Ci-ijit lu jambe de, ic. Sec. 




Whose was the hand that turned away 

The perils of llie infuriate fray, 

And snatch'd her l)reathless from beneath 

This wilderment of wreck and death? 

She knew not — for a faiiitness came 

Chill o'er her. and her sinking frame 

Amid the ruins of that hour 

Lay, like a pale and scorched flower, 

Beneath the red volcanoe's shower. 



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THE FUDGE FAMILY IN" PARIS. 



485 



At the special desire (he let out t'other 

day) 
Of his groat Mend and patron, my Lord 

[C— STL — R— GH, 

"Who said, "My dear Fudge" 1 

forget the exact words, 
And it's strange no one ever remembers 

my Lord's ; [must allow 

But 'twas something to say that, as all 
A good orthodox work is much wanting 

just now, [gummie — science, 

To expound to the world the new thin- 
Found out by the— what's-its-name— 

Holy Alliance, [are but folly, 
And prove to mankind that their rights 
Their freedom a joke, (which it is, you 

know, Dolly,) 
"There's none," said his Lordship, "if 

I may be judge, [Fudge !" 

Half so fit for this great undertaking as 

The matter's soon setttled — Pa flies to 
iJie How [aUy go, ) 

(The first stage your tourists now usu- 
Settles all for his quarto — advertise- 
ments, praises — 
Starts post from the door, with his tab- 
lets—French phrases — 
"Scott's Visit," of course — in short, 
ev'ry thing he has [and ideas ; — 
An author can want, except words 
And lo ! the first thing, in the spring of 
the year, [my dear ! 

Is PniL. Fudge at the front of a Quarto, 
But, bless me, my paper's near out, so 
I'd better [long letter 

Draw fast to a close : — this exceeding 
Tou owe to a dejeuner a la fourchette. 
Which Bobby would have, and is hard 
at it yet.— [the party, 

"WTiat's next ? oh, the tutor, the last of 
Young Connor:— they say he's so like 
Bonaparte, [rather dreads, 
His nose and his chin — which Papa 
As the Bourbons, you know, are sup- 
pressing aU heads 
That resemble old Nap's, and who 

knows but their honors 
May tbinlc, in their fright, of suppressing 
poor Connor's ? [well enough, 
Au rcste, (as we say,) the yoimg lad's 
Only talks much of Athens, Rome, vir- 
tue, and stuff; 
* A celebrated mantua-makcr in Paris, 
t This excellent imitation of the noble Lord's 
style sho-n's how deeply Mr. Fudge must ha\e 
studied his creat oricmal. Irish oratory, in- 
deed, abounds M-ith such startlini; peculiarities. 



A third cousin of om-s, by the way— poor 

as Job 

(Though of royal descent by the side 

of Mamma, ) Bob ; - 

And for charity made private tutor to 

Entre nous, too, a Papist— how lib'ral 

of Pa! 

This is aU, dear — forgive me for l)reak- 

ing off thus, [a fuss. 

But Bob's dijeimer's done, and Papa's in 
B. F. 
P. S. 
How provoking of Pa ! he will not let me 

stop _ [ner's shop ; 

Just to run in and rammage some milli- 
And my dihut in Paris, I blush to think 

on it, [low bonnet. 

Must now, Doll, be made in a hideous 
But Paris, dear Paris!— oh, there will 

be joy, [Madame Le Eoi !* 

And romance, and high bonnets, and 



LETTER IL 

FKOM PHIL. FUDGE, E:-y., TO THE LORD VI6- 
COUXT C— ST— II— GH. 

Paris. 
At length, my Lord, I have the bliss 
To date to you a line fi-om this 
" Demoralized " metropolis ; 
Where, by plebeians low and scmxy. 
The throne was tum'd quite topsy-turvy, 
And Kingship, tumbled from its seat, 
" Stood prostrate " at the people's feet? 
Where (still to use your Lordship's 

tropes) 
The level of obedience slopes 
Upward and downward, as the stream 
Oi hydra faction Icicks the beam !\ 
Where the poor Palace changes masters 

Quicker than a snake its skin, 
And Louis is roll'd out on castors, [in : — 

While Boney's bonie on shoulders 
But where, in every change, no doubt. 

One special good your Lordship 
traces, — 
That 'tis the Kings alone turn out, 

The Ministers still keep their places. 

How oft, dear Yiscount C GH, 

I've thought of thee upon the way, 
As in my J0& (what place could be 
More apt to wake a thought of thee ?)— 

Thus the eloquent Counsellor E , in de- 

scribingsome hypocritical pretender to charity, 
said, "He put liis hand in his breeches-pocket, 
like a crocodile, and,'' &c., ice. 




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486 



MOOEE'S "VV^ORKS. 



Or, oftener far, when gravely sitting 
Upon my dicky, (as is fitting 
For him who writes a Tour, that he 
May more of men and manners see,) 
I've thought of thee and of thy glories, 
Thou guest of Kings, and King of 

Tories ! 
Eeflecting how thy fame has grown 

And spread, beyond man's usual share. 
At home, abroad, till thou art known, 

Like Major Semple, everywhere ! 
And marv'ling with what power of 

breath 
Youx Lordship, having speech'd to 

death 
Some hundreds of your fellow-men, 
Next speech'd to Sov'reigns' ears, — and 

when 
All Sov'reigns else were dozed, at last 
Speech'd down the Sovereign* of Belfast. 
Oh ! mid the praises and the trophies 
Thou gain'st from Merosophs and 

Sophis ; 
Mid all the tributes to thy fame, 
There's one thou shoiiidst be chiefly 

pleased at — 
That Ireland gives her snuff thy name, 

And C Gn's the thmg now 

at! 



But hold, my pen !— a truce to prais- 
ing— 

Though ev'n your Lordship wiU allow 
The theme's temptations are amazing ; 

But time and ink run short, and now, 
(As thou wouldst say, my guide andteach- 

In these gay metaphoric fringes, [er 
I must embark into the feature 

On which this letter chiefly hinges;) — t 
My Book, the Book that is to prove — 
And will, (so help ye Sprites above. 
That sit on clouds, as grave as judges, 
Watching the labors of the Fudgbs !) 
Will prove that aU the world, at present, 
Is in a state extremely pleasant ; 
That Europe — thanks to royal swords 

■ * The title of the chief magistrate of Belfast 
'before whom his Lordsliip (with the "studium 
immane loquendi '' attributed by Ovid to that 
chattering and rapacious class of birds, the 
pies) delivered sundry long and self-gratulatory 
orations, on his return from the Continent. 
It was at one of these Irish dinners that his 
gaUant brother. Lord S., proposed the health 
of " The best cavalry officer in Europe— tlie 
Kegent!" 

t Verbatim from one of the noble Viscount's 
Speeches—' 'And now, Sir, I must embark into 



And bay'nets, and the Duke com- 
manding — 
Enjoys a peace which, like the Lord's, 

Passetit all human understanding : 
That France prefers her go-cart King 

To such a coward scamp as Boney; 
Though round, with each a leading- 
string, 

There standeth many a Eoyal crony. 
For fear the chubby, to tt'ring"^ thing 

Should fall, if left there loncy poneij— 
That England, too, the more her debts, 
The more she spends, the richer gets ; 
And that the Irish, grateful nation ! 

Eemember when by thee reign'd over 
And bless thee for their flagellation 

As Heloisa did her lover !— t 
That Poland, left for Eussia's lunch 

Upon the sideboard, snug reposes, 
While Saxony's as pleased as Punch, 

And ISi'orway " on a bed of roses !" 
That, as for some few million souls, 

Transfen-'d by contract, bless the 
clods! 
If half were strangled — Spaniards, Poles, 

And Frenchmen — 'twouldn't make 
much odds. 
So Europe's goodly Eoyal ones 
Sit easy on their sacred thrones ; 
So Ferdinand embroiders gayly,$ 
And Louis eats his salmi,\\ daily; 
So time is left to Emperor Sandy 
To be half Caesar and half Dandy ; 

And G ge the E— G— t (who'd forget 

That doughtiest chieftain of the set ?) 
Hath wherewithal for trinkets new, 

For dragons, after Chinese models. 
And chambers where Duke Ho and Soo 

Might come and nine times knock 
their noddles !— 
All this my Quarto'U prove — much more 
Than Quarto ever proved before : 
In reas'ning with the Post I'U vie. 
My facts the Courier shall supply, 
My jokes Y — ns — t, P — le my sense. 
And thou, sweet Lord, my eloquence ! 

the features on which this question chiefly 
hinges.'' 

t See her Letters. 

§ It would be an edifying thing to write a 
history of the private amusements of sover- 
eigns, tracing them down from the fly-sticking 
of Domitian, the mole-catching of Artabanus, 
the hog-mimicking of Parmenides, the horse- 
currying of Aretas, to the petticoat-embroider- 
ing of Ferdinand, and the patience-playing of 
the P e R— — t. 

II 0^0, TC, oia cSovcri 6toTp€<J>6es jSaaiArjes. 
HOMEE, Odyss. 3. 



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THE FUDGE FAMILY IN" PARIS. 



My Journal, penn'd by fits and starts, 

On Biddy's back or Bobby's shoulder, 
(My son, my Lord, a youth of parts. 
Who longs to be a small place-hold- 
er,) 
Is — though I say't, that shouldn't say- 
Extremely good ; and, by the way, 
0)w extract from it — 07ily one — 
To show its spirit, and I've done. 
"Jul. thirty-first. — "Went, after snack, 

' To the Cathedral of St. Denny ; 
" Sigh'd o'er the Kings of ages back, 
" And— gave the old Concierge a pen- 
ny. 
" {Mem. — Must see Bheims, much 

famed, 'tis said, 
" For making Kings and gingerbread.) 
" "Was shown the tomb where lay, so 

stately, 
" A little Bourbon, buried lately, 
" Thrice high and puissant, we were told, 
" Though only twenty-four hours old I* 
" Hear tins, thought I, ye Jacobins : 
" Te Burdetts. tremble in your skins ! 
•' If Royalty, but aged a day, 
' Can boast such high and puissant sway, 
■' "What impious hand its pow'r would 

fix, 
" Full fledged and wigg'df at fifty- 
six !" 

The argument's quite new, you see, 
And proves exactly Q. E. D. 
So now, with duty to the R — G — t, 
I am, dear Lord, 

"Tour most obedient, 
P. F. 
Hotel Bretuil, Rue Bivoli. 
Neat lodgings — rather dear for me ; 
But Biddy said she thought 'twould 
Geuteeler thus to date my Book ; [look 
And Biddy's right — besides, it curries 
Some favor with our friends at Mur- 
ray's, 
"Who scorn what any man can say. 
That dates from Rue St.-Honore.:f 

* So described on the coffin : " tr6s-haute et 
puissante Princesse, agee d'un joiir."' 

t Tliere is a fulness and breadth in this por- 
trait of Royalty, which reminds us of wliat 
Pliny says, in speaking of Trajan's j^reat quali- 
ties : — " nonne long6 latp.que Principem osten- 
tant ?" 

X See the Quarterly Review for May, 1816, 
where Mr. Hobhouse is accused of lia^nng 
written his book "in a back street of the 
French capital." 

§ The Bill of Fare.— V6ry, a -well-known Res- 
taurateur. 



LETTER III. 

FROM MB. BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD , ESQ. 

Oh Dick ! you may talk of your writing 

and reading, 
Tour Logic and Greek, but there's noth- 
ing like feeding ; 
And this is the place for it, Dicky, you 

dog, [ters of Prog ! 

Of aU places on earth — the head-quar- 
Talk of England — her famed Magna 

Charta, I swear, is [Very's; 
A humbug, a flam, to the Cartel at old 
And as for your Juries — who would not 

set o'er 'em [fore 'em \ 

A Jury of Tasters, || with woodcocks be- 
Give Cartwright his Parliaments, 

fresh every year ; 
But those friends of short Commons 

would never do here ; 
And, let Romilly speak as he will on 

the question, [gestion! 

No Digest of Law's like the laws of di- 

By the by, Dick, I fatten — but n^im- 

porte for that, [get fat. 

'Tis the mode — your Legitimates always 
There's the R— G— t, there's Louis— 

and BoNEY tried too. 
But, though somewhat imperial in 

paunch, 'twouldn't do :^ 
He improved, indeed, much in this point, 

when he wed, [tJte head. 

But he ne'er grew right royally fat in 

Dick, Dick, what a place is this Paris I 

— but stay — 
As my raptures may bore you, I'll just 

sketch a day, [I've got. 

As we pass it, myself and some comrades 
AU thorough-bred Gnostics, who know 

what is what. 

After dreaming some hours of the land 

ofCocaigne,1[ [nice. 

That Elysium of aU that is friand and 

II Mr. Bob alludes particnlarly, I presume, to 
the famous Jury D^^ustateur, which used to 
assemble at the Hotel of M. Grimed de la Rey- 
nierc, and of which this modern Archestratus 
has given an account in his Almanach dea 
Gourmands, cinquiome ann^e, p. 78. 

H The fairy-land of cookery and gourman- 
dise: "Pays oii le ciel offre les viandes toutes 
cuites, et oA, comme on parle, lea alouettef 
tombent toutes roties. Du Latin, coqueie."- 
DuchcU. 




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MOOEE'S WORKS. 



Where for hail they have bon-hons, and 

claret for rain, Icream-ice ; 

And the skaiters in winter show olf on 

Where so ready all nature its coolcery 

yields, [fields; 

Macaroni au parmesan grow in the 
Little birds fly about with the true pheas- 
ant taint, [ complaint ! * 
And the geese are aU bom with a liver 
I rise — put on neckcloth — stiff, tight, as 

can be — [Dick, like me. 

For a lad who goes into the ivorid, 
Should have his neck tied up, you know 

—there's no doubt of it — 
Almost as tight as some lads who go 

out of it. 
With whiskers well oil'd, and with boots 

that " hold up [could sup 

" The mirror to natm*e" — so bright you 
Off the leather like china ; with coat, too, 

that draws [applause ! 

On the tailor, who suffers, a martyr's 
With head bridled up, like a four-in- 

haud leader, [for a feeder. 

And stays — devil's in them — too tight 
I strut to the old Cafe Hardy, which 

yet \^clictte. 

Beats the field at a dejeuner a la four- 
There, Dick, what a breakfast? oh, not 

like your ghost [tea and toast ;t 
Of a breakfast in England, your cursed 
But a sideboard, you dog, where one's 

eye roves about, [singles out 

Like a Turk's in the Haram, and thence 
One pdt^ of larks, just to tune up the 

throat, [papillote, 

One's smaU limbs of chickens, done en 



* The process by which the liver of the un- 
fortunate goose is enlarged, in order to produce 
that richest of nil dainties the/oie gras. of which 
such renowned ^(ifesaremade at Strasbourg and 
Toulouse, is thus described iu the Cours Gas- 
tronomique :—" On deplume I'estomac des oies; 
on attache ensuite ces aniniaux aux chenets 
d'une chemin^e, et on les nonrrit devant le feu. 
La captivity et la chaleur donnent a ces vola- 
tilcs une maladie Mpatique, qui fait gonfler 
leur foie." &c., p. 206. 

lis Mr. Bob aware that his contempt for Ua 
renders hira liable to a charge of atheism? 
Such, at least, istlie opinion cited in Christian. 
Fahter. Ammnitat. Fhilor/.—" Atheum inter- 
pretabatnr hominem ad herba The aversum." 
He would not, I think, have been so irreverent 
to this beverage of scholars, if he had read 
Peter Petit' s Poem in praise of Tea, addressed 
to the learned Huet— or the Epigraphe which 
Pechlinva wrote for an altar he meant to dedi- 
cate to this herb— or the Anacreontics of Peter 
Francius, in which he calls Tea 
<e)io.v, Seriv, Sfai.v*v. 



One's erudite cutlets, dress'd all ways 

but plain, [with champagne ! 
Or one's kidneys — imagine, Dick— done 
Then, some glasses of Beaune, to dihite 

—or, mayhap, [tipple of Xap, 
CJiambertin,t which you know's the pet 
And which Dad, by the by, that legiti- 
mate stickler, [parti c'lar. — 
Much scruples to taste, but I'm not so 
Torn- coffee comes nest, by prescription : 

and then, Dick, 's [appendix, 
The coffee's ne'er-failing and glorious 
(If books had but such, my old Grecian, 

depend on't, [of the end on't, ) 
I'd swallow ev'n W — tk — ns', for sake 
A neat glass of parf ait-amour, which 

one sips [one's lips. 

Just as if bottled velvety tipp'd over 
This repast being ended, wxii paid for — 

(how odd ! 
TiU a man's used to paying, there's 

something so queer ui't!) — 
The sun uow well out, and the ghls all 

abroad, [Nobs, to appear in't, 

And the world enough atfd for us, 

We lounge up the Boulevards, where — 

oh, Dick, the phyzzes, [quizzes ! 
The turn-outs, we meet — what a nation of 
Here toddles along some old figm-e of 

fun, [Domini 1.; 

With a coat you might date Aurio 
A laced hat, worsted stockings, and — 

noble old soul ! [ton-hole ; 
A fine riband and cross in his best but- 
Just such as our Pr ce, who nor 

reasonnorfan dreads, [hundreds. || 
Inflicts, without ev'n a com-t-martial, ou 

The following passage from one of these 
Anacreontics will, 1 have no doubt, be gratify- 
ing to all true Theists. 

©eot?, Setoi/ Te TraTpl, 
El- \pucreois (r(cv(J)Oi<TC. 
At£o(, TO viK7ap 'H^rJ 

2e /lOl &l.aK.OVOlVTO 

2kv</)0is iv juvppivoicri, 
Ta> KoAAei vpenovcrai 
KaXais x^P^"^'"' "ovpai. 

Which may he thus translated :— 
Tes, let Hebe, ever younjr. 

High in heav'n her nectar hold. 
And to Jove's immortal throng 

Pour the tide in cups of gold — 
Til not envy heaven's Princes, 

While, with snowy hands, for me, 
Kate the china tea-cup rinses, 
And pours out her best Bohea! 
t The favorite wine of Napoleon. 
§ Velotirs en bouteille. 
II It was said by Wicquefort, more than a 



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THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PAEIS. 



48. 



Here trips a grisette, with a fond, roguish 

eye, [by the by;) 

(Rather eatable things these grisettes 
And there an old demoiselle, almost as 

fond, [of the Fronde. 

In a silk that has stood since the time 
There goes a French Dandy— ah, Dick.! 

nnlike some ones 
We've seen about White's— the Moun- 

seers are but rum ones ; 
Such hats ! — fit for monkeys — I'd back 

Mrs. Draper [brown paper : 
To cut neater weather-boards out of 
And coats— how I wish, if it wouldn't 

distress 'em, [Calais, to dress 'em ! 
They'd club for old Br— mm — l, from 
The' collar sticks out from the neck such 

a space, [head-lopping nation, 

That you'd swear 'twas the plan of this 

To leave there behind them a snug Mttle 

place [tion. 

For the head to drop into, on decapita- 

In short, what with mountebanks, 

counts, and friseurs, [amateurs — 
Some mummers by trade, and the rest 
What with captains in new jockey-boots 

and silk breeches, [opera-hats. 

Old dustmen with swinging great 

And shoeblacks reclining by statiies in 

niches, [Jack Sprats ! 

There never was seen such a race of 

From the Boulevards— but hearken !— 
yes — as I'm a sinner, [to dinner: 
The clock is just striking the half-hour 
So no more at present — short time for 
adorning — [fine morning. 

My Day must be finish'd some other 
Now, hey for old Beauvilliers'* lar- 
der, my boy ! [Beauty and Joy 
And, once there, if the Goddess of 
Were to write "Come and kiss me, dear 

Bob !" I'd not budge- 
Not a step, Dick, as sure as my name is 
E. Fudge. 



LETTER rv. 

FROM PHEUM CONNOR TO — — . 

"Return!"— no, never, while the wither- 
ing hand 
Of bigot power is on that hapless land : 
hundred years ago, "Le Koi d'Angleterre fait 
Beulplus de chevaliers que toua les autrea Rois 
de la Chretiente ensemble.''— What would be 
say now ? 

* A celebrated restaurateur. 

t " They used to leave a yard square of the 



While, for the faith my fathers held to 

God, [fathers trod, 

Ev'n in the fields where free those 
I am proscribed, and— Hke the spot left 

bare [fair 

In Israel's haUs, to tell the proud and 
Amidst their mirth, that Slav'ry had 

been there — t [I trace 

On aU I love, home, parents, friends, 
The mournful mark of bondage and dis- 

gi'ace ! [try's pangs 

No ! let them stay, who in then coun- 
See naught but lood for factions and 

harangues; [doors, 

Who yearly kneel before their masters' 
And hawk their wrongs as beggars do 

their sores : 
Still let yourt « * * « . 
* « » « * » 

Still hope and suffer, all who can ! — but I, 
Who durst not hope, and cannot bear, 
must fly. 

But whither ? — everywhere the scourge 
pursues— [d'rer views. 

Turn where he will, the wretched wan- 
In the bright, broken hopes of all his 
race, [face. 

Countless reflections of th' Oppressoi-'s 
Everywhere gallant hearts, and spirits 
true, [few; 

Are served up victims to the vile and 
While B— gl— d, everywhere— the gen- 
eral foe [they glow — 
Of Truth and Freedom, wheresoe'er 
Is first, when tyrants strike, to aid the 
blow. 

Oh, E— gl — d ! could such poor revenge 
atone [deadliest one ; 

For wrongs that well might claim the 
Were it a vengeance, sweet enough to 
sate [ant hate, 

The wretch who flies from thy intoler- 
To hear his curses on such barb'rous 
sway [less way ;— 

Echoed where'er he bends his cheer- 
Could this content him, every lip he 



wall of the house unplastered, on which they 
wrote, in large letters, either the fore-men- 
tioned verse of the Psalmist (' If I forget thee, 
Jerusalem,' &c.) or the words—' The memo- 
ry of the desolation.' "—Leo of Modena. 

{ I have thought it prudent to omit some 
parts of Mr. Phelim Connor's letter. Tlo is 
evidently an intemperate young man, anA has 
associated with his cousins, the Fudges, to 
very little purpose. 



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lIP'lv^^^^ 



490 



MOORE'S "^^ORKS. 



Teems for his vengeance "with sucli 

poisonous sweets ; 
"Were this his hix'ry, never is thy name 
Pronounced, but he doth banquet on 

thy shame ; 
Hears maledictions ring from every side 
Upon that grasping power, that selfish 

pride, [rights beside ; 

"Which vaunts its own, and scorns all 
That low and desp'rate envy, wliich to 

blast [thou hast ; - 

A neighbor's blessings, risks the few 
That nionster, Self, too gross to be con- 

ceal'd, [shield ; — 

Which ever Im-ks behind thy proffer'd 
That faithless craft, which, in thy hour 

of need, [be freed, 

Can court the slave, can swear he shall 
Yet basely spurns him, when thy point 

is gain'd, [chain'd, 

Back to his masters, ready gagg'd and 
"Worthy associate of that band of Kings, 
That royal, rav'ning flock, whose vam- 
pire wings [brood. 
O'er sleeping Europe treacherously 
And fan her into dreams of promised 

good, [blood ! 

Of hope, of freedom — but to di-ain her 
If thus to hear thee branded'be a bliss 
That Vengeance loves, there's yet more 

sweet than this, 
That 'twas an Irish head, an Irish heart, 
Made thee the fall'n and tarnish'd thing 

thou art ; _ [vest 

That, as the centaur* gave th' infected 
In which he died, to rack his conqu'ror's 

breast, [dead 

"We sent thee C gh : as heaps of 



slain their slayers by the pest they 

spread, [to dim. 

So hath our land breathed out, thy fame 

Thy strength to waste, and rot thee, 

soul and limb, [him ! 

Her worst infections aU condensed in 

When will the world shake off such 

yokes ? oh, when [men. 

Will that redeeming day shine out on 
That shall behold them rise, erect and 

free [should be ! 

As Hcav'n and Nature meant mankind 
"When Reason shall no longer blindly 

bow [brow, 

To the vile pagod things, that o'er her 
Like him of Jaghemaut, drive trampling 

now ; [earth, 

*^or Conquest dare to desolate God's 



]S"or drunken Vict'ry, with a JfERo'a 

mirth, [groans. 

Strike her lewd harp amidst a people's 

But, built on love, the world's exalted 

thrones [given— 

Shall to the virtuous and the wise be 

Those bright, those sole Legitimates of 

Heaven ! 

When will this be ? or, oh ! is it, iu 
truth, [dreams of youth. 

But one of those sweet day-break 
In which the Soul, as round her morning 
springs, [hng things ! 

'Twixt sleep and waking, sees such dazz- 
And must the hope, as vain as it is 
bright, [right, 

Be all resign'd ?— and are they only 
"Who say this world of thinking souls 
was made [and weigh'd 

To be by Kings partition'd, ti-uck'd, 
In scales that, ever since the world be- 
gun, [one ? 
Have counted millions but as dust to 

Are they the only wise, who laugh to 

scorn 
The rights, the freedom to which man 

was bom 'I 
Who ***** 
* * • * « * 

"Who, proud to kiss each sep'rate rod of 

pow'r, [the horn* ; 

Bless, while he reigns, the minion of 
"Worship each would-be God, that o'er 

them moves, [Jovk's ! 

And take the thimd'ring of his brass for 
If this be wisdom, then farewell, my 

books, [brooks. 

Farewell, ye shrines of old, ye classic 
■Which fed* my soul with currents, pure 

and fair, [there !— 

Of living Truth, that now must stagnate 
Instead of themes that touch the lyre 

with light, [fight 

Instead of Greece, and her immortal 
For Liberty, which once awaked my 

strings, 
■Welcome the Grand Conspiracy of Kings, 
The High Legitimates, the Holy Band, 
"Who, bolder ev'n than He of Sparta's 

land, . [frf; 

Against whole millions, panting to be 



Membra et Herculeos toros 

TTrit lues Nessea 

Ille, ille victor vincitur. _ , ^, 

Senec. Hereul. (Lt 



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THE FUDGE FAMILY IF PAEIS. 



491 



"Would guard the pass of right-line tyr- 
anny, [whose blade 

Instead o'f him, th' Athenian bard, 

Had stood the onset which his pen por- 
tray'd, 

■Welcome * * * * * 

And, 'stead of Aristides — wo the day 
Such names should mingle !— welcome 
C gh! 

Here break we off, at this unhallow'd 
name,* [omen'd came. 

Like priests of old, when words ill- 
My next shall tell thee, bitterly shall tell, 
Thoughts that * * * * 

****** 

Thoughts that — could patience hold — 

'twere wiser far [they are. 

To leave still hid and burning where 



LETTER T. 



"What a time since I wrote ! — I'm a sad, 

naughty ghl — 
For, though, like a tee-totum, I'm aU in 

a twhl ; — 
Tetev'n (as you\\ittilysay) a tee-totum 
Between all its twirls gives a letter to 

note 'em. [Dolly, my dresses, 
But, Lord, such a place ! and then, 
My gowns, so divine ! — there's no lan- 
guage expresses, [*' maguifique, " 
Except just the two words "superbe," 
The trimmings of that which I had home 

last week ! [which sounded 

It is call'd — I forget — a la something 
Like alicamxiane— hut, in truth, I'm 

confounded [blesome boy's 

And bother'd, my dear, 'twist that trou- 
(Bob's) cookery language, and Madame 

LE Eoi's : [veal, 

"What with fillets of roses, and fillets of 
Things garni vnth. lace, and things ffami 

with eel, Ipap'illote, 

One's hair and one's cutlets both e?i 

* The late Lord C. of Ireland liad a cni'ious 
theory about names, — he held that every man 
with three names was a jacobin. His instances 
in Ireland were numerous:— viz., Archibald 
Hamilton Rowan, Theobald W^olfe Tone, 
James Napper Tandy, John Philpot Curran, 
(fcc, Scc; and in England he produced as ex- 
amples Ch.arles James Fox. Eichard Brinsley 
Sheridan, John Home Tooke, Francis Burdett 
Jones, ifcc, &c. 



And a thousand more things I shall ne'er 
have by rote, 

I can scarce tell the diS'rence, at least 
as to phrase, Ibraise. — 

Between beef d la PsycM and curls « la 

But, in short, dear, I'm trick'd out 
quite a la Fran9aise, 

"With my bonnet— so beautiful !— high 
up and poking. 

Like things that are put to keep chim- 
neys from smoking. 

"Where sliall I begin with the endless 

dehghts 
Of this Eden of milliners, monkeys, and 

sights — 
This dear busy place, where there's 

nothing transacting 
But dressing and dinnering, dancing and 

acting? 
Imprimis, the Opera — mercy, my ears ! 
Brother Bobby's remark, t'other night, 

was a true one ; — [the spears, 

'"This must be the music," said he, " of 

" For I'm cursed if each note of it 

doesn't run through one ! '' 
Pa says (and you know, love, his Book's 

to make out 
'Twas the Jacobins brought ev'ry mis- 
chief about) 
That this passion for roaring has come 

in of late, [the State. — 

Since the rabble all tried for a voice in 
"What a ftightful idea, one's mind to 

o'erwhelm ! 
"What a chorus, dear Dolly, would 

soon be let loose of it. 
If, when of age, every man in the realm 
Had a voice like old LAis,t and chose 

to make use of it ! 
No— never was known in this riotous 

sphere [singing, my dear; 

Such a breach of the peace as their 
So bad, too, you'd swear that the God 

of both arts, [froHc 

Of Music and Physic, had taken a 

For setting a loud fit of asthuia in parts. 

And composing a fine rumbling bass 

to a colic ! 

The Eomans called a thief " homo trium lit- 
erarum.' 

Tum' trium literarum homo 
Me vituperas ? Fur.* 
Pladtus, Aulular. Act ii. Scene 4. 
t The oldest, most celebrated, and mosi 
noisy of the singers at the French Opera. 

• 7)t(!«(i7(ioM« Buppoaes this word to bo a glo!:Knv.— 
that Is, bethinks "Pur "has made bis escape froa 
the margin Into the te:£t. 



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492 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



But, the dancing— o/i ! parles-moi, Dol- 
ly, de qa— [but Papa. 

There, indeed, is a treat that charms all 

Such beauty— such grace— oh ye sylphs 

of romance! [has 

Fly, fly to TiTANiA, and ask her if slie 

One light-footed nymph in her train that 
can dance ' [ny Bias ! 

Like divine Bigottini and sweet Fan- 
Fanny Bias in Flora— dear creature ! 
— you'd swear, 
When her delicate feet in the dance 
twinlde round, [is the an-, 

That her steps are of light, thather home 
And she only joar co)nx>laisance touch- 
es the ground. [evels 

And when Bigottini in Psyche dish- 

Her black flowing hair, and by 

dfemons is driven, [devils. 

Oh ! who does not envy those rude little 
That hold her and hug her, and keep 
her irom heaven? 

Then, the music— so softly its cadences 
die, ' [and I, 

So divinely— oh, Dolly ! between you 

It's as well for my peace that there's 
nobody nigh 

To make love to me then— yow've a 
soul, and can judge 

What a crisis 'twould be foryour friend 
Biddy Fudge ! 

The next place (which Bobby has near 

lost his heart in) 

They call it the Play-house— I think — 

of St. Martin ;'* [what folly 

Quite charming— and very religious— 

To say that the French are not pious, 

dear Dolly, [and rightly, 

When here one beholds, so correctly 

The Testament tum'd into melo-drames 

nightly;! 

* The Theatre de la Porte St.-Martin, which 
was built when the Opera House in the Palais 
Koval was burnt down, In 1781.— A few days 
after this dreadful fire, which lasted more than 
a week, and in which several persons peiished, 
the Parisian gleqantes displayed flame-colored 
dresses, " couleur de feu d'Opfira !" — Dulaurc 
Curio.Htes de Paris. 

t " The Old Testament," says the theatrical 
Critic in the Gazette de France, " is a mine of 
gold for the man.afrersof our small play-houses. 
A multitude crowd round the Th(5atre de la 
Gaiet6 every evening to seethe Passage of the 
Ecd Sea.'' 

In the plav-bill of one of these sacred melo- 
drames at t^ienna, we find, " The Voice of 
G— d, by M. Schwartz." 

t A piece very popular last year, called 
" DanieX ou La Fosse aus Lions." The fol. 



And, doubtless, so fond they're of scrip- 
tural facts, 
They will soon get the Pentateuch up in 

five acts. [bold defiance 

Here Daniel, in pantomime,}: bids 
To Nebuchadnezzar and all his stufi'd 

lions ; [round the Prophet, 

While pretty young Israelites dance 
In very thin clothing, and but little of 

it ; — [ scriptural path , 

Here Begrand,§ who shines in this 

As the lovely Suzanna, without ev'u 

a relic [bath 

Of drapery round her, comes out of the 

In a manner that, Bob says, is quite 

Eve-angelic/ [month to recite 
But in short, dear, 'twould take me a 
All the exquisite places we're at, day 

and night ; [be glad 

And, besides, ere I finish, I think you'll 
Just to hear one delightfal adventure I've 

had. 

Last night, at the Beaujon,I| a place 

wnere— I doubt [that set out 
If its charms I can paint— there are cars. 
From a lighted pavilion, high up in the 

air, 
And rattle you down, Doll — you hardly 

know where. 
These vehicles, mind me, in which you 

go through [hold two. 

This delightfully dangerous journey. 
Some cavalier asks, with humility, 

whether 
Tou'll venture down loith him— you 

smile — 'tis a match ; 
In an instant you're seated, and down 

both together [old scratch !ir 

Go thund'ring, as if you went post to 

Well, it was but last night, as I stood 

and remark'd 
lowing scene will give an idea of the daring 
sublimity of these Scriptural pantomimes 
" Seine 20.— La fournaise devient uu berccau 
de nuages azures, au fond dnquel est un gi'oupo 
do nuages plus lumincux, et au milieu Jeho- 
vah' au centre d'un cercle de rayons brillans, 
qui annonce la presence de rEtcrnel." 

§ Madame B6grand, a finely-formed woman, 
who acts in "Susanna and tlio Elders,"— 
" L' Amour et la Folic," &c., <S:c. 

II The Promenades A(5riennes. or French 
Mountains.— See a description of this singular 
and fantastic place of amusement in a pam- 
phlet, truly worthy of it, bv "F. F. Cotterel, 
il^decin. Docteur de la Faculte de Paris," 
&c., &c. 

H According to Dr. Cotterel the cars go at 
the rate of forty-eight miles an hour. 




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THE FUDGE FAMILY m PARIS. 



493 



On the looks and odd ways of the girls 
who embark'd, [flight, 

The impatience of some for the perilous 

The forced giggle of others, 'twixt pleas- 
ure and fright,— 

That there came up— imagine, dear 
Doll, if you can [faced man, 

A fine sallow, sublime, sort of "Werter- 

"With mustachios that gave (what we 
read of so oft) 

The dear Corsair expression, half sav- 
age, half soft, [or 

As hyenas in love may be fancied tolook, 

A something between Abelard and old 
Blucher ! [ring his head. 

Up he came, Doll, to me, and, uncov'- 

(Rather bald, but so warlike !) in bad 
English said, 

"Ah! my dear— if Ma'mselle vil be so 
very good — [scarce understood 

Just for von littel course" — though I 

What be wish'd me to do, I said, thank 
him, I would. 

Off we set— and, though faith, dear, I 

hardly knew whether [most then, 

My head or my heels were the ufpor- 

For 'twas like heav'n and earth, Dga,l\. 

coming together,— [again. 

Test, spite of the danger, we dared if. 

And oh ! as I gazed on the features and 

air [defied, 

Of the man, who for me all this peril 

I could fancy almost he and I were a 

pair [side by side, 

Of unhappy young lovers, who thus, 

"Were taking, instead of rope, pistol, or 
dagger, a [ara! 

Desperate dash down the Falls of Mag- 

This achieved, through the gardens* we 

saunter'd about, 

Saw the fireworks, exclaim'd "mag- 

nifique I" at each cracker. 

And, when 'twas all o'er, the dear man 

saw us out [to our. ^acre. 

"With the air, I will say, of a Prince, 

Now, hear me — this stranger— it may be 

mere folly — [Dolly I 

But who do you think we all think it is, 

"Why, bless you, no less than the 

great King of Prussia, 

* In tlie Caf6 attached to these gardens there 
are to be (as Dr. Cotterel informs us) " douze 
aogrcs, tr^s-alertes, qui contrastevoiit par 
i'^benc de leur peau avec Ic teint do lis et do 
loses de ncs belles. Les places et les sorbets, 
scrvis par une main biea noire, fera darantage 



"WTio's here now incog, f-he, who made 
such a fuss, you [and Platoff, 
Remember, in London, with Bluchek 
When Sal was near kissing old Blu 
CHER'S cravat off ! [money, 

Pa says ke's come here to look after his 
(iS'ot taking things now as he used under 
BoNEY,) [saw him. he swore. 
Which suits with our friend, for Bob 
Looking sharp to the silver received at 
the door. [his Queen 

Besides, too, they say that his grief for 
(Which was plain in this sweet fellow's 
face to be seen) [car is. 

Requires such a stimulant dose as this 
Used three times a day with young 
ladies in Paris. [such grief 

Some Doctor, indeed, has declared that 
Should — unless 'twould to utter de- 
spairing its folly push— 
Fly to the Beaujon, and there seek relief 
By rattling, as Bob says, "like shot 
through a holly-bush." 

I must now bid adieu; — only think> 

Dolly, think 

If this should be the King— I have 

i scarce slept a wink [papers 

( With imagining how it will sound in the 

I And how all the Misses my good luct 

will grudge, [drive away vapors 

I When they read that Count Ruppin, tff 

Has gone down the Beaujon with Miss 

Biddy Fudge. 

Nota Bene. — Papa's almost certain 'tis 
he — [could see. 

For he knows the Legitimate cut, and 

In the way he went poising and man- 
aged to tower [_of Power. 

So erect in the car, the true Balance 



LETTER YI. 

FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ., TO HIS BROTHER TIM 
FUDGE, ESQ., BARRISTER AT LAW. 

Tours of the 12th received just now— 
Thanks for the hint, my trusty 

'Tis truly pleasing to see how [brother ! 
We, Fudges, stand by one another. 

But never fear- I know my chap, 

And he knows me too — verhum sap. 

ressortir I'albatre des bras arrondis de celles- 
ci."— p. 2-2. 

t His Majesty, who was at Paris under the 
travelling name of Count Buppiii, is known to 
haye gone down the Beaujon very frequently 



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494 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



My Lord and I are kindred spirits, 
Like in our ways as two young ferrets ; 
Both fashion' d, as that supple race is, 
To twist into all sorts of places ; — 
Creatures lengthy, lean, and hungering, 
Fond of blood and &MrroM;-mongering. 

As to my Book in 91, 

Call'd " Down with Kings, or Who'd 
have thought it V 
Bless you, the Book's long dead and 
gone— 

Not ev'u th' Attorney-General bought 
And, though some few seditious tricks [it. 
1 play'd in 95 and 6, 
As you remind me in your letter, 
His Lordship likes me all the better ; — 
We proselytes, that come with news full, 
Are, as he says, so vastly useful 1 

Eeynolds and I (you know Tom Rey- 
nolds— 

Drinks his claret, keeps his chaise — 
Lucky the dog that first unkennels 

Traitors and Luddites now-a-days ; 
Or who can help to bag a few, [two ;) 

When S— D th wants a death or 

Reynolds and I, and some few more 

All men, like us, oi information, 
Friends, whom his Lordship keeps in 
. store. 

As wwcZer-saviours of the nation* — 
Have form'd a Club this season, where 
His Lordship sometimes takes the chair, 
And gives us many a bright oration 
In praise of our sublime vocation ; 
Tracing it up to groat Kong Midas, 
Who, though in fable typified as 
A royal Ass, by grace divine 
And right of ears, most assinine. 
Was yet no more, in fact historical. 

Than an exceeding well-bred tyrant ; 
And these, his ears, but allegorical, 

* Lord C.'s tribute to the character of his 
friend, Mr. Reynolds, will long be remembered 
with equal credit to both. 

] This interpretation of the fable of Midas's 
ears seems the most probable of any, and is 
llius stated in Hoffmann:— " Hac allegoria 
significatum, Midam, utpote tyrunnum, sub- 
auscultatores diraittere solitum, per quos, 
quiBounque per omnem regionem yel fierent, 
Tcl dicerentur, cognosceret, nimirum illis utens 
aurium vice." 

% Brossette, in a note on this line of Boileau, 
" Midas, le Eoi Midas, a des ore lies d'Ane," 
tells us, that ' ' M. Perrault le ]iI6decin voulut 
fnire a, notro auteur un crime d'etat de ce vers, 
commo d'une mriligne allusion nu Roi." I 



Meaning Informers, kept at high 
rentf— [gliyt'uers, 

Gem'meu, who touch'd the Treasury 
Like us, for being trusty list'uers ; 
And picking up each tale and Iragment, 
For Koyal Midas's Green Bag meant. 
" And wherefore, " said this best of Peers, 
" Should not the R— g — t too haveears,; 
"To reach as far, as long and wide as 
" Those of his model, good King Mi- 
das ?" 
This speech was thought extremely 

good. 
And (rare for him) was understood — 
Instant we drank "The R— G— t's 

Ears," 
With three times three Ulustrious cheers, 
Which made the room resound like 
thunder, [ne'er 

''The R— G— t's Ears, and may he 
" From foolish shame, like Midas, wear 
" Old paltry wigs to keep them un- 
der !"§ 
This touch at our old fiiends, the Whigs, 
Made us as meiTy all as grigs. 
In short, (I'll thank you not to mentioL 
These things again, ) we get on gayly , 
And, thanks to pension and Suspension, 

Our little Club increases daily. 
Castles, and Oliver, and such. 
Who don't as yet full salary touch, 
Nor keep their chaise and pair, nor buy 
Houses and lands. Like Tom and I, 
Of course don't rank with us, salvators,\ 
But merely serve the Club as waiters. 
Like Kuights, too, we've onv collar days, 
(For us I own, au awkward phrase,) 
When in our new costume adom'd, — 
The R— G— t's buff and blue coats 

turn'd — 
We have the honor to give dinners 
To the chief Rats in upper stations ;1[ 

trust, however, that no one will suspect the lino 
in the text of any such indecorous allusion. 

§It was not under wigs, but tiaras, that 
King Midas endeavored to conceal these ap- 
pendages: 

Tempora purpurels tentat velare tiaris.— Onhd. 
The Noble Giver of the toast, however, had 
evidently, with his usual clearness, confounded 

King Midas, Mr. Listen, and Wie P e 

R— g— t together. 

II Mr. Fudge and his friends ought to go by 
this name— as the man, who, some years since, 
saved the late Right Hon. George Rose from 
drowning, ^-as ever aftei' culled Salvator Rnsa. 

II This intimacy between tho Rats and In- 
formers is just as it sli >jJd be— "vere duloe 
sodalitium. 




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THE FUDGE FAMILY lif PAKIS. 



495 



Toui W YS, V Ns,— half-fledged 

sinners, 

"WTio shame us by their imitations ; 
Who turn, 'tis true — but what of that ? 
Sive me the viseiul peaching Eat ; 
Not things as mute as Punch, when 
bought, [brought ; 

Whose wooden heads are all they've 
Who, false enough to shirk their frieiids, 

But too faint-hearted to lietray, 
Are, after all their twists and bends, 

But souls in Limbo, damn'd half-way. 
Ko, no, we nobler vermin are 
A genus useful as we're rare ; 
'Midst all the things miraculous 

Of which your natural histories brag, 
The rarest must be Eats like us, 

Who let the cat out of the hag. 
Yet still these Tyros in the cause 
Deserve, I own, no small applause ; 
And they're by us received and treated 
With all due honors— only seated 
In th' inverse scale of their reward, 
The maxelj promised next my Lord; 
Small pensions then, and so on, down, 

Eat after rat they graduate 
Through job, red ribbon, and silk gown. 

To Chanc'Uorship and Marquisate. 
This serves to nurse the ratting sphit ; 
The less the bribe the more the merit. 

Our music's good, you may be sure ; 
My Lord, you know, 's an amateur. — * 
Takes every part with perfect ease. 

Though to the Base by nature suited ; 
And, form'd for all, as best may please. 
For whips and bolts, or chords and keys. 
Turns from his victims to his glees. 

And has them both well executed A 
H T D, who, though no Eat him- 
self, 

Delights in all such liberal arts, 
Drinks largely to the House of Guelph, 

And superintends the Corni parts. 
While C— NN — G,t who'd be first by 
choice, 

* His Lordship, durinp one of tlie busiest 
periods of his Ministerial career, took lessons 
three times a week from a celebrated music- 
master, in glee-singing-. 

t How amply these two propensities of the 
Noble Lord -n-ould have been gratified among 
that ancient people of Etruria, who, as Aris- 
totle tells us, used to whip their slaves once a 
year to the sound of flutes ! 

t This Eight Hon. Gentleman ought to give 
up his present alliance with LordC., if upon 
no other principle than that which is inculcated 
in the following arrangement between two 
Ladies of Fashion :— 



Consents to take an under voice ; 
And Gr — V — s, $ who well that signal 
Watches the Volti sulitos.W [knows, 

In short, as I've already hinted, 

We take, of late, prodigiously ; 
But as our Club is somewhat stinted 

For Gentlemen, like Tom and me, 
We'U take it kind if you'll provide 
A few Squireens^ from t'other side ; — 
Some of those loyal, cunning elves, 

(We often teirthe tale with laughter,) 
Who used to hide the pikes themselves, 

Then hang the fools who found them 
I doubt not you could find us, too, [after. 
Some Orange Parsons that might do ; 
Among the rest, we've heard of one, 
TheEevereud — something— Hamilton, 
Who stufl"d a figure of himself [at, 

(Delicious thought!) and had it shot 
To bring some Papists to the shelf, 

That couldn't otherwise be got at — 
If hc'R but join th' Association, 
We'll vote him in by acclamation. 

And now, my brother, guide, and friend. 
This somewhat tedious scrawl must end, 
I've gone into this long detail, [shaken 

Because I saw your nerves were 
With anxious fears lest I should fail 

In this new, loyal, course I've taken. 
But, bless your heart, you need not 

doubt — 
We, Fudges, know what we're about. 
Look round, and say if you can see 
A much more thriving family. [day 

There's Jack, the Doctor— night and 

Hundreds of patients so besiege him, 
You'd swear that all the rich and gay 

Fell sick on purpose to oblige him. 
And while they think, the precious nin- 
nies, [steady, 

He's counting o'er their pulse so 
The rogue but counts how many guineas 

He's fobb'd, for that day's work, 
already. 

Says Clarinda, " though tears it may cost, 
It is time we should part, my dear Sue ; 

For your character's totally lost, 
And I have not sufficient for two .'" 

§ The rapidity of this Noble Lord's trans- 
formation, at the same instant, into a Lord of 
the Bedchamber and an opponent of the Catho- 
lic Claims, was truly miraculous. 

II Turn instantly— & frequent direction in 
music-books. 

T The Irish diminutive of Squire. 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 



I'll ne'er forget th' old maid's alarm, [he 
When, feeling thus Miss Sukey Flirt, 

Said, as he dropp'd her slirivell'd arm, 
"Damn'd bad this morning — only 
thirty ! " 

Tom* dowagers, too, every one, 

Sogen'rousare, when they call him in, 
That he might now retire upon 

The rheumatisms of three old women. 
Then, whatsoe'er your ailments are, 

He can so learnedly explain ye 'em— 
Your cold, of course, is a catarrh, 

Tour headache is a hemi-cranium : 
His skill, too in young ladies' lun^s, 

The grace with which, most mild of 
men. 
He begs them to put out their tongues, 

Then bids them — put them in again : 
In short, there's nothing now like 
Jack!— 

Take all your doctors great and smaU, 
Of present times and ages back, 

Dear Doctor Fudge is worth them all. 

So much for physic — then, in law too. 

Counsellor Tim, to thee we bow; 
N"ot one of us gives more eclat to [thou. 

Th' immortal name of Fudge than 
Not to expatiate on the art 
"With which you play'd the patriot's part, 
TiU something good and snug should 
ofler ; 

Like one who, by the way he acts 
Th' enlight'ning part of candle-snuffer, 

The manager's keen eye attracts, 
And is promoted thence by him 
To strut in robes, like thee, my TiM ! — 
Who shall describe thy pow'rs of face, 
Thy well-feed zeal in ev'ry case, 
Or wrong or right— but ten times warmer 
(As suits thy calling) in the former— 
Thy glorious, lawyer-like delight 
In puzzling aU that's clear and right, 
Which, though conspicuous in thy youth, 

Improves so with a wig and band on. 
That all thy pride's to waylay Truth, 

And leave her not a leg to stand on. 
Thy patent, prime, morality, — 

"Thy cases, cited from the Bible — 
Thy candor, when it falls to theo 

To help in trouncing for a libel ; — 
" God knows, I, from my soul, profess 

" To hate all bigots and benighters ! 
" God knows, I love, to ev'n excess, 
" The sacred Freedom of the Press, 

"My only aim's to — crush the writers." 



These are the virtues, Tim, that draw 
The briefs into thy bag so fast ; 

And these, oh Tim — if Law be Law — 
WUl raise thee to the Bench at last. 

I blush to see this letter's length— 

But 'twas my wish to prove to thee 
How full of hope, and wealth, and 
Are all our precious family, [strength, 
And, should affairs go on as pleasant 
As, thank the Fates, they do at present- 
Should we but still enjoy the sway 

Of S— DM— H and of C gh, 

I hope, ere long, to see the day 

When England's wisest statesmen, 

judges. 
Lawyers, peers, will aU be — Fudges ! 

Good-by — my paper's out so nearly, 
I've only room for Tours sincerely. 

LETTER TIL 

FKOM PHELIM CONNOR TO . 

Before we sketch the Present— let us 

cast 
A few, short, rapid glances to the Past. 

When he, who had defied aU Europe's 
strength, [length ;— 

Beneath his own weak rashness sunk at 
When, loosed, as If by magic, from a 
chain [free again, 

That seem'd like Fate's, the world was 
And Europe saw, rejoicing in the sight, 
The cause of Kings, for once, the cause 
of Right;— [those 

Then was, indeed, an hour of joy to 
Who sigh'd for justice — liberty — re- 
pose, [ture's nest 
And hoped the faU of one great vul- 
Would ring its warning round, and 

scare the rest. 

AU then was bright with promise;— 

Kings began [Man, 

To own a sympathy with suff'ring 

And Man was grateful ! Patriots of the 

South [ror's mouth. 

Caught wisdom from a Cossack Empe- 

And heard, like accents thaw'd in Xorth- 

em air, [there ! 

Unwonted words of freedom burst forth 

Who did not hope, in that triumphant 

time, [and crime, 

When monarchs, after years of spoil 

Met round the shrine of Peace, and 

Heav'n look'd on, — 



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THE FUDGE FAMILY m PARIS. 



497 



Who did not hope the lust of spoil was 

gone ; [play'd 

That that rapacious spirit, which had 
The game of Pilnitz o'er so oft, was laid; 
And Europe's Rulers, conscious of the 

past, [last? 

Would blush, and deviate into right at 
But no — the hearts, that nursed a hope 

so fair, [can dare ; 

Had yet to learn what men on thi'ones 
Had yet to know, of aU earth's rav'ning 

things, 
The only quite witameable are Kings! 
Scarce had they met, when, to its nature 

true, 
The instinct of their race broke out anew; 
Promises, treaties, charters, all were vain. 
And " Rapine ! rapine !" was the cry 

again. [and how well, 

How quick they carved their victims, 
Let Saxony, let injured Genoa teU ;— 
Let all the human stock that, day by 

day, [away, — 

"Was, at that Royal slave-mart, ti-uck'd 
The million souls that, in the face of 

heaven, [or given 

Were spht to fractions, * bartered, sold. 
To swell some despot Power, too huge 

before, [moth more. 

And weigh down Europe with one Mam- 
How safe the faith of Kings let France 

decide;— [dried;— 

Her charter broken ere its ink had 
Her Press enthrall'd — her Reason 

mock'd again [vain; 

With all the monkery it had spum'd in 
Her crown disgraced by one, who dared 

to own [his throne ; 

He thank'd not France but England for 
Her triumphs cast into the shade by 

those [foes. 

Who had grown old among her bitterest 
And now retum'd, beneath her con- 

qu'rors' shields, [fields ; 

Unblushing slaves ! to claim her heroes' 
To tread down every trophy of her fame, 
And curse that glory which to them 

was shame!— 
Let these— let all the damning deeds, 

that then 
Were dared through Europe, cry aloud 

to men. 



"While the Congrress was reconstructing 
•ope— not according to rights, natural afii- 
ances, language, habits, or laws, but by tables 
of finance, which divided and subdivided lier 



With voice like that of crashing ice that 

rings 
Round Alpine huts, the perfidy of 

Kings; 
And tell the world, when hawks shall 

harmless bear [learn to spare 
The shrinking dove, when wolves shall 
The helpless victim for whose blood they 

lui5ted, [ti-usted. 

Then, and then only, monarchs may be 

It could not last — these horrors could 

not last— [might, to cast 

France would herself have ris'u, in 
Th' insulters ofi— and oh ! that then, as 

now, [brow, 

Chain'd to some distant islet's rocky 
Napoleon ne'er had come to force, U 

blight, [ bright, - 

Ere half matm-ed, a cause so proudly 
To palsy patriot hearts with doubt and 

shame, [name;— 

And write on Freedom's flag a despot's 
To rush into the lists, unask'd, alone, 
And make the stake of all the game ol 

one ! [ what pow'r 

Then would the world have seen again 
A people can put forth in Freedom's 

hour ; [more have blazed ; — 

Then would the fire of France once 
For every single sword, reluctant raised 
In the stale cause of an oppressive 

throne, 
Millions would then have leap'd forth in 

her own ; 
And never, never had th' unholy stain 
Of Bourbon feet disgraced her shores 

again. 

But fate decreed not so— th' Imperial 
Bhd, 

That, in his neighboring cage, unfear'd, 
unstirr'd. 

Had seem'd to sleep with head beneath 
his wing, [spring ;— 

Yet watch'd the moment for a daring 

Well might he watch, when deeds were 
done, that made [shade ; 

His own transgressions whiten in then* 

Well might he hope a world, thus tram- 
pled o'er [more : — 

By clumsy tyrants, would be his once 



fractions^ according to a scale of the direct 
duties or taxes which could be levied by the 
acquiring state," &e.— Sketch of the Military 
and Political Power of Jiiisxia. The words on 



population into souls, demi-souls, and even the protocol are dmes, demi-dmes. &e 




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MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



Forth from his cage the eagle hurst to 

light, [flight, 

From steeple on to steeple* wing'd his 

With calm and easy grandeur, to that 

thi-one [flown ; 

From which a Eoyal craven just had 

And resting there, as in his eyry, furl'd 

Those wings, whose very rustling shook 

the world ! 

What was your fury then, ye crown'd 
array, [holiday 

Whose feast of spoil, whose plund'ring 
Was thus broke up, in all its greedy 
mirth, [earth ! 

By one bold chieftain's stamp on Gallic 
Fierce was the cry, and fulminant the 
ban, — [can, 

" Assassinate, who will— enchain, who 
"The vile, the faithless, outlaw'd, low- 
bom man !" [you, forsooth, 
•' Faithless !" — and this from you — from 
Ye pious Kings, pure paragons of tmth, 
Whose honesty all knew, for all had 
tried ; [every side ; 
Whose true Swiss zeal had served on 
Whose fame for breaking faith so long 

was known. 
Well might ye claim the craft as all 

your own, 
And lash your lordly tails, and fume to 

see 
Such low-bom apes of Eoyal perfidy ! 
Yes— yes— to you alone did it belong 
To sin'forever, and yet ne'er do wrong. — 
The frauds, the lies of Lords legitimate 
Are but fine policy, deep strokes of 
state; [high 

But let some upstart dare to soar so 
In Kingly craft, and "outlaw" is the 

cry! 
What, though long years of mutual 

treachery 
Had peopled full yom- diplomatic shelves 
With ghosts of ti'eaties, murder'd 'mong 

yourselves ; [dupe— what then ? 
Though each by turns was knave and 
A Holy League would set all straight 

again ; 
Like Juno's virtue, which a dip or two 
In some bless' d fountain made as good 

as new !t 
Most faithful Eussia— faithful to whoe'er 

*"L'aigle volera de clocher en clochcr, 
iusqu'aux tours de Notre-Dame."— Napoleon's 
Proclamation on landing from Elba. 

t Singulis annis in riuodam Attica; fonte lota 
Tirgiuitatem rccinierrtsse fiugitur. 



Could plunder best, and give him am- 
plest share ; 
Who, e'en when vanquish'd, sure tc 

gain his ends. 
For want of foes to rob, made free with 
friends,t [tions, 

And, deepening still by amiable grada- 
When foes were stripp'd of all, then 
fleeced relations !§ [to th' ears 
Most mild and saintly Pmssiar— steep'd 
In persecuted Poland's blood and tears, 
And now, with all her harpy wings out- 
spread 
O'er sever'd Saxony's devoted head ! 
Pure Austria too— whose hist'ry naught 
repeats [feats ; 

But broken leagues and subsidized de- 
Whose faith, as Prince, extiuguish'd 
Tenice shows, [ter knows I 

Whose faith, as man, a widow'd daugh- 
And thou, oh England— who, though 

once as shy 
As cloister'd maids, of shame or perfidy, 
Art row iroke in, and, thanks to 

C GH, [way! 

In all that's worst and falsest lead'st the 
Such was the pure divan, whose pens 

and wits 
Th' escape from Elba frighten'd into 

fits;— 
Such were the saints, who doomed Na- 
poleon's Mfe, [knife. 
In virtuous phrensy to th' assassin's 
Disgusting crew \~who would not glad- 
ly Sj 
To open, downright, bold-faced tyranny. 
To honest guilt, that dares do all but 
lie, [like these, 
From the false, juggling craft of men 
Their canting crimes and vamish'd vil- 

lanies : 

These Holy Leaguers, who then loudest 

boast them most ; 

Of faith and honor, when they've stain'd 

From whose afi'ection men should shrink 

as loath 
As from then- hate, for they'll be fleeced 

by both ; 
Who, ev'n while plund'ring, forge Ee- 

hgion's name 
To frank their spoil, and, without fear 
or shame 

\ At the peace of Tilsit, where he abandoned 
his ally, Prussia, to France, and received a por- 
tion of her territory. 

§ The seizure of Finland from his relative of 
Sweden. 



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THE FUDGE FAMILY IJS" PARIS. 



Call down the Holy Trinity* to bless 
Partition leagues, and deeds of devUish- 

ness ! [sweU of rage 

But hold — enough — soon would this 
O'erflow the boundaries of my scanty 

page ;— [day, 

9o, here 1 pause — farewell— another 
Return we to those Lords of pray'r and 

prey, [right divine, 

Whose loathsome cant, whose frauds by 
Deserve a lash — oh ! weightier far than 

mine ! 



LETTER YIIL 

FKOM MR. BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD , ESQ. 

Dear Dick, while old DoNALDSON'sf 

mending my stays, — 
Which I kneio would go smash with me 

one of these days, [the throttle, 
And, at yesterday's dinner, when, full to 
We lads had begun our dessert with a 

bottle [bacli 

Of neat old Constantia, on my leaning 
Just to order another, by Jove, I went 

crack ! — [phrase. 

Or, as honest Tom said, in his nautical 
" D — n my eyes, Bob, in doubling the 

Cape you've miss'd stays."t 
So, of course, as no gentleman's seen out 

without them. 
They're now at the Schneider's^ — and, 

while he's a])out them, 
Here goes for a letter, post-haste, neck 

and crop. [did I stop? 

Let us see — in my last I was — where 
Oh, I know — at the Boulevards, as 

motley a road as [upon ; 

Man ever would wish a day's lounging 

With its cafes and gardens, hotels aud 

pagodas, [beer m the snn , 

Its founts, and old Counts sipping 

With its houses of all architectures you 

please, [down by degrees 

From the Grecian and Gothic, Dick, 

* The usual preamble of these flagitious com- 
pacts. In the same spirit, Catherine, after the 
dreadful raa^sacre of Warsaw, ordered a sol- 
emn " thauksg-iving to God in all the churches, 
for tho blessiiiixs conferred upon the Poles ;" 
and commanded that each of them should 
" swear hdelity and loyalty to her, and to shed 
in her defence the last drop of their blood, as 
they sliould answer for it to God, and his ter- 
rible judgment, kissing the holy word and cross 
of thi'ii- Saviour !" 

1 An English tailor at Paris. 

; A ship is said to miss stays, when 8h« does 
not obey ihe helm in tacking. 



To the pure Hottentot, or the Brighton 
Chinese ; 

Where in temples antique you may 
breakfast or dinner it, [a minaret. 

Limch at a mosque, aud see Punch from 

Then, Dick, the mixture of bonnets and 
bow'rs, [flow'rs, 

Of foliage and Iripp'ry, fiacres and 

Green-grocers, green-gardens — one hard- 
ly knows whether 

'Tis country or town, they're so mess'd 
up together ! [one sees 

And there, if one loves the romantic, 

Jew clothes-men, like shepherds, re- 
clined under trees ; 

Or Quidnuncs, on Sunday, just fresh 
from the barber's, [those arbors; 

Enjoying their news, and groseiUc\\ iu 

"WMle gayly their wigs, Mke the tendrils, 
are curling, [them are purling. 

And founts of red currant-juicelF round 

Here, Dick, arm in arm as we chatter- 
ing stray, [by the way,— 
And receive a few civil "God-dems" 
For, 'tis odd, these mounseers,— though 

we've wasted om- wealth. 
And our strength, till we've thrown 

ourselves into a phthisic, 
To cram down their throats an old King 

for their health, 
As we whip little children to make 

them take physic ; — 
Yet, spite of our good-natured money 

aud slaughter, [water! 

They hate us as Beelzebub hates holy 
But who the deuce cares, Dick, as long 

as they nourish us [ishes — 

l^eatly as now, and good cookery flour- 
Long as, by bay'nets protected, we JTat 

ties 
May have our full fling at their salmis 

and pai^s? 
And, truly, I always declared 'twould 

be pity [feeding city. 

To bum to the ground such a choioe- 

§ The dandy term for a tailor. 

II "Lemonade and eau-degroseille are meas- 
ured out at every corner of every street, from 
fantastic vessels, jingling with bells, to thirsty 
tradesmen or wearied messengers." — See Lady 
Morgan's lively description of the streets of 
Paris, in her very amusing work upon France, 
book vi. 

IT These gay, portable fountains, from which 
the grosoillo water is administered, arc amon ?: 
the most characteristic ornaments of the streets 
of Paris. 



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500 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Had Dad but his way, he'd have long 

ago blown \^people, I own, 

The whole batch to old JSTick^and the 
If for no other cause than their cursed 

monkey looks, [it, their Cooks ! 
Well deserve a blow-up— but then, damn 
As to Marshals, and Statesmen, and aJl 

their whole lineage. 
For aught that / care, you may knock 

them to spinage ; 
But thmk, Dick, their Cooks— what a 

loss to mankind ! 
What a void in the world would their 

art leave behind ! 
Their chronometer spits— their intense 

salamanders — [old ganders. 

Their ovens — their pots, that can soften 
All vanish'd forever- -their miracles 

o'er, [bling no more ! 

And the Marmite Perpetuelle* bub- 
Forbid it, forbid it, ye Holy Allies ! 
Take whatever ye fancy — take sta- 
tues, take money — 
But leave them, oh leavo them, their 

Perigueux pies, [pickled turmy ! \ 

Their glorious goose-livers, and high 

Though many, I own, are the evils 

they've brought us, [last legs, 

Though Royalty's here on her very 

Fet, who can 'help loving the land that 

has taught us [to dress eggs ?:}: 
Six hundred and eighty-five ways 

Tou see, Dick, in spite of their cries of 

" God-dam," [ous I am ! 

" Coquin Anglais," et cset'ra— how gen'r- 
And now, (to return once again to my 

"Day," [through in this way,) 
Which wiU take us all night to get 
From the Boulevards we saunter 

through many a street. 
Crack jokes on the natives — mine, all 

very neat — [calfops, 

Leave the Signs of the Times to politi- 
A.nd find twice as much fun in the 

Signs of the Shops ; — 

* " Cette merveilleuse Marmite Perpetuelle. 
sur le feu depuis pr6s dun siecle : qui a doun6 
le jour u plus de 300,000 chapons." — Alman. de 
Oourmands, Quatrieme Annee, p. 152. 

tLe thon marine, one of the most favorite 
and indiirestilile hors-d'ceuvres. This fish is 
taken chiefly in the Golfe de Lyon. "La tete 
et le dessous du ventre sent les parties les plus 
recherch^es des gourmets." — Cours Gastro- 
nomique, p. 252. 

\ The exact number mentioned by M. de la 
Beyni^ro — "On connoit en Franco 685 mani- 
eres ditftJrentes d'acoommoder les ceufs ; saus 



Here, a Louis Dix-huit — there, a Mar- 
tinmas goose, [gone out of use)— 
(Much in vogue since your eagles are 
Henri Quatres in shoals, and of Gods a 
great many, [of any :— 

But Saints are the most on hard duty 
St. Tony, who used all temptations to 
spurn, [tempts m his turn ; 

Here hangs o'er a beer-shop, and 
While there St. Yenecia§ sits hemming 
and frilling her [milliner; — 

Holy mouchoir o'er the door of some 
Saint Austin's the " outwaid and visi- 
ble sign [pint of small wine ; 
"Of an inward" cheap dinner, and 
While St. Denys hangs out o'er some 
hatter of ton, [his own, || 
And possessing, good bishop, no head of 
Takesan int'restin Dandies, who'vegot — 
next to none ! [lug's affiehes — 
Then we stareinto shops — readtheeven- 
Or, if some, who're Lotharios in feeding, 
should wish [bad trick, 
Just to flirt with a luncheon, (a devilish 
As it takes off" the bloom of one's appe- 
tite, Dick,) [des Panoramas^ 
To the Passage des— yfh&t d'ye call't— 
We quicken our pace, and there heartily 
cram as [cozen 
Seducing young pat^s as ever could 
One out of one's appetite, down by the 
dozen. lone day. 
We vary, of comse—petits patis do 
The next we've our lunch with the Gau- 
frier Hollandais,** [like Sc— tt, 
That popular artist, who brings out, 
His delightful productions so quick, hot 

and hot ; 
Not the worse for the exquisite comment 

that follows, — 
Divine maresquino, which — Lord, hoir 
one swallows ! 

Once more, then, we saunter forth after 
our snack, or [of a ^a ere. 

Subscribe a few francs for the price 
compter celles que nos savans imagineut 
chaque jour." 

S Veronica, the Saint of the Holy Handker- 
chief, is also, under the name of Venisse, or 
Venecia, the tutelary saint of milliners. 

II St. Denys walked three miles after his head 
was cut off. The mot of a woman of wit upon 
this legend is well known :— " Je le crois bien ; 
en parcil cas, il n'y a que le premier pas qui 
coute." 

t Off the Boulevards Italiens. 

** In the Palais Koyal; successor, I believe, 
to the riamand, so long celebrated for the 

oellMX of his Gaufres. 




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9-^^-^ 




uiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiuuiiiiitiKiiiiiiiiiiiiJiiuiiuiiiiMiiiiuniiuimiiiiuiiiiiituitiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiin 




THE FUDGE FAMILY IN" PAEIS. 



'01 



And drive far away to the old Mon- 
tagues Russes, [of much use 

Where we find a few twkls in the car 

To regen'rate the hunger and thirst of 
us sinners, [tion of dinners. 

Who've lapsed into snacks — the perdi- 

And here, Dick — in answer to one of 

your queries, [much discussion— 

Aboutwhichwe, Gourmands, have had 

I've tried all these mountains, Swiss, 
French, and Ruggieri's, 
And think, for digestion* there's 
none like the Russian ; 

So equal the motion— so gentle, though 
fleet- 
It, in short, such a light and salubri- 
ous scamper is. 

That take whom you please — take old 
L — s D— X — n— T, 
And stuff him— ay, up to the neck — 
with stew'd lampreys, t 

So wholesome these Mounts, such a 
solvent I've found them, 

That, let me but rattle the Monarch well 
down them, [away. 

The fiend. Indigestion, would fly far 

And the regicide lampreysf be foil'd of 
their prey ! 

Such, Dick, are the classical sports that 

con tent us, [ momentous, § 

Till five o'clock brings on that hour so 

That epoch but woa! — my lad — 

here comes the Schneider, 
And, curse him, has made the stays 
three inches wider — [a Guy ! 
Too wide by an inch and a half— what 
* Doctxjr Cotterel recommends, for this pur- 
pose, the Beaujon or French Mountains, and 
calls theiu "unem^decine aiSrienne, couleur de 
rose;" but I own I prefer the authority of Mr. 
Bob, who seems, from the following note found 
in his own handwriting, to have studied all 
these mountains very carefully : — 
Memoranda— ThG Swiss little notice deserves, 
While the fall at Ruggieri's is death to weak 

nerves ; 
And (whate'er Doctor Cott'rel may •write on 

the question) 
The turn at the Beaujon's too sharp for diges- 
tion. 
I doubt whether Mr. Bob is quite correct in 
accenting the second syllable of Ruggieri. 

t A dish so iudigcstiljle. that a late novelist, 
at the end of his book, could imagine no more 
summary mode of getting rid of all his heroes 
and heroines than by a hearty supper of stewed 
lampreys. 

: They killed Henry I. of Engl.ind :— " a food 
^s.iys Hume, gravely) which .alw.nvs agreed 
better with his palate thau his constitution." 
Lampreys, indeed, seem to have been alwayi 



But, no matter— 'twill aU be set right 

by-and-by. [eat still up, 

As we'veMASSiNOT'slI eloquent ca7-tc 1 1 
An inch and a half s but a trifle to fill 

up. 
So — not to lose time, Dick, — here goea 

for the task ; [but ask, 

Au revoir, my old boy — of the Gods ] 
That my life, like " the Leap of the Gen 

man/'U may be, 
" Du lit a la table, de la table au Ut ! ' 
R. F. 



LETTER IX. 



My Lord, th' Instructions, brought tc 

day, 
" I shall m all my best obey." [siblj 
Tour Lordship talks aud writes so sei - 
And — whatsoe'er some wags may say- - 
Oh! not at all incomprehensibly. 
I feel th' inqvuries in your letter 
About my health and French most 
flattering; [what better, 

Thank ye, my French, though some- 
Is, on the whole, but weak and smat- 
tering: — 
N" othing, of course, that can compare 
"With his who made the Congress stare, 
(A certain Lord we need not name,) 

Who ev'n in French, would have hi& 
And talk of " hdtir un systeme [trope, 

" Sur Viquilibre de I'Europe ! " 
Sweet metaphor ! — and then th' Epistle 
Which bid tiie Saxon King go whistle, 
a favorite dish with kings— whether from some 
congeniality between them and that fish, I 
know not; but Dio Cassius tells us that Pollio 
fattened his lampreys with human blood. St. 
Louis of France was particularly fond of them, 
—See the anecdote of Thomas Aquinas eating 
up his majesty's lamprey, in a note upon Jiabe- 
lais, liv. iii. chap. 2. 

§ Had Mr. Bob's Dinner Epistle been in- 
serted, I was prepared with an abundanoe of 
learned matter to illustrate it, for which, as, in- 
deed, for all my "scientia popinae,"* I am in 
debted to a friend in the Dnbhn University,— 
whose reading formerly lay in the viagic hue; 
but, in consequence of the Provost's enlight- 
ened alarm at such studies, he has taken to the 
authors, " de re cibarid " instead : and has left 
Bodin, Remighut, Agripva and his little dog 
Filiolus, for Apici-un, Nonixu, and that most 
learned and savory Jesuit, Bulengerus. 

II A famous Restaurateur— now Dnpont. 

IT An old French saving ,— " Faire le snut de 
I'Allemand, du lit k la table et de la table a« 
lit." 




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502 



MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



That tender letter to " Mon Prince," 
Which show'd alike thy French and 

sense ; — 
Oh no, my Lord— there's none can do 
Or say un-English things like you ; 
And, if the schemes that fiU thy breast 

Could but a vent congenial seek, 
And use the tongue that suits them best, 

Wliat charming Turkish wouldst thou 
But asforwe, aFrenchlessgrab, [speak! 

At Congress never born to stammer, 
K^or learn like thee, my Lord, to snub 

FaJl'n Monarchs, out of Chambaud's 
grammar — 
Bless you, you do not, cannot know 
How far a little French will go ; 
For aL one's stock, one need but draw 

On some half do^en words like these — 
Comme ';a— par-la — W-oas—ali ha! 

They'll take you all through France 
with ease. 

Tour Lordship's praises of the scraps 

I sent you from my Journal lately, 
(Enveloping a few laced caps 

For Lady C.) delight me greatly. 
Tier flatt'ring speech — "what pretty 
things 
«'One finds in Mr. Fudge's pages ! " 
Is praise which (as some poet sings) 

Would pay one for the toils of ages. 
Thus fiatter'd, I presume to send 
A few more extracts by a friend ; 
And I should hope they'll be no less 
Approved of than my last Mri. — 
The former ones, I fear, were creased, 
A.S Biddy round the caps would pin 
them ! 
But these will come to hand, at least 
TJnrampled, for there's nothing in 
them. 
Extracts from Mr. Fudge's Journal, addressed 
to L rdC. 

Aug. 10. 

Went to the Mad-house — saw the man,f 

Who thinks, poor wretch, that, while 
Of Discord here full riot ran, [the Fiend 

He, like the rest, was guillotined ; — 
But that when, under Boney's reign, 

(A more discreet, though quite as 
strong one, ) 

♦ The celebrated letter to Prince Harden- 
burph, (written, liowever, I believe, originally 
in English,) in which his Lordship, professing 
to see "no moral or political objection " to the 
dismemberment of Saxony, denounced the un- 
fortunate King as " not only the most devoted, 
but the most favored of Bonaparte's vassals." 

t This extraordinary madmuu is, I believe, 



The heads were all restored again, 
He, in the scramble, got a wrong one 

Accordingly, he still cries out 
This strange head fits him most un- 
pleasantly ; 

And always runs, poor devil, about 
Inquiring for his own incessantly ! 

While to his case a tear I dropp'd. 

And saunter'd home, thought I — ye 
Gods! 
How many heads might thus be swopp'd, 

And, after all, not make much odds ! 
For instance, there's V— s — tt— t's 

head — 
(" Tam carum"i it may well be said) 
If by some curious chance it came 

To settle on Bill Soames's§ shoulders, 
Th' effect would turn out much the same 

On all respectable cash-holders: 
Except that while, in its new socket. 

The head was planning schemes to win 
A zig-zag way into one's pocket. 

The hands would plunge directly in. 

Good Yiscount S— dm — H, too, instead 
Of his own grave, respected head. 
Might wear (for aught I see that bars) 

Old lady "Wilhelmina Frump's— 
So while the hand sign'd CircuJats, 

The head might lisp out, " What ie 
trumps?" — 
The E — G — t's brains could we transfer 
To some robust man milliner, 
The shop, the shears, the lace, and riband 
Would go, I doubt not, quite as glib on •. 
And, vice versa, take the pains 
To give the P — ce the shopman's brains. 
One only change from thence would flow. 
Ribands would not be wasted so. 

'Twas thus I ponder'd on, my Lord ; 

And ev'n at night, when laid in bed, 
I found myself, before I snored. 

Thus chopping, swopping head for 
head. 
At length I thought, fantastic elf ! 
How such a change would srut myself. 
'Twixt sleep and waking, one by one. 

With vaiious pericraniums saddled. 
At last I tried your Lordship's on. 

And then I grew completely addled— 
in the Bieetre. He imagines, exactly as Mr. 
Fudge states it, that, when the lieads of those 
who had been guillotined were restored, he by 
mistake got some other person's instead of hi 
own. 

} Tam cari capitis. — Horat. 

§ A celebrated pickpocket. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PAEIS. 



503 



Forget all other heads, od rot 'em ! 
And slept, and dreamt that I was — 
Bottom. 

Aug. 21. 

Walk'd out with daughter Bid— was 

shown 
The House of Commons, and the Throne, 
"WTiose velvet cushion's just the same* 
Napoleox sat on — what a shame ! 
Oh, can we wonder, best of speechers. 

When Louis seated thus we see, 
That France's " fundamental features" 

Are much the same they used to be ? 
However, — God preserve the Throne, 

And cushion, too— and keep them free 
From accidents, which have been known 

To happen ev'n to Royalty !t 

Aug. 28. 

Read, at a staU (for oft one pops 

On something at these stalls and shops. 

That does to quote, and gives one's Book 

A classical and knowing look. — 

Indeed I've found, in Latin, lately, 

A course of stalls improves me greatly)— 

'Twas thus I read, that, in the East, 

A monarch's /af s a serious matter ; 
And once in ev'ry year, at least. 

He's weighed^to see if he gets fatterjt 
Then, if a pound or two he be 
Increased, there's quite a jubilee !§ 

Suppose, my Lord — and far from me 
To treat such things with levity— 
But just suppose the R — g — t's weight 
TVere made thus an affair of state ; 
And, ev'ry sessions, at the close, — [is 

'Stead of a speech, which, all can see, 
Heavy and dull enough, God knows — 

"We were to try how heavy he is. 
Much would it glad all hearts to hear 

That, whUe the Nation's Revenue 
Loses so many pounds a year, [few. 

The P E, God bless him ! gains a 

* The only change, if I recollect right, is the 
Bubstitutiou of lilies for bees. This war upon 
too bees is, of course, universal; "exitium 
misfire apibus," like the angry nymphs in 
Virgil : but may not new swarms arise out of 
the victims of Legitimacy yet ? 

1 1 am afraid that Mr. Fudge alludes here to 
a very awkward accident, which is well known 
to have happened to poor L— s le D—s—6, 
Bome years since, at one of the R— g— t's Fetes. 
He was sitting next our gracious Queen at the 
time. 

I " The third day of the Feast the King 
oauseth himself to be weighed with great care." 
—F. Beniier's Toyage to Surat, &c. 

^ "I remember." says Bernier. "that all 



"With bales of muslin, chintzes, spices, 

I see the Easterns weigh their Bangs ;— 
But, for the R— g — t, my advice is, 

"We should throw in much heavier 
things : 

For instance 's quarto volumes, 

"Which, though not spices, serve to 
wrap them ; 
Dominie St — dd — t's Daily columns, 
" Prodigious ! "—in, of course, we'd 
clap them — 

Letters thatC — rtw t's!! pen indites, 

In which, with logical confusion, 
The Major like a Minor writes, 

And never comes to a Conclusion :— 
LordS— M — Rs' pamphlet — or his head — 
(Ah, that were worth its weight in lead !) 
Along with which we in may whip, sly, 
The Speeches of Sir John G— x H— pp- 
That Baronet of many words, [ — sly : 
"Who loves so, in the House of Lords, 
To whisper Bishops— and so nigh 

Unto their wigs in whisp'ring goes, 
That you may always know him by 
A patch of powder on his nose ! — 
If this won't do, we in must cram 
The "Reasons" of Lord B — OK — G 

H — m; 
(A Book his Lordship means to write, 

Entitled " Reasons for my Ratting :'') 
Or, should these prove too small and 
light, 

His r p's a host — we'll bundle that 

in ! 
And, still should all these masses fail 
To turn the R — G— t's ponderous scale, 
"Why then, my Lord, in Heaven's name, 

Pitch in, without reserve or stint. 
The whole of R— gl — y's beauteous 
Dame — 
If that won't raise him, devil's in it ! 
Aug. 31. 

Consulted Murphy's Tagitus 

About those famous spies at Rome, IT 
the Omrahs expressed great joy that the King 
weigliod two pounds more now than the year 
preceding." — Another author tells us that 
" Fatness, as well as a very large head, is con- 
sidered, throughout India, as one of the most 
precious gifts of heaven. An enormous skull 
IS absolutely revered, and the happy owner is 
looked up to as a superior being. To a Prince 
a joulter head is invaluable."— Ori«ntot Field 
Sports. 

II Major Cartwright. 

H The name of the first worthy who set up 
the trade of informer at Rome (to whom oui 
Olivers and Castleses ought to erect a statue, 
was Romanus Hispo ; — " qui formamvitae iuiit 
quam postea celebrem miserise temporum et 




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504 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Whom certain "WTiigs — to make a fuss — 
Describe as much resembling us, * 

Informing gentlemen, at home, [ous, 
But, bless the fools, they can't be seri- 
To say Lord S — dm — th's like Tiberius! 
"What, he, the Peer, that injures no man, 
Like that severe, blood-thirsty Roman !— 
'Tis true, the Tyrant lent an ear to 
All sorts of spies— so doth the Peer, too. 
Tis true my Lord's Elect tell fibs, 
And deal in perjury — ditto Tib's. 
'Tis true the Tyrant screen'd and hid 
His rogues from justicef — ditto Sid. 
'Tis true the Peer is grave and glib 
At moral speeches — ditto TiB.t 
'Tis true, the feats the tjTant did 
"Were in his dotage— diito Sid. 

So far, I own, the parallel 

'Twixt Tib and Sid goes vastly well ; 

But there are points in Tib that strike 

My humble mind as much more like 

Yourself, my dearest Lord, or him. 

Of th' India Board— that soul of whim ! 

Like him, Tiberius loved his joke,§ 

On matters, too, where few can bear 
E. g. a man, cut up, or broke [one ; 

TJpon the wheel —a devlhsh fair one ! 
Yourcommon fractures, wounds and fits, 
Are nothing to such wholesale wits ; 
But, let the sufiPrer gasp for life, 

The joke is then worth any money ; 
And, if he writhe beneath a knife, — 

Oh dear, that's something cpiite too fun- 
In this respect, my Lord, you see [ny. 
The Roman wag and ours agree : 
Now as to your resemblance — mum— 

This parallel we need not follow ;|i 
Though 'tis in Ireland said by some 

Your Lordship beats Tiberius hol- 
low ; [too serious 
"Whips, chains— but these are things 

For me to mention or discuss ; 
"Whene'er your Lordship acts Tiberius, 

Phil. Fudge's part is Tacitm ! 

audaciffl hominum fecerunt."— Tacit. Annal. 
i. 74. 

* They certainly possess the same art of insti- 
gating tlieir victims, which the Report of the 
Secret Committee attributes to Lord Sidmouth's 
agents: — "soaws (says Tacitnsof one of them) 
libidinum et necessitatum, quo pluribus indiciis 
inligaret." 

t " Neque tamen id Sereno noxae fuit, quem 
odium publicum tutiorem faciebat. Nam nt 
quis districtior accusator velut sacrosanctus 
eratr—Annal. lib. iv. 36.— Or, as it is trans- 
lated by Mr. Fudge's friend. Murphy :— " This 
daring accuser ha4 the curses of the people, and 



Sept. 2. 
"Was thinking, had Lord S— dm— th got 
Any good decent sort of Plot 
Against the winter-time— if not, 
Alas, alas, our ruin's fated ; 
All done up, and spifiicated ! 
Ministers and all their vassals, 

Down from 0— tl gh to Castles,— 

Unless we can kick up a riot. 
Ne'er can hope for peace or quiet ! 
"What's to be done? — Spa-Fields was 
clever ; [mockings 

But even tlnat brought gibes and 
Upon our heads — so, mem. — must never 

Keep ammunition in old stockings ; 
For fear some wag should in his cursed 

head 
Take it to say our force was worsted. 
Mem. too — when Sid an army raises. 
It must not be "incog." like Bayes's : 
Nor must the General be a hol)bling 
Professor of the art of cobbling ; 
Lest men, who perpetrate such puns. 

Should say, with Jacobinic grin, 
He felt, from soleing Wellingtons,^ 

A Wellington's great soul within ! 
Nor must an old apothecary 

Go take the Tower, for lack of pence, 
"With (what these wags would call, so 
merry) 

Physical force and vial-eace ! 
No — no — our Plot, my Lord, must be 
Next time contrived more skilfully. 
John Bull, I grieve to say, is gi-owing 
So troublesomely sharp and knowing. 
So wise — in short, so Jacobin — 
'Tis monstrous hard to take him in. 

Sept. 6. 
Heard of the fate of our Ambassador 

In China, and was sorely nettled ; 
But think, my Lord, we should not pass 
it o'er 

TiU all this matter's fairly settled; 
And here's the mode occurs to me : 
As none of our Nobility, 

the protection of the Emperor. Informers, in 
proportion as they rose in guilt, became sacred 
characters.'" 

\ Mnrphy even confers upon one ol his 
speeches the epithet "constitutional." Mr. 
Fudge might have added to his parallel, that 
Tiberius was a good private character : — 
'•egregium vita famaque qiwad privatus." 

f" Ludibria seriis permiscere solitus." 
There is one point of resemblance between 
Tiberius and Lord C. which Mr. Fudge might 
have mentioned— " smpensa semper et obseura 
verba." 
f Short boots, so called. 




niiiiiiiiiiniraiHiiiitiiffliiimiiwnnninniiiiinwmiffliinniififflimiHtiiiiniiiitipiiiiinHiniiimmnintiTniiiniiiiiiiitniiiiinniiiii!^ 





iiniiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiniiiiiniiiiiitiiittjiimmiimiitiiiiiiiiiiraiiiiiiiiniiniiiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiniimmiiiffi^ 

THE FUDGE FAMILY IN" PAKIS. 505 



Though for their own most gracious 

King, 
(They would kiss hands, or— any thing,) 
Can be persuaded to go through 
Tliis farce-Uke trick of the Ko-tou; 
And as these Mandarins won't bend, 

Without some mumming exhibition, 
Suppose, my Lord, you were to send 

Grimaldi to them on a mission : 
As Legate, Joe could play his part, 
And if, in diplomatic art, 
The " volto sciolto "* 's meritorious, 
Let Joe but grin, he has it, glorious ! 
A title for him's easily made ; 

And, by-the-by, one Christmas time, 
If I remember right, he play'd 

Lord MoRLEY in some panto- 
mime; — t [him. 
As Earl of M — rl — y then gazette 
If f other Earl of M— rl— y'U let him. 
(And why should not the world be blest 
"With tivo such stars, for East and 

West?) 
Then, when before the Yellow Screen 

He's brought— and, sure, the very es- 



And help his Excellency, Joe; — 
At least, like noble Amh— rst'8 son, 
The lad will do to practise ou,t 



Of etiquette would be that scene 

Of Joe in the Celestial Presence ! — 
He thus should say:— "Duke Ho and 

Soo, 
"I'll play what tricks you please for you, 
" If you'll, in turn, but do for me 
" A few small tricks you now shall see. 
" If I consult your Emperor's liking 
"At least you'U do the same for my 

King.'' [grins. 

He then should give them nine such 
Aswould astound ev'n Mandarins; 
And throw such somersets, before 
The picture of King George (God 

bless him!) 
As, should Duke Ho but try them o'er, 
Would, by CoNFUOiTJS, much distress 

him ! 

I start this merely as a hint. 
But think vou'U find some wisdom in't : 
And, should you follow up the job. 
My son, my Lord, (you fcnow poor Bob,) 
Would in the suite be glad to go 

* The open countenance, recommended by 
Lord Chesterfield. 

t Mr. Fudge is a little mistaken here. It was 
not Grimaldi, but some very inferior performer, 
who played this part of "Lord Morley" in the 
pantomime, — so much to the horror of the 
distinguished Earl of that name. The expos- 
tulary letters of the Noble Earl to Mr. H— rr— s, 
upon this vulgar profauation of his spick-and. 



LETTER X. 



Well, it isn't the King, after all, my 

dear creature ! 

But don't you go laugh, now — there's 

nothing to quiz in't— 

For grandeur of air and for grimace of 

feature, [hang him, he isn't. 

He might be a King, Doll, though, 

At first, I felt hurt, for I wish'd it, I 

own, [M ALONE, — 

If for no other cause but to vex Miss 
(The great heiress, you know, of Shau- 

dangan, who's here, [ Cashmere, § 
Showing ofi" with such airs, and a real 
While mine's but a paltry old rabbit- 
skin, dear!) [thing, 
But Pa says, on deeply consid'ring the 
" I am just as well pleased it should »o< 

be the King; [and jolie, 

" As I think for my Biddy, so gentille 

"Whose charms may their price in 

an honest way fetch, 
"That a Brandenburgh " — (what is a 

Brandenburgh, Dolly ?)— 
"Would be, after all, no such very 

great catch. [looking sly— 

' If the R— G— T indeed,"— added he, 
(You remember that comical squint of 

his eye, ) — [ can you say so. 

But I stopp'd him with " La, Pa, how 
"When the R— G— T loves none but 

old women, you know !'' 
Which is fact, my dear Dolly— we, 

girls of eighteen, [fit to be seen; 
And so slim — Lord, he'd think us not 
And would like us much better as old — 

ay, as old [I've been told 

As that Countess of Desmond, of whom 
That she lived to much more than a 

hundred and ten, [tree then ! 
And was kill'd by a fall from a cherry- 
What a frisky old girl I but — to come to 

my lover, 

span new title, will, I trust, some time or other, 
be given to the world. 

♦ See Mr. Ellis's account of the Embassy. 

& See Lady Morgan s " France " for the an- 
ecdote, told her by Madame de Genlis, of the 
young gentleman whose love was cured by 
finding that hia mistress wore a shawl "pea* 
de lapiu.'' 




liUHiimiiiraiiHuiiiiHtiiiiiiiiiiiiiifltininnfniimiiiiBiniwiitiiiiuiiiiiffliiiii 




iiiiii-rainiiiiiiiHiiHiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiitiiiiJiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiniifiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiuii^^ 



506 



MOOKE'S WOEKS. 



"Who, though not a Kmg, is a hero 

I'll swear, — [briefly run over, 

You shall hear all that's happen'd, just 

Smce that happy night, when we 
whisk'd through the air ! 

Let me see — 'twas on Saturday — yes, 

Dolly, yes— [of my bliss, 

From that evening I date the first dawn 

When we both rattled off in that dear 

little carriage, 
"Whose jom-ney. Bob says, is so like 
; Love and Marriage, 

"Beginning gay, desperate, dashing, 
down-hilly, [DiUy !"* 

"And ending as dull as a six-inside 
"Well, scarcely a wink did I sleep the 
night through ; [ter to you, 

And, next day, having scribbled my let- 
With a heart full of hope this sweet fel- 
low to meet, [huit 
I set out with Papa, to see Louis Dix- 
Make his bow to some half dozen wo- 
men and boys, [le Eois — 
"Who get up a small concert of shrill Vive 
And how vastly genteeler, my dear, 
even this is, [hisses ! 
Than vulgar Pall-Mall's oratorio of 
The gardens seem'd full— so, of course, 

we walk'd o'er 'em, 
'Mong orange-trees, clipp'd into town- 
bred decorum, [statue. 
And daphnes, and vases, and many a 
There staring, with not ev'n a stitch on 
them, at you ! [on the brink 
The ponds, too, weviow'd — stood awhile 
* The cars, on the return, are dragged up 
eloTvly by a chain. 

t Mr. Bob need not be ashamed of his cook- 
ery jolies, when he is kept in countenance by 
such men as Cicero, St. Augustine, and that 
jovial bishop, Venantixis Fortunatus. The pun 
of tlie great orator upon the "jus Verrinum," 
which he calls bad hon-broth, from a play upon 
both the words, is well known; and the Saints 
puns upon the conversion of Lot's wife into 
salt, are equally inffenious :— " In salem con- 
versa hommibus ficielibus quoddam prsestitit 
, condimentum, quo sapiant aliquid, unde illud 
(caveatur exemplum.' — De Oivitat. Dei, lib. 
lxvi.,cap.30.— The jokes of the pious favorite of 
'Queen Kadagunda, the convivial Bishop Ve- 
nantius, may be found among his poems, in 
some lines against a cook who had robbed him. 
The following is similar to Cicero's pun:— 
Flnajuscella Coci quam men jura valent. 
See his poems, Oorpiis Poctar. Latin, tom. 
ii., p. 1732.— Of the same kind was Montmaur's 
joke, when a dish was spilt over him—" sum- 
mum jus, snmma injuria;" and the same cele- 
brated parasite, in ordering a sole to be plaeed 
before him said — 



To contemplate the play of those 

pretty gold fishes — 
"Live bullion," says merwless Bob, 

"which, I thmk, 
""Would, i£ coi7i'd, with a little mint 

sauce, be dehcious !"t 

But what, Dolly, what, is the gay or- 
ange grove, [of her love ? 
Or gold fishes, to her that's in search 
In vain did I wildly explore every chair 
"Where a thing like a man was — no lover 

sat there ! 
In vain my fond eyes did I eagerly east 
At the whiskers, mustachios, and wigs 
that went past, [cm-1, — 

To obtain, if I could, but a glance at that 
A glimpse of those whiskers, as sacred, 
my girl, [men giv'n. 

As the lock that. Pa says,tistoMussul- 
For the angel to hold by that "lugs 
them to heav'n !" [quiz, 

Alas, there went by me fall many a 
And mustachios in plenty, but nothing 
Mke his ! "well-a-day," 

Disappointed, I found myself sighing out 
Thought of the words of T— m M— re's 
Irish Melody, [light,"§ 

Something about the " green spot of de- 
("Which, you know. Captain Mackin 
TOSH sung to us one day ;) 
Ah Dolly, my "spot" was that Satur- 
day night, [wither'd by Sunday ! 
And its verdure, how fleeting, had 
"We dined at a tavern— La, what do I 
say? 

Eligi cui dicas, tu mihi sola places. 

The reader may likewise see, among a good 
deal of kitchen erudition, the learned Lipsitis's 
jokes on cutting up a capon in Lis Saturnal. 
Hermon. lib. ii., cap. 2. 

{ For this scrap of knowledge " Pa " was, I 
suspect, indebted to a note upon Volney's 
ruins; a book which usually forms part of a 
Jacobin's library, and with which Mr. Fudge 
must have been well acquainted at the time 
when he wrote his "Down with Kings," &c. 
The note in Volney is as follows:— "It is by 
this tuft of hair, (on the crown of the head,) 
worn bv the majority of Mussulmans, that the 
Angel of the Tomb is to take the elect and 
carry them to Paradise." 

§ The young lady, whose memory is not very 
correct, must allude, I think, to the following 
lines :— 

Oh that fairy form is ne'er forgot, 

"Which First Love traced ; 
Still it ling'ring haunts the greenest spot 

On Memory's waste ! 




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'^ llllllllllllllllillllllllill''<IIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIUIIIII)|l1hiiiillllllllllfllllllllllIillltIllllllllllllllllllUllllllllltllll^ 




THE FUDGE FAMILY IN" PAEIS. 



507 



If Bob was to know !— a Eestaura- 
teur's, dear; 
WTiere your properest ladies go dine 
every day, [tumblers, like beer. 
And drink Burgundy out of large 
Fine Bob (for he's really grown sujyer- 
fine) [of the party; 

Condescended, for OBce, to make one 
Of course, though but three, we had 
dinner for nine, [ I ate hearty. 
And in spite of my grief, love, I own 
Indeed, Doll, I know not how 'tis, but, 
in grief, [relief; 

I have always found eating a wondrous 
And Bob, who's in love, said he felt 
the same quite — 
" My sighs," said he, " ceased with the 
lii-st glass I drank you ; 
" The lamb made me tranquil, the puffs 
made me light, 
•' And — now that all's o'er — why I'm 
—pretty well, thank you !" 
To my great annoyance, we sat rather 

late; 
For Bobby and Pa had a furious debate 
About singing and cookery — Bobby, of 
course, [full force _;* 

Standing up for the latter Fine Art in 
And Pa saying, "God only knows 
which is worst, 
" The French Singers or Cooks, but I 
wish us well over it— [cursed 
" What with old Lais and Yery, I'm 
" If my head or my stomach will ever 
recover it !" 

'Twas dark when we got to the Boule- 
vards to stroll, [street Macaronis, 
And in vain did I look 'mong the 
When, sudden it struck me — last hope 
of my soul — 
That some angel might take the dear 
man to Tortoni's If 
We enter'd— and, scarcely had Bob, 
with an air, [the waiters 

For a grappe a la jardiniere call'd to 
When, oh Doll ! I saw him — my hero 
was there, 
(For I knew his white small-clothes 
and brown leather gaiters,) 

* Cookery has been disjnifled by the re- 
searches of a Bacon, (see his Natural History, 
Receipts, &c.,) and takes its station as one of 
the Fine Arts in the following passage of Mr. 
Dugald StowarJ.—" Agreeable to this view of 
the subject, sweet may be said to be intrinsi- 
cally pleasing, and bitter to be relatively pleas- 
ing; while both are, in many cases, equally 



A group of fair statues from Greece 

smiling o'er him,t [before him ! 
And lots of red cuiTaut-juice sparkling 
Oh Dolly, these heroes— what creatures 

they are : [full of slaughter I 

In the boudoir the same as in fields 

As cool in the Beaujon's precipitous car. 

As when safe at Tortoni's, o'er iced 

currant water ! [my ecstasy — 
He join'd us — imagine, dear creature, 
Join'd by the man I'd have broken ten 

necks to see ! [glace, 

Bob wish'd to treat him with Punch a la 
But the sweet feUow swore that my 

beaute, my grace, 
And mj je-ne-sais-quoi (then his whis- 
kers he twirl'd) [in de vorld.'' — 
Were, to him, '' on de top of all Ponch 
How pretty ! — though oft (as of com-se, 

it must be) [Greek, Doll, to me. 
Both his French and his English are 
But, in short, I felt happy as ever fond 

heart did ; [we parted. 

And happier still, when 'twas fixed, ere 
That, if the next day should he pastoral 

weather, [together, 

We aU would set ofi", in French buggies. 
To see Montmorency — that place which, 

you know, [Jacques Eousseatj. 
Is so famous for cherries and Jean 
His card then he gave us — the name, 

rather creased — [nel at least ! 
But 'twas Calicot— something— a Colo- 
After which — sure there never was a 

hero so civil — he [Bivoli, 

Saw us safe home to our door in Eue 
Where his last words, as, at parting, 

he threw [" How do you do ! "§ 
A soft look o'er his shoulders, were— 

But, Lord,— there's Papa for the post— 
I'm so vex'd — [for my next. 
Montmorency must now, love, be kept 
That dear Sunday night ! — I was charm- 
ingly dress'd, [my best , 
And — so providential! — was looking 
Such a sweet muslin gown, with a 

flounce— and my frills, 
You've no notion how'rich— (though Pa 

has by the bills) 
essential to those effects, which, in the art of 
cookery, correspond to that composite beauty 
which It is the obi-^ct of the painter and of the 
poet to create." — Philosophical Essays. 

■t A fashionable cafe glacier on the Italian 
Boulevards. 

; '• Ton eat your lee at Tortoni's," says Mr 
Scott, " under a Grecian group." 
§ Not au unusual mistake with foreigners. 



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1^08 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And you'd smile had you seen, where 
we sat rather near, [my dear. 

Colonel Calicot eyeing the cambric, 

Then the flow'rs in my bonnet — but, la, 
it's in vain— 

So, good by, my sweet Doll— I shall 
soon write again! B. F. 

Nota 6e«e— our love to all neighbors 

about— [gout ? 

Tour Papa in particular — how is his 

P. S. — I've just open'd mv letter to say, 
In your next you must tell me, (now do, 

Dolly, pray, [quiz,) 

For Ihatu to ask Bob, he's so ready to 
What sort of a thing, dear, a Branden- 

burgh is. 

LETTER XI. 

FROM PHELIM CONT^OR TO . 

Tes, 'twas a cause, as noble and as 

great 
As ever hero died to vindicate — 
A Nation's right to speak a Nation's 

voice, [choice ! 

And own no power but of the Nation's 
Such was the grand, the glorious cause 

that new [brow ; 

Hungtrembhng on Napoleon's single 
Such the sublime arbitrament, that 

j^our'd, 
In patriot tyes, alight around his sword, 
A hallowing light, which never, since 

the day [way ! 

Of his young victories, had illumed its 

Oh, 'twas not then the time for tame de- 
bates, [your gates ; 
Ye men of Gaul, when chains were at 
When he, who late had fled your Chief- 

tain'a eye, fly,* 

Is geese from eagles on Mount Taurus 
denounced against tho land, that spum'd 

his chain, 
Myriads of swords to bind it fast again — 
ilyriads (f fierce invading swords, to 

track [vengeance back ; 

Through your best blood his path of 
When Europe's Kings, that never yet 

combined [conjoin'd, 

But (like t'-^ose upper Stars, that, when 

' * See ^lian, lib. v. cap. 29,— who tells ns 
that these geoee, fi-om a consciousness of their 
own loquacity, always cross Mount Taurus 
with stones in their "bills, to prevent any un- 
lucky cackle from betraying them to the eagles 

— StoTreToi'Tai ciunruivref , 

i Bomebody (Fontenelle, I believe) Las said, 



Shed war and pestilence) to scourge 

mankind, 
Gather'd around, with hosts from every 

shore, 
Hating Napoleon much, but Freedom 

more, [see 

And, in that coming strife, appall'd to 
The world yet left one chance for lib- 
erty !— [net 
No, 'twas not then the time to weave a 
Of bondage around your Chief; to curb 

and fret [fight, 

Your veteran war-horse, pawing for the 
When every hope was in his speed and 

might — 
To waste the hour of action in dispute, 
And coolly plan how freedom's boughs 

should shoot, [root! 

When your Invader's axe was at the 
No, sacred Liberty ! that God who 

throws 
Thy light around, like his own sunshine, 

knows 
How well I love thee, and how deeply 

hate 
All tyrants, upstart and Legitimate — 
Yet, in that hour, were Prance my na- 
tive land, 
I would have folio w'd with quick heart 

and hand. 
Napoleon, Nero,— ay, no matta: 

whom — 
To snatch my country from that dam- 
ning doom, [quer'd waits — 
That deadliest curse that on the con- 
A conqueror's satrap, throned within 

her gates ! 

True, he was false— despotic — all you 

please— [ties- 

Had trampled down man's holiest fiber- 
Had, by a genius, form'd for nobler 

things 
Than Ue within the grasp of vulgar 

Kings, 
But raised the hopes of men— as eaglets 
With tortoises aloft into the sky— [fly 
To dash them down again more shat- 

t'ringly ! 
All this I own— but stillt * * 



that if he had his hand full of truths, he would 
open but one finger at a time ; and the same 
sort ol reserve I find to be necessary with re- 
spect to Mr. Connor's verr plain-spoken letters. 
The remainder of this Epistle is so full of un- 
safe matter-of-fact, that it must, for the present 
at least, be withheld from the public. 



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THE FUDGE FAMILY m PAEIS. 



LETTER XII. 

FKOM MISS BTODY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY . 

At last, Dolly,— thanks to a potent 

emetic, [sympathetic. 

Which Bobby and Pa, with grimace 
Have swallow'd this morning to balance 

the bliss [visses — 

Of an eel matelote and a Usque (Vicre- 
I've a morning at home to myself, and 

sit down [of town. 

To describe you our heavenly trip out 
How agog you must be for this letter, 

my dear ! [to hear 

Lady Jane, in the novel, less languish'd 
If that elegant comet she met at Lord 

ifEviLLE's [devils. 

Was actually dying with love— or blue 
But Love, Dolly, Love is the theme I 

pursue ; [nothing to do — 

With Blue Devils, thank heav'n, I have 
Except, indeed, dear Colonel Calicot 

spies [eyes, 

An;7 imps of that color in certain blue 
Which he stares at till I, Doll, at his 

do the same ; [often exclaim, 
Then he simpers— I blush— and would 
If I knew but the French for it, " Lord, 

Sir, for shame \" 

Well, the morning was lovely — the trees 
in full dress [express — 

For the happy occasion— the sunshine 
Had we order'd it, dear, of the best poet 
going, [and glowing. 

It scarce could be fumish'd more golden 
Though late when we started, the scent 

of the air 

Was hke Gattie's rose-water,— and, 

bright, here and there, [teringyet. 

On the grass an odd dew-di-op was glit- 

Like my aunt's diamond pin on her 

green tabbinet ! 
While the birds seem'd to warble as 
bless'd on the boughs, [spouse ; 
As if each a plumed Calicot had for her 
And the grapes were all blushing and 
kissing in rows, [ever one goes 
And— in short, need I tell you, wher- 
With the creature one loves," 'tis all cou- 
leur de rose ; [long, see 

And, ah, I shall ne'er, lived I ever so 
A day such as that at divine Montmo- 
rency ! 

* The column in the Phice Vendome. 
t "Employant pour ccla le plus beau papier 
d«r^, s^chant rScrlture avec de la poudre 



There was but one drawback — at first 
when we started, [ed ; 

The Colonel and I were inhumanly part- 
How cruel— young hearts of such mo- 
ments to rob ! [with Bob ; , 
He went in Pa's buggy, and I went ' 
And, I own, I felt spitefully happy to 
know [so-so. 
That Papa and his comrade agreed but 
For the Colonel, it seems, is a stickler 

of Boney's— 
Served with him of course — nay, I'm sure 
they were cronies. [can trace 

So martial his features ! dear Doll, you 
Ulm, Austerlitz, Lodi, as plain in "^his 
face [brass,* 

As you do on that pillar of glory and 
Which the poor Due de B— ri must hate 

so to pass ! 
It appears, too, he made — as most for- 
eigners do— [or two. 
About English aiiairs an odd blunder 
For example — misled by the names, I 

dare say — [Lord C gh ; 

He confounded Jack Castles with 

And — sure such a blimder no mortal hit 

ever on — [clever one ! 

Fancied the present Lord C— md — n the 

But politics ne'er were the sweet fel- 
low's trade ; [onel was made. 
'Twas for war and the ladies my Col- 
And, oh, had you heard, as together we 

walk'd 
Through that beautiful forest, how 

sweetly he talk'd ; 
And how perfectly weU he appear'd, 

Doll, to know 
AU the life and adventures of Jean 

Jacques Eousseau !— 
"Twas there," said he— not that his 

words I can state ;— 
'Twas a gibb'rish that Cupid alone could 

translate ; — [small and remote, 
But " there," said he, (pointing where, 
The dear Hermitage rose,) "there his 

Julie he wrote,- - ■ [or erasure ; 
"Upon paper gilt-edged, t without blot 
" Then sanded it over with silver and 

azure, [not do ?— 

"And— oh, what wiU genius and fancy 
^' Tied the leaves up together with nom- 

parcille hlne I" [of emotions 

What a trait of Eousseau ! what a crowd 

d'azur et d'argent. et cousant mes oahiers aveo 
de la nompareille blene."— ie* Con/cssiom, 
part ii. Uy. S». 



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510 



MOOEE'S "VTOEKS. 



From sand and blue ribands are con- 
jured up here ! [tions 
Alas, that a man of such exquisite* no- 
Should send his poor brats to the 
Foundling, my dear ! 

"'Twas here, too, perhaps," Colonel 

Calicot said— [led — 

As down the small garden he pensively 
(Though once I could see his sublime 

forehead wrinkle [periwinldef) 
"With rage not to find there the loved 
•"Twas here he received from the fair 

D'Bpinat, [every day,) 

" (Who call'd him so sweetly her Bear\ 
" That dear flannel petticoat, pull'd off 

to form [warm !"§ 

'' A waistcoat to keep the enthusiast 

Such, Doll, were the sweet recollec- 
tions we ponder'd. 
As, full of romance, through that val- 
ley we wander'd. [odd it is !) 
The flannel (one's train of ideas, how 
Led us to talk about other commodities. 
Cambric, and silk, and — I ne'er shall 
forget, [to its set, 

For the sun was then hast'ning in pomp 
And full on the Colonel's dark whis- 
kers shone down. 
When he ask'd me, with eagerness, — 

who made my gown ? 
The question confased me — for, Doll, 
you must know, [friend long ago. 
And I ought to have told my best 
That, by Pa's strict command, I no long- 
er employll [le Eoi ; 
That enchanting couturiere, Madame 
But am forced now to have Victor- 

INE, who — deuce take her ! — 
It seems is, at present, the King's man- 
tua-maker — [the smartest, 

I mean of Jiis party — and, though much 
Le Eoi is condemn'd as a rarik Bona- 
partist.U 
* This word, "exquisite," is evidently a 
favorite of Miss Fudge's ; and I undei-stand 
she was not a little augry when her brother 
Bob committed a imn on the last two syllables 
of it in the following couplet:— 
"I'd fain praise your Poem— but tell me, how- 
is it, 
AThcn I cry out "Exquisite," Echo cries 

" quiz it V 
t The flower which Rousseau brought into 
such fashion among the Parisians, l)y exclaim- 
ing one day, "Ah, voiia, de la pervenche! ' 

J " Mon ours, voila votro asyle— et vous, 
mon ours, ne viendrez vous pas aussi?" — &c., 

&.C. 

J " Un jour, qu'il geloit tr6s-fort, en ouvrant 



Think, Doll, how confounded I 
look'd— so well knowing 

The Colonel's opinion — my cheeks 
were quite glowing ; 

I stammer'd out something— nay, even 
half-named [he exclaim'd, 

The legitimate sempstress, when, loud 

" Yes, yes, by the stitching 'tis plain to 
be seen [b h Victorine \" 

"It was made by that Bom-bouite 

What a word for a hero ! — but heroes 
will err, [just as they were. 

Arfd I thought, dear, I'd tell you things 

Besides, though the word on good man- 
ners intrench, [French. 

I assure you 'tis not half so shocking in 

But this cloud, though emban-assing, 
soon pass'd away, [that day, 

And the bliss altogether, the dreams of 
The thoughts that arise, when such dear 
fellows woo us — [thing to us — 
The nothings that then, love, are every 
That quick correspondence of glances 
and sighs [post of the Eyes" — 
And what Bob calls the "Twopeuny- 
Ah, Doll ! though I Mow you've a 
heart, 'tis in vain [to explain. 
To a heart so unpractised these things 
They can only be felt, in their fulness 
divine, [decline, 

By her who has wander'd, at evening's 
Through a valley like that, with a Colo- 
nel like mine ! 

But here I must finish— for Bob, my 

dear Dolly, [melancholy, 

Whom physic, I find, always makes 
Is seized with a fancy for chm-chyard 

reflections ; [lections, 

And, full of all yesterday's rich recol 
Is just setting off for Montmartre — " for 

there is," 
Said he, looking solemn, "the tomb 

of the Verys!** 
un pnqnet qu'elle m'envoyoit, jeStrouvni un 
petit juponde flanelle d'Aiigleterre, qu'elle me 
marquoit avoir port6, et dont ello vouloit que 
je me iisse faire un gilet. Ce soin. plus qu'ami- 
cal, me parut si tendre. comme si elle se ffit 
dfipouillee pour me vetir, que, dans mon emo- 
tion, je baisai vingt fois en pleurant le billet et 



lejupon.' 

it — 



Miss Biddy's notions of French pronuncia- 
tion may be perceived in the rhymes which 
she alwavs selects for "Le Roi." 

t Le KOI, who was the Couturidre of the 
Empress Maria Louisa, is at present, of course, 
out of fashion, and is succeeded in her station 
by the Royalist mantua-maker, Victoeine. 

** It is the brother of the present excellent 




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THE FUDGE FAMILY m PARIS. 



511 



" Long, long have I wisli'd, as a votary 

true, [my moans; 

" O'er the grave of such talents to utter 

" And, to-day — as my stomach is not iu 

good cue [visit their bones /" 

"For the flesh of the Yerys— I'll 

He insists upon my going with him — 

how teasing! [shall lie 

This letter, however, dear Dolly, 

Unseal'd in my draw'r, that, if anything 

pleasing [good-by. 

Occurs while I'm out, I may tell you — 

B. F. 

Four o'clock. 

Oh, Dolly, dear Dolly, I'm ruin'd for- 
ever — [never ! 
I ne'er shall be happy again, Dolly, 
To think of the wretch — what a victim 
was I ! [shall die — 
'Tis too much to endure — I shall die, I 
My brain's in a fever — my pulses beat 
quick— [sick ! 
I shall die, or, at least, be exceedingly 
Oh, what do you think ? after all my ro- 
mancing, [glancing. 
My visions of glory, my sighing, my 
This Colonel — I scarce can commit it to 
paper — [draper!! 
This Colonel's no more than a vile linen- 
'Tis true as I live— I had coax'd brother 

Bob so, 
(Tou'U hardly make out what I'm writ- 
ing, I sob so, ) 
For some little gift on my birth -day— 
September [remember — 

The thirtieth, dear, I'm eighteen, you 
That Bob to a shop kindly order'd the 
coach, [man would prove,) 

(Ah, little I thought who the shop- 
To bespeak me a few of those mouchoirs 
cle poche, 
"WTiich, in happier hours, I have sigh'd 
for, my love — 
^The most beautiful things — two 'Sa.- 

poleons the price — 
And one's name in the comer embroid- 

er'd so nice ! ) 
"Well, with heart full of pleasure, I enter'd 

the shop, 
But— ye Gods, what a phantom ! — I 

thought I should drop — 
There he stood, my dear Dolly — no 

room for a doubt- 
Restaurateur who lies entombed so magnifi- 
cently in the Cimeti^re Montmartre. The in- 
scription on the column at the head of the 



There, behind the vUe counter, these 
eyes saw him stand, 
With a piece of French cambric before 
him roll'd out. 
And that horrid yard-measure up- 
raised in his hand ! 
Oh^Papa, all along, knew the secret, 

'tis clear — 
'Twas a shopman he meant by a "Bran- 
denburgh,'' dear ! [a King, 

The man, whom I fondly had fancied 
And, when that too delightful delu- 
sion was past, [erous thing— 
As a hero had worshipp'd — vile, treach- 
To turn out but a low linen-draper at 
last ! 
My head swam around— the wretch 

smiled, I believe. 
But his smiUng, aids, could no longer de- 
ceive — 
I fell back on Bob— my whole heart 
seem'd to wither — [hither ! 

And, pale as a ghost, I was earned back 
I only remember that Bob, as I caught 
him, [the Kiddy ! 

With cruel facetiousness said, "Curse 
"A stanch Revolutionist always I've 
thought him, [one, Biddy!'' 

"But now I find out he's a Counter 

Only think, my dear creature, if this 

should be known 
To that saucy, satirical thing. Miss Ma- 
lone, 
What a story 'twill be at Shandangan 
forever! 
What laughs and what quizzing she'll 
have with the men ! 
It will spread through the country— and 
never, oh, never 
Can Biddy be seen at Kilrandy again ! 
Farewell — I shall do something des- 
p'rate, I fear— [eai-, 

And, ah ! if my fate ever reaches your 
One tear of compassion my Doll will 
not grudge [friend, 

To her poor— broken-hearted — young 
Biddy FriscE. 

Nota bene — I am sure you will hear, 
with delight, [net to-night, 

That we're going, aU three, to see Bru- 

A laugh will revive me — and kind Mr. 
Cox [emor's box. 

(Do you know him ?) has got us the Gov- 

tcmb concliKles with the following words :^ 
" Tonte Ba vio fut consacrfio aux arU utiles." 




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512 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



Tu Regibus alas 
Eripe. 

Clip the wings 

Of these Mgli-flying, arbitrary Kings. 



Virgil, Qeorg. lib. iv. 
Dryden's Translation. 



TO LORD BYROK 

Dear Lord Byron, 

Though this volume should possess 
no other merit in your eyes, than that 
of reminding you of the short time we 
passed together at Venice, when some 
of the trifles which it contains were 
written, you will, I am sure, receive the 
dedication of it with pleasure, and be- 
lieve that I am. 

My dear Lord, 

Ever faithfully yours, 

T. B. 



PREFACE. 

Though it was the wish of the mem- 
bers of the Poco-curante Society (who 
have lately done me the honor of elect- 
ing me tlieir Secretary) that I should 
Erefix my name to the following Miscel- 
my, it is but fair to them and to my- 
self to state, that, except in the "pain- 
ful pre-eminence " of being employed to 
transcribe their lucubrations, my claim 
to such a distinction in the title-page is 
not gi'eater than that of any other gen- 
tleman, who has contributed his share 
to the contents of the volume. 

I had originally intended to take this 
opportunity of giving some account of 
the origin and objects of our Institution, 
the names and characters of the differ- 
ent members, (fee, &c. — but as I am 
at present preparing for the press the 
First Volume of the " Transactions of 
the Poco-curante Society," I shall re- 
serve for that occasion all further de- 
tails upon the subject ; and content my- 
self here with referring, for a general in- 
sight into our tenets, to a Song whidi 



will be found at the end of this work, 
and which is sung to us on the first day 
of every month, by one of our oldest 
members, to the tune of (as far as I can 
recollect, being no musician,) either 
" Nancy Dawson " or "He stole away 
the Bacon." 

It may be well also to state, for the 
information of those critics who attack 
with the hope of being answered, and of 
being, thereby, brought into notice, that 
it is the rule of this Society to retm^n no 
other answer to such assailants, than is 
contained in the thi-ee words, "Non cu- 
rat Hippoclides," (meaning, in English, 
" Hippoclides does not care a fig, ") 
which were spoken two thousand years 
ago by the first founder of Poco-curant- 
ism, and have ever since been adopted 
as the leading dictum of the sect. 

THOMAS BROWN". 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY 
ALLIANCE. 



FABLE I. 

THE DISSOLUTION OP THE HOLY ALLLA.NCK. 
A DREAM. 

I've had a dream that bodes no good 
Unto the Holy Brotherhood. 
I may be wrong, but I confess — 

As far as it is right or lawful 
For one, no conjurer, to guess — 

It seems to me extremely awfu\. 

Methought, upon the Neva's flood 

A beautiful Ice Palace stood, 

A dome of frost-work, on the plan 




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FABLES FOE THE HOLT ALLTAlfCE 



■A3 



Of that once built by Empress 

■Which shone by moonlight — as the tale 

Like an Aurora Borealis. fis — 

In this said Palace, fumish'd all 

And lighted as the best on land arc, 
I dreamt there -was a splendid Ball, 

Given by the Emperor Alexander, 
To entertain with all due zeal 

Those holy gentlemen, who've shown a 
Kcgard so kind for Europe's weal, 

At Troppau, Laybach, and Yerona. 
The thought was happy — and designed 
To hint how thus the human Mind 
May, like the stream imprison'd there, 
Be check'd and chill'd, till it can bear 
The heaviest Kings, that ode or sonnet 
E'er yet be-praised, to dance upon it. 

And all were pleased, and cold, and 
stately. 

Shivering in grand illumination — 
Admired the superstructure greatly, 

I^or gave one thought to the foimda- 
Muchtoo the Caar himself exulted, [tion. 

To all plebeian fears a stranger, [ed, 
For, Madame Krudener, when consul t- 

Had pledged her word there was no 
So, on he caper'd, fearless quite, [danger. 

Thinking himself extremely clever. 
And waltz'd away with all his might, 

As if the Frost would last forever. 

Just fancy how a bard Uke me. 
Who reverence monarchs, must have 

To see that goodly company, [trembled 
At such a ticklish sport assembled. 

Nor were the fears, that thus astounded 
My loyal soul, at all unfounded — 
For, lo ! ere long, those walls so massy 
Were seized with an ill-omen'd drip- 
ping, 
And, o'er the floors, now growing glassy, 

Their Holinesses took to slipping. 
The Czar, half through a Polonaise, 
Could scarce get on for dowuright 
stumbling ; 
And Pnissia, though to slippery ways 
Well used, was cursedly near tum- 
bling. 

Yet still 'twas, who could stamp the floor 
most, [most. — 

Eussia and Austria 'mong the foru- 
Aud now, to an Italian air, 

* " It is well known that the Empress Anne 
built a palace of ico on the Neva, iu 174i), 
which was fit'ty-two feet in length, and wheu 



This precious brace would, hand iu 
hand, go; 
l^ow — while old Louis, from his chair, 
Entreated them his toes to spare — 

CaU'd loudly out for a Fandango. 

And a Fandango, 'faith, they had, 
At which they all set to, like mad ! 
jSTever were Kings (though small th' ex- 
pense is 
Of wit among their Excellencies) 
So out of all their princely senses. 
But, ah, that dance — that Spanish 
dance — 
Scarce was the luckless strain begun. 
When, glaring red, as 'twere a glance 

Shot from an angry Southern sun, 
A light through all the chambers flamed. 

Astonishing old Father Frost, 
Who, bursting into tears, exclaim'd, 
" A thaw, by Jove —we're lost, we're 
lost ; 
"Erm, France — a second Waterloo 
' ' Is come to drown you — stiave mii 
jpeut ! " 

Why, why wiU monarchs caper so 

In palaces without foundations ?— 
Instantly all was in a flow, [tions— 

Crowns, fiddles, sceptres, decora- 
Those Eoyal Ai-ms, that Jook'd so nice. 
Cut out in the resplendent ice — 
Those Eagles, handsomely provided 

With double heads for double deal- 
mgs— 
How fast the globes and sceptres glided 

Out of their claws on all the ceilings! 
Proud Prussia's double bird of pre,v, 
Tame as a spatch cock, slunk away ; 
While— just Mke France herself, when 
she [is— 

Proclaims how great her naval skill 
Poor Louis' drowning fleur-de-lys 

Imagined themselves water-lilies. 

And not alone rooms, ceilings, shelves. 

But — stdl more fatal execution — 
The Great Legitimates themselves 

Seem'd in a state ot dissolution. 
Th' indignant Czar — when just about 

To issue a sublime Ukase, 
"Whereas all light must be kept out"— 

Dissolved to nothing in its blaze. 
Next Prussia took its turn to melt, 
And, while his lips illustrious felt 
The influence of this southern air, 



illuminated had a surprising effect." — riNKEK- 

TON. 



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514 



MOOKE's WOEKS 



Some Tvord, \ike "Constitution" — 
long 
Congeal'd in frosty silence there- 
Came slowly thawing from his tongue, 
While Louis, lapsing by degrees, 

And sighing out a faint adieu 
To truffles, salmis, toasted cheese, 
And smoking /oJif^MS, quickly grew 
Himself, into afondu too ; — 
Or like that goodly King they make 
Of sugar for a Twelfth-night cake, 
TVlien, in some urchin's mouth, alas, 
It melts into a shapeless mass ! 

In short, I scarce could count a minute, 
Ere the bright dome, and all within it. 
Kings, Fiddlers, Emperors, all were 
gone— 

And nothing now was seen or heard 
But the bright river, rushing on, 

Happy as an enfranchised bird, 
And prouder of that nataral ray. 
Shining along its chainless way — 
More proudly happy thus to glide 

In simple grandeur to the sea, 
Than when, in sparkling fetters tied, 
'Twas deck'd with all that kingly pride 

Could biing to light its slavery ! 

Such is my dream — and, I confess, 

I tremble at its awfulness. 

That Spanish Dance— that southern 

beam- 
But I say nothing — there's my dream^ 
And Madame Krudener, the she-prophet. 
May make just what she pleases of it. 



FABLE II. 

THE LOOKING-GLASSES. 
PROEM. 

VYhere Kings have been by mob-elec- 
tions [see 

Raised to the Throne, 'tis strange to 
"Wliat different and what odd perfections 

Men have requked in Royalty. 
Some, liking monarchslarge and plumpy, 

Have chos'u their Sovereigns by the 

weight ; — [your dumpy, 

Some wish'd them tall, some thought 

Dutch-buUt, the true Legitimate.* 
The Easterns in a Prince, 'tis said. 
Prefer what's called a jolter-head ;t 
Th' Egyptians wer'u't at aU particular, 

So that their Kings had not red hair — 

* The Gotlis had a law to choose always a 
short, thick inaa for their King.— Mdxstek, 
Voatiwj. lib. lii. p \CA. 



Tins fault not even the greatest sticklei 
For the blood royal well could bear. 

A thousand more such illustrations 

Might be adduced from various nations. 

But, 'mong the many tales they tell us, 
Touching th' acquired or natural right 

"WTiich some men have to rule their fel- 
lows, 
There'sone, which I shall here recite : — 



There was a land — to name the place 
Is neither now my wish nor duty — 

Where reign'd a certain royal race. 
By right of their superior beauty. 

"WTiat was the cut legitimate 

Of these great persons' chins and noses, 
By right of which they ruled the state, 

No history I have seen discloses. 

But so it was — a settled case- 
Some Actof Parliament, pass'dsnugly, 

Had voted them a beauteous race, 
And all their faithful subjects ugly. 

As rank, indeed, stood high or low, 
Some change it made in visual organs-, 

Tour Peers were decent- - Knights, so so— 
But all yom- common people, gorgons ! 

Of course, if any knave had hinted 
That the King's nose was turned awry, 

Or that the Queen (God bless her!) 
squinted— 
The Judges doom'd that knave to die. 

But rarely things like this occurr'd, 
The people to their King were du- 

And took it on his Royal word, [teous. 
That they were frights, and He was 
beauteous. 

The cause whereof, among all classes, 
Was simply this — these island elves 

Had never yet seen looking-glasses, 
And, therefore, did not Icnow them- 



Sometimes, indeed, their neighbors' faces 
Might strike them as more full of rea- 
son, 
More fresh than those in certain places— 
But, Lord, the very thought was trea- 
son. 

Besides, howe'er we love our neighbor 
And take his face's part, 'tis known 



fill a Prince a jolter-head is invaluable' 
-Oriental Field Sports 





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FABLES FOR THE HOLT ALLIAI^CB. 



515 



"We ne'er so much in earnest labor, 
As when the face attack'd's our own. 

So, on they went— the crowd believing— 
(As crowds well govem'd always do) 

Their rulers, too, themselves deceiving — 
So old the joke they thought 'twas true. 

But jokes, we know, if they too far go. 
Must have an end — and so, one day, 

Upon that coast there was a cargo 
Of looking-glasses cast away. 

Twas said, some Radicals, somewhere, 
Had laid their wicked heads together. 

And forced that ship to founder there, — 
"While some believe it was the weather. 

However this might be, the freight 
Was lauded without fees or duties ; 

And from that hour historians date 
The downfall of the Race of Beauties. 

The looking-glasses got about, 
And grew so common through the land, 

That scarce a tinker could walk out. 
Without a mirror in his hand. 

Comparing faces, morning, noon, 
And night, their constant occupation — 

By dint of looking-glasses, soon. 
They grew a most reflecting nation. 

In vain the Court, aware of errors 

In all the old, establish'd mazards, 
Prohibited the use of mirrors, 
. And tried to break them at aU haz- 
ards : — 

In vain — their laws might just as well 
Have been waste paper on the shelves; 

That fatal freight had broke the spell ; 
People had look'd — and knew them- 



If chance a Duke, of birth sublime, 

Presumed upon his ancient face, 
(Some calf-head, ugly from all time,) 

They popp'd a m'hror to his Grace : — 
Just hinting, by that gentle sign. 

How little JSTature holds it true. 
That what is call'd an ancient line, 

Must be the line of Beauty too. 

From Dukes' they pass'd to regal phiz- 

zes, [own, 

Compared them proudly with their 

And cried, " How could such monstrous 

quizzes [throne !" — 

" In Beauty's name usurp the 



They then wrote essays, pamphlets. 
Upon Oosmetieal Economy, [books, 

"Which made the King try various looks. 
But none improved his physiognomy. 

And satires at the Court were levell'd. 
And small lampoons, so ftdl of sly- 
nesses, [UPd 

That soon, in short, they quite be-dev- 
Therr Majesties and Royal Highnesses. 

At length — but here I drop the veil, 
To spare some loyal folks' sensations ; 

Besides, what foUow'd is the tale 
Of all such late enlighten'd nations ; 

Of all to whom old Time discloses 
A truth they should have sooner 
known — 
That Kings have neither rights nor 



A whit diviner than their own. 



FABLE IIL 

THE TORCH OF LIBERTY, 

I SAW it all in Fancy's glass — 
Herself, the fair, the wild magician. 

Who bids this splendid day-dream pass, 
And named each gliding apparition. 

'Twas like a torch-race— such as they 
Of Greece perform'd, in ages gone, 

When the fleet youths, in long an-ay, 
Pass'd the bright torch triumphant on. 

I saw th' expectant nations stand. 
To catch the coming flame in turn ; — 

I saw, from ready hand to hand. 
The clear, though struggling, glory 
burn. 

And, oh, their joy, as it came near, 
'Twas, in itself, a joy to see ;— 

"While Fancy whisper's, in my ear, 
" That torch they pass is Liberty !'' 

And, each, as she received the flame. 
Lighted her altar with its ray ; 

Then, smiling, to the next who came 
Speeded it on its sparkhng way. 

From Albion first, whose ancient shrine 
Was furuish'd with the fire already, 

Columbia caught the boon divine. 
And lit aflame, like Albion's, steady. 

The splendid gift then Gallia took. 
And, like a wild Bacchante, raising 

The brand aloft, its sparkles shook. 
As she would set the world a-blazing .' 




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51G 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



Thus kindliug wild, so fierce and high 
Her altar blazed into the air, 

That Albion, to that fire too nigh, 
Shrunk hack, and shuddefd at its 
glare ! 

Kext, Spain, so new was light to her, 
Leap'd at the torch— but, ere the 
spark 
That fell upon her shrine could stir, 
'Twas quench'd— and all again was 
dark. 

Yet, no— not quench'd— a treasure, 
worth 

So much to mortals, rarely dies : 
Again her living light look'd forth, 

And shone, a beacon, in aU eyes. 

Who next received the flame ? alas, 
Unworthy N^aples — shame of shames. 

That ever through such hands should 
pass 
That brightest of all earthly flames ! 

Scarce had her fingers touch'd the torch. 
When, frighted by the sparks it shed, 

Nor waiting even to feel the scorch. 
She dropp'd it to the earth — and fled. 

And fall'n it might have long remain'd ; 

But Greece, who saw her moment 

now, [stain'd. 

Caught up the prize, though prostrate. 

And waved it round her beauteous 

brow. 

And Fancy bade me mark where, o'er 

Her altar, as its flame ascended. 
Fair, laurell d spirits seem'd to soar, 

Who thus in song their voices blend- 
ed :— 
" Shine, shine forever, glorious Flame, 

" Divinest gift of Gods to men ! 
"From Greece thy earliest splendor 
came, 

" To Greece thy ray returns again. 

'■ Take, Freedom, take thy radiant round, 

" When dimm'd, revive, when lost, 

return, [found, 

"Till not a shrine through earth be 

" On which thy glories shall not 

bum !'' 



FABLE IV. 

THE FLT AND THE BULLOCK. 
PROEM. 

Of all that, to the sage's survey. 
This world presents of topsy-turvy, 



There's naught so much disturbs one's 

patience 
As httle minds in lofty stations. 
'Tis like that sort of painful wonder. 
Which slender columns, laboring undei 

Enormous arches, give beholders ; 
Or those poor Caryatides, 
Condemn'd to smile and stand at ease. 

With a whole house upon their shoul- 
ders. 

If, as in some few royal cases, 

Some minds are iorn into such places — 

If they are there by Right Divine, 

Or any such sufficient reason. 
Why — Heav'n forbid we should re- 
pine ! — 

To wish it otherwise were treason ; 
Nay, ev'n to see it in a vision. 
Would be what lawyers call misprision. 

Sir Robert Filmer saith- and he, 

Of course, knew aU about the mat- 
ter— 
" Both men and beasts love Monarchy ;" 

Which proves how rational— the ta^ 
ter. 
Sidney, we know, or wrong or right, 
Entirely difi'ei-'d from the Knight ! 
Nay, hints a King may lose his head. 

By shpping awkwardly his bridle : — 
But this is treasonous, ill-bred, 
And (now-a-days, when Kings are led 

In patent snaffles) downright idle. 

No, no— it isn't right-line Kings, 
(Those sovereign lords in leading-strings 
Who, from their birth, are Faith-De- 
fenders,) [tenders. 
That move my wrath — 'tis your pre- 
Tour mushroom rulers, sons of earth. 
Who — not, Hke t'others, bores by birth, 
Establish'd gratia Dei blockheads. 
Bom with three kingdoms in then: pock- 
ets — 
Yet, with a brass that nothing stops, 
Push up into the loftiest stations, 
And, though too dull to manage shops. 
Presume, the dolts, to manage na- 
tions ! 

This class it is, that moves my gall, 
And stu-s up bile, and spleen, and all. 
While other senseless things appear 
To know the limits of then- sphere — 
While not a cow on earth romances 
So much as to conceit she dances — 
While the most jumping frog we know 
o£ 




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FABLES FOR THE HOLT ALLIANCE. 



rr; 



Would scarce at Astley's hope to sho-w 

off— 
Your * * *s, your * * *s dare, [them 

TJntraiu'd as are their minds, to set 
To any business, any where. 

At any time that fools will let them. 

But leave we here these upstart things — 
My business is, just now, with Kings ; 
To whom, and to their right-line glory, 
I dedicate the following story. 



The wise men of Egypt were secret as 

dummies ; [ed to teach, 

And,ev'n when they most condeseend- 

They pack'd up their meaning, as they 

did their mummies, [one's reach. 

In so many wrappers, 'twas out of 

They were also good people, much 
given to Kings — 
Fond of craft and of crocodiles, mon- 
kej's and mystery ; 
But blue-bottle flies were their best be- 
loved things — [history. 
As will partly appear in this very short 

A Scythian philosopher (nephew, they 

say, [Anacharsis) 

To that other great traveller, j'oung 

Stepp'd into a temple at Memphis one 

day, [eal farces. 

To have a short peep at their mysti 

He saw* a brisk blue-bottle Fly on the 

altar, [something divine ; 

Made much of, and worshipp'd, as 

"While a large, handsome Bullock, led 

there in a halter, [shrine. 

Before it lay stabb'd at the foot of the 

Surprised at such doings, he whisper'd 

his teacher — 

" If 'tisn't impertinent, may I ask why 

"Should a Bullock, that useful and 

powerful creature. Fly '?" 

" Be thus offer'd up to a blue-bottle 

'No wonder"— said t'other — "you 

stare at the sight, [view it— 

" But we as a Symbol of Monarchy 

" That Fly on the shrine is Legitimate 

Right, [sacrificed to it." 

* And that Bullock, the People, that's 

* Aoem-ding to iElian, it was in the island of 
Lpucadia they prnctised this ceremony— ^jueic 
fiovv Tai9 Mf <•«'?• — i'<; Atiimal. lib. ii. cap. S. 

t Ames, dcmi-dines, <S;c. 



•fable y. 

CHUKCH AXD STATE. 
PROEM. 

" The moment any religion becomes national, 
or established, its purity must certainly bo lost, 
because it is then impossible to keep it uncon- 
nected with meu'sinterests ; and, if connected, 
it must inevitably be perverted by them."— • 
SOAME Jf.nyns. 

Thus did Soame Jentns— though a 
Tory, 

A Lord of Trade and the Plantations, 
Feel how Religion's simple glory 

Is stain'd by State associations. 

When Catherine, ere she crush'd the 
Poles, 

Appeal'd to the benign Divinity ; 
Then cut them up in protocols. 
Made fractions of their very souls — t 

All in the name of the bless'd Trinity; 
Or when her grandson, Alexander, 
That mighty Northern salamander, t 
Whose icy touch, felt all about. 
Puts every five of Freedom out — 
When he, too, winds up his Ukases 
With God and the Panagia's praises — 
When he, of royal Saints the type. 

In holy water dips the sponge. 
With which, at one imperial wipe, 

He would all human rights expunge ; 
When Louis (whom as King, and eater. 
Some name Dix-huit and some Des- 

huitrcs) 
Calls down " St. Louis' God " to witness 
The right, humanity, and fitness 
Of sending eighty thousand Solons, 

Sages, with muskets and laced coats. 
To cram instruction, nolens vol ens, 

Down the poor struggling Spaniards' 
throats — 
I can't help thinking, (though to Kings 

I must, of course, like other men, bow,) 
That when a Christian monarch brings 
Religion's name to gloss these things — 

Such blasphemy out-Benbows Ben- 
bow !§ 

Or — not so far for facts to roam. 
Having a few much nearer home — 
When we see Churchmen, who, if ask'd, 
" Must Ireland's slaves be tithed, and 

task'd, 
" And driv'n like Negroes or Croats, 

J The salamander i" supnosed to have the 
power of extinguishing fire by its natural cold- 
ness and moistuie. 

5 A well-known publisher of irreligious books 



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618 



MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



" That yoti may roll v9 wealth and 
bliss?" 
Look from beneath their shovel hats 

With all clue pomp, and answer ' 'Tes !" 

But then, if question'd, " Shall the brand 

" Intolerance flings throughout that 

land,— [grow 

" Shall the fierce strife now taught to 
" Betwixt her palaces and hovels, 
"Be ever quench'd ?"— from the same 
shovels ["]S'"o." — 

Look grandly forth, and answer 
Alas, alas ! have these a claim 
To merciful Eeligion's name ? 
If more you seek, go see a bevy 
Of bowing parsons at a levee — [fore 
(Choosing your time, when straw's be- 
Some apoplectic bishop's door,) 
Then, if thou canst, with Ufe, escape 
That rush of lawn, that press of crape. 
Just watch their rev'reuces and graces, 

As on each smirking suitor Msks, 
And say, if those round shining faces 

To heav'n or earth most tm-n their 
disks? 

This, this it is — Eeligion, made, 
'Twist Church and State, a truck, a 

trade — 
This most ill-match'd, unholy Co., 
From whence the ills we witness flow ; 
The war of many creeds with one— 
Th' extremes of too much faith, and 

none — 
Till, betwixt ancient trash and new, 
Twixt Cant and Blasphemy — the two 
Eank ills with which this age is cursed — 
We can no more tell which is worst. 
Than erst could Egypt, when so rich 
In various plagues, determine which 
She thought most pestilent and vile, 
Her frogs, like Benbow and Carlisle, 
Croaking their native mud-notes loud. 
Or her fat locusts, like a cloud 
Of pluralists, obesely lowering, 
At once benighting and devouring ! 

This — this it is — and here I pray 

Those sapient wits of the Eeviews, 
Who make us poor, dull authors say, 
]^ot what we mean, but what liiey 
choose ; 
Who to our most abundant shares 
Of nonsense add still more of theirs, 
And are to poets just such evils 

* " The greatest number of the ichneumon 
tribe are seen settling upon tlio back of the 
caterpillar, and darting at different intervals 



As caterpillars find those flies, * 
Which, not content to sting like devils, 

Lay eggs upon their backs likewise— 
To guard against such foul deposits 

Of others' meaning in my rhymes, 
(A thing more needful here, because it's 

A subject, ticklish in these time?) — 
I, here, to all such wits make known. 

Monthly and Weekly, Whig and Tory, 
'Tis this Eeligion — this alone 

I aim at in the following story : — 



When Eoyalty was young and bold, 
Ere, touch'd by Time, he had become. 

If 'tisn't civil to say old, 
At least, a ci-devant jeune liomme ; 

One evening, on some wild piursuit 
Driving along, he chanced to see 

Eehgion, passing by on foot, 
And took him in his vis-a-vis. 

This said Eeligion was a Friar, 
The humblest and the best of men, 

Who ne'er had notion or desire 
Of riding in a coach tUl then. 

"I say,"— quoth Eoyalty, who rather 
Enjoy'd a masquerading joke — 

" I say, suppose, my good old father, 
"You lend me, for a while, your 
cloak." 

The Friar consented — little knew 
What tricks the youth hadio Ms head; 

Besides, was rather tempted too 
By a laced coat he got in stead. 

Away ran Eoyalty, slap-dash, 

Seamp'ring like mad about the town , 

Broke windows, shiver'd lamps to smash, 
And knock'd whole scores of watch- 
men down. 

While naught could they, whose heads 

were broke, [fore," 

Learn of the " why" or the "where- 

Esceptthat 'twas Eeligion's cloak. 

The gentleman, who crack'd them, 

wore. 

Meanwhile, the Friar, whose head was 
tum'd 

By the laced coat, grew frisky too ; 
Look'd big— his former habits spum'd — 

And storm'd about, as great men do •. 

their stings into its body— at every dart they 
depose an egg."— Goldsmith. 




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FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIAJfCE. 



519 



Dealt much in pomi)ous oaths and 
curses- 
Said "■ d — mn you " often, or as bad- 
Laid claim to other people's purses — 
In short, grew either knave, or mad. 

As Tvork like this was uubefittiag, 
And flesh and blood no longer bore it, 

The Court of Common Sense, then sit- 
ting, 
Summon'd the culprits both before it. 

"WTiere, after hours in -wranghng spent, 
(As Coui-ts must wrangle to decide 

Eeligion to St. Luke's was sent, [well,) 
And Koyalty pack'd off to Bridewell. 

With this proviso— should they be 
Restored, iu due time, to their senses, 

They both must give security, 
In futm-e, against such offences — 

Religion ne'er to lend Jiis cloak, 

Seeing what dreadful work it leads to ; 

And Royalty to '^rack his joke, — [too. 
But not to crack poor people's heads 



FABLE YI. 

THE LITTLE GRAND LAMA. 
PROEM. 

>lov'iLLA, a young Bolognese, [tor,* 

The daughter of a leam'd Law Doc- 
Who had with aU the subtleties 

Of old and modem jurists stock'd her, 
"Was so exceeding fail-, 'tis said, 

And over hearts held such dominion, 
That when her father, sick in bed, 
Or busy, sent her, in his stead. 

To lecture on the Code Justinian, 
She had a curtain drawn before her, 

Lest, if her charms were seen, the 

students [her, 

Should let their young eyes wander o'er 

And quite forget their jurisprudence.f 
Just so it is with tnith, when seen. 

Too dazzling far, — 'tis from behind 
A Ught, thin allegoric screen, 

She thus can safest teach mankind. 

FABLE. 

[n Thibet once there reign'd, we're told, 
A little Lama, one year old — 

' Andreas. 

t Quaiid il 6toit occup6 d'aucuno essoine, il 
eiivoyoit Kovclle, sa filJe, en son lieu lire aux 
escholes en charge, et, aiin que la biaiitd d'elle 
ii'empechat la pens^e des oyants, elle avoit 
une petite courtine devant 'eWe.— Christ, de 
Fise, Cite des Dairies, p. 11, cap. 36. 



Raised to the throne, that realm to bless, 
Just when his little Holiness 
Had cut— as near as can be reckon'd— 
Some say his ^rsf tooth, some Ms second. 
Chronologers and Nurses vary, 
Which proves historians should be wary. 
We ouly know th' important truth. 
His Majesty had cut a tooth. t 
Audmuch his subjects were enchanted, — 

As well aU Lamas' subjects may he, 
And would have giv'n their heads, if 
wanted, 

To make tee-totums for the baby. 
Throned as he was by Right Divine — 

(WTaat Lawyers call Jure Divino, 
Meaning a right to yours and mine. 

And everybody's goods and rhino,) 
Of course, his faithful subjects' purses 

Were ready with their aids and suc- 
cors; 
Nothing was seen but pension'd Nurses. 

And the land groan'd with bibs and 
tuckers. 

Oh ! had there been a Hume or Bennet, 
Then sitting iu the Thibet Senate, 
Ye Gods, what room for long debates 
Upon the Nursery Estimates ! 
What cutting down of swaddhug-clothes 

And pin-a-fores, in nightly battles ! 
What calls for papers to expose 

The waste of sugar-plums and rattles ! 
But no— if Thibet Jiad M. P.'s, 
They were far better bred than these ; 
Nor gave the sKghtest opposition, 
During the Monarch's whole dentition. 
But short this calm ; — for, just when he 
Had reach'd th' alarming age of three, 
When Royal natures, and, no doubt, 
Those of all noble beasts break out — 
The Lama, who till then was quiet, 
Show'd symptoms of a taste for riot ; 
And, ripe' for mischief, early, late, 
Without regard for Church or State, 
Made free with whosoe'er came nigh ; 

Tweak'd the Lord Chancellor by th© 
nose, 
Tum'd all the Judges' wigs awry. 

And trod on the old Generals' toea; 
Pelted the .Bishops with hot buns, 

Rode cockhorse on the City maces. 
And shot from little devilish guns, 

J See Turner's Embassy to Thiliet for aa 
account of his interview with tlio Lama. — 
"Teshoo Lama (he says) ^^ as at this time 
eighteen mouths old. Though lie wns unable 
to speak a word, he made the most expressive 
signs, and conducted himself with astouishing 
dig^nily and decorum." 




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520 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



Hard peas into his subjects' faces. 
In short, such wicked prauks he play'd, 
And grew so mischievous, God bless 
him ! 
That his Chief Nurse— with ev'n the aid 
Of au Archbishop — was afraid, 
When in these moods, to comb or dress 
him. 
Nay, ev'n the persons most inclined 
Through thick and thin, for Kings to 
stickle, [mind, 

Thought him (if they'd but speak their 
"Which they did not) an odious pickle. 

At length some patriot lords — a breed 

Of animals they've got in Thibet, 
Extremely rare, and lit, indeed, 

For folks like Pidcock, to exhibit^ 
Some patriot lords, who saw the length 
To which things went, combined their 

strength, 
And penn'd a manly, plain, and free 
Rfomonstranee to the Nursery ; 
Protesting warmly that they yielded 

To none, that ever went before 'em, 
In loyalty to him who wielded 

Th' hereditary pap-spoon o'er 'em ; 
That, as for treason, 'twas a thing 

That made them almost sick to think 
of— 
That they and theirs stood by the King, 

Throughout his measles and his chin- 
cough, 
"WTien others, thinking him consumptive, 
Had ratted to the Heir Presumptive ! — 
But, still— though much admiring Kings, 
(And chiefly those iu leading-strings,) 
They saw, with shame and grief of soul, 

There was no longer now the wise 
And constitutional control 

Of dirck before their ruler's eyes ; 
But that, of late, such pranks, and 
tricks. 

And freaks occurr'd the whole day 
long. 
As all, but men with bishopricks, 

Allow' d, in ev'n a King, were wrong. 
"Wherefore it was they humbly pray'd 

That Honorable Nursery, 
That such reforms be henceforth made, 

As all good men desired to see : — 
In other words, (lest they might seem 
Too tedious,) as the gentlest scheme 
For putting all such pranks to rest, 

And in its bud the mischief nippiug — 
They ventured humbly to suggest 

His Majesty should have a whipping. 



"When this was read, no Congreve rocket; 

Discharged into the GaUic trenches, 
Ere equall'd the tremendous shock it 

Produced i;pon the Nursery benches. 
The Bishops, who of course had voteSj 
By right of age and petticoats, 
"Were first and foremost in the fuss— 

""What, whip a Lama! suffer buch 

" To touch his sacred infamous ! 

"Deistical ! —assailing thus 

"The fundamentals of the Church!— 
" No — no — such patriot plans as these, 
"(So help them Heaven— and their 

Sees !) 
" They held to be rank blasphemies.'' 

Th' alarm thus given, by these and other 

Grave ladies of the Nursery side. 
Spread through the land, till, such a 
pother. 

Such party squabbles, far and wide, 
Never in history's page had been 
Recorded, as were then between 
The "Whippers and Non-whippers seen. 
Till, things aniving at a state, 

"Which gave some fears of revolution. 
The patriot lords' advice, though late, 

"Was put at last in execution. 
The Parliament of Thibet met— 

The little Lama, eall'd before it. 
Did, then and there, his whipping get. 
And (as the Nursery Gazette 

Assm-es us) like a hero bore it. 

And though, 'mong Thibet Tories, some 
Lament that Royal MartyrtZom, 
(Please to observe, the letter D 
In this last word's pronounced like B, ) 
Yet to th' example of that Prince 

So much is Thibet's land a debtor. 
That her long line of Lamas, since. 

Have all behaved themselves much 
better. 



FABLE VII. 



THE EXTINGUISHERS. 



PROEM. 

Though soldiers are the true supports 
The natural allies of Courts, 
"Wo to the Monarch, who defends 
Too much on his red-coated friends ; 
For even soldiers sometimes think — 

Nay, Colonels have been known t 
reason, — 
And reasoners, whether clad in pink, 
Or red, or blue, are on the brink 

(Nine cases out of ten) of treason. 



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FABLES FOR THE HOLT ALLTAN"CE. 



521 



Not many soldiers, I believe, are 

As foud of liberty as Mina ; 
Else— wo to kings, when Freedom's 
fever 

Once turns into a Scarletina ! 
For then — but hold, 'tis best to veil 
My meaning in the following tale : — 



A Lord of Persia, rich and great, 
Just come into a large estate, [bors, 
"Was shoek'd to find he had for neigh- 
Close to his gate, some rascal Ghebers, 
Whose fires, beneath his very nose, 
In heretic combustion rose. 
But Lords of Persia can, no doubt. 

Do what they will — so, one fine mom- 
He tum'd the rascal Ghebers out, [ing. 

First giving a few kicks for waraing. 
Then, thanldng Heaven most piously. 

He knocked their Temple to the 
Blessing himself for joy to see [ground, 

Such Pagan ruins strew'd around. 
But much it vex'd my Lord to find 

That, while all else obey'd his will. 
The Fire those Ghebers left behind, 

Do what he would, kept burning still. 
Fiercely he storm'd, as if his fi-own 
Could scai-e the bright insurgent down; 
But, no — such fires are headstrong 

things. 
And care not much for Lords or Kings. 
Scarce could his Lordship weU contrive 

The flashes in one place to smother. 
Before— hey presto ! — all ahve. 

They sprung up freshly in another. 

At length, when, spite of prayers and 
damns, [him, 

'Twas found the sturdy flame defied 
His stewards came, with low salams, 

OlTring, by contract, to provide him 
Some large Extinguishers, (a plan 
Much used, they said, at Ispahan, 
Vienna, Pctersburc^h — in short, 
"Wherever Light's forbid at court,) 
Machines no Lord should be without, 
"WTiich would, at once, put promptly 

out 
All kinds of fires, — from staring, stark 
Volcanoes to the tiniest spark ; 
Till all things slept as dull and dark. 
As, in a great Lord's neighborhood, 
'Twas right and fitting all things should. 

* The idea of this Fable was caught from one 
of those brilliant mots which abouiul in the 
conversation of my friend, tiie author of the 



Accordingly, some large supplies 
Of these Extinguishers were fur- 
nish 'd, 
(All of the true Imperial size,) 
And there, in rows, stood black and 
bumish'd, 
Ready, where'er a gleam but shone 
Of light or fire, to be clapp'd on. 

But, ah, how lordly wisdom errs, 
In trusting to extinguishers ! 
One day, when he had left all sure, 
(At least, so thought he,) dark, secure— 
The flame, at all its exits, entries, 

Obstructed to bis heart's content, 
And black extinguishers, like sentries. 

Placed over every dangerous veat — 
Ye Gods, imagine his amaze, [ing. 

His wrath, his rage, when, on return- 
He found not only the old blaze. 

Brisk as before, crackling and burning, 
Not only new, young conflagrations, 
Popping up round in various stations— 
But, still more awful, strauge, and dire, 
Th' Extinguishers themselves on fire 1 !* 
They, they— those trusty, blind ma- 
chines [praising. 

His Lordship had so long been 
As, under Providence, the means 

0|f keeping down all lawless blazing, 
Were now, themselves — alas, too true 
The shameful fact— tum'd blazers too, 
And, by a change as odd as crael. 
Instead of dampers, served for fael ! 

Thus, of his only hope bereft, 

"What," said the great man, " must 
be done ?" 
All that, in scrapes like this, is left 

To great men is— to cut and run. 
So mn he did : while to their grounds. 

The banish'd Ghebers bless'd retum'd ; 
And, though their Fire had broke its 
bounds 

And all abroad now wildly bum'd. 
Yet well could they, who loved the 



Its wand'ring, its excess reclaim ; 
And soon another, fairer Dome 
Arose to be its sacred home. 
Where, cherish'd, guarded, not confined, 
The living glory dwelt inshrined, 
And, shedding lustre strong, but even. 
Though bora of earth, grew worthy 
heav'n. 

" Letters to Tulia,"— a production which con- 
tains some of the happiest specimens of playful 
poetry that have appeared in this or any age. 



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522 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



The moral hence my Muse infers 
Is, that such Lords are simply elves, 

In trusting to Extinguishers, 
That are combustible themselves. 



FABLE YIIL 

LOUIS fourteenth's wig. 
The money raised — the army ready — 
Drums beating, and the Eoyal Keddy 
Valiantly braying in the van, 
To the old tune, " Eh, eh, Sire Ane /"—* 
]Sr aught wanting, but some cotq) drama- 
tic 

To make French sentiment explode, 
Bring in, at once, the gout fanatic, 

And make the war " la derniere 
mode " — 
Instantly, at the Pav'llc/ti Marsan, 

Is held an Ultra consultation — 
"What's to be done to help the farce on? 

What stage-effect, what decoration, 
To make this beauteous France forget, 
In one grand, glorious j^ircueffe. 
All she had sworn to but last week, 
And, with a cry of "Alagnifique /" 
Rush forth to this, or any war. 
Without inquiring once — " What for 1" 

After some plans proposed by each, 
Lord Chateaubriand made a speech, 
(Quoting, to show what men's rights are, 
Or rather what men's rights should be, 
From Hobbes, Lord Castlereagh, the 
Czar, 
And other friends to Liberty,) 
Wherein he —having first protested 
'Gainst humoring the mob — suggested 
(As the most high-brod plan he saw 
For giving the new War eclat) 
A grand, Baptismal Melo-drame, 
To be got up at Notre-Dame, [ness ! 
In which the Duke (who, bless his High- 
Had by his /(//^acquired such fame, 
'Twas hoped that he as little shyness 
Would show, when to the point he 

came) 
* They celebrated in the dark a^es, at many 
churches, particularly at Eounn. wliat was 
caUed the Feast of the Ass. On this occasion 
the ass, finely dressed, was broug-ht before the 
altar, and they sung before him this elepant 
nnthem, " Eh, eh, eli, Sire Ane. eh, eh, eh, Sire 
Anc." — "Wakton's Essay on Pope. 

t Bronarht from the river Jordan by M. ChA- 
teanbriand, and presented to the French Em- 
press for the christening of young Napoleon, 



Should, for his deeds so lion-hearted, 
Be christen'd Hero, ere he started ; 
With power, by Royal Ordonnance, 
To bear that name— at least in France. 
Himself — the Viscount Chateaubriand— 
(To help th' affair with more esprit on) 
Off'ring, for this baptismal rite. 

Some of his own famed Jordan wa- 
(Marie Louise not having quite [ter— f 

Used all that, for yoimg Nap, he 
brought her,) 
The baptism, in this case, to be 
Applied to that extremity, 
Which Bourbon heroes most expose ; 
And which (as well all Europe knows) 
Happens to be, in this Defender 
Of the true Faith, extremely tender 4 

Or if (the Viscount said,) this scheme 
Too rash and premature should seem — 
If thus discounting heroes, on tick — 

This glory, by anticipation, 
Was too much in the genre romantique 

For such a highly classic nation, 
He begg'd to say, the Abyssiniaus 
A practice had in their dominions, 
Which, if at Paris got up well. 
In full costume, was sure to tell. 
At all great epochs, good or ill. 
They have, says Bruce, (and Bruce 

ne'er budges 
From the strict truth,) a grand QuadriUe 
In public danced by the Twelve 

Judges— § 
And, he assures us, the grimaces. 
The entre-chats, the au-s and graces 
Of dancers, so profound and stately, 
Divert the Abyssiniaus greatly. 

"Now, (said the Viscount,) there's but 

few [do : 

" Great Empires, where this plan would 

" For instance, England;— let them take 

" What pains they would — 'twere vain 

to strive— [make 

" The twelve stiff Judges there would 

" The worst Quadrille-set now ahve. 
" One must have seen them ere one could 
" Imagine properly Judge Wood, 

t Seethe Duke's celebrated letter to raadame, 
■n-ritten during his campaign in 3 815, in whicl; 
ho savs, " J'ai le postSrieur 16g6rement endom- 
mag^." 

5 " On certain great occasions, the twelve 
Judges (who are pcnerallv between sixty and 
seventy years of age) sing" the song and dance 
the figure-dance," &c.— Book v. 



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FABLES FOR THE HOLT ALLIANCE. 



52f 



" Performing, in his -wig, so gayly, 
" A queue-de-chat with Justice Bai- 
ley ! [means, 
"French Judges, though, are, by no 
"This sort of stiif, be-wigg'd machines 1 
"And we, who've seen them at Saumur, 
" And Poitiers lately, may he sure 
"They'd dance quadrilles, or anything, 
" That would be pleasing to the King — 
"JSTay, stand upon their heads, and 
more do, [deaux!" 
"To please the little Duke de Bor- 

After these several schemes there came 
Some others — needless now to name, 
Since that, which Monsieur plann'd him- 
self. 
Soon doom'd all others to the shelf. 
And was received ^jar acclamation, 
As truly worthy the Grande Nation. 

It seems (as Monsieur told the story) 
That Louis the Fourteenth,— that glory, 
That CorypMo of all crown'd pates,— ' 
That pink of the Legitimates- 
Had, when, with many a pious pray'r, he 
Bequeath'd unto the Virgin Mary 
His marriage deeds, and cordon bleu* 
Bequeath'd to her his State "Wig too— 
(An off 'ring which, at Court, 'tis thought, 
The Virgin values as she ought) — 
That "Wig, the wonder of all eyes, 
The Cynosm-e of Gallia's skies, 
To watch and tend whose curls adored, 

Eebuild its tow'ringroof, when flat. 
And round its rumpled base, a Board 

Of sixty Barbers daily sat,t 
"With Subs, on State-Days, to assist, 
"Well pension'd from the Civil List : — 
That wondrous "Wig, array'd in which, 
And fomi'd alike to awe or witch, 
He beat all other heirs of crowns, 
In taldug mistresses and towns, 
Requiiiug but a shot at 07ie, 
A smile at t'other, and 'twas done ! — 

" That "Wig" (said Monsieur, while his 

brow 
Rose proudly) " is existing now ; — 
" That Grand Perruque, amid the fall 
" Of ev'ry other Royal glory, 
* "Louis XrV. fit present k la Viergo do son 
cordon bleu, que Ton conserve soigneusement, 
et lui envoya ensuite, son Contrat de Mariatjo 
et le Traits des Pyrenees, magnifiquemeut reli^' ' 
— Memoires, Anecdotes pour servir, &c. 

t The learned author of Rccherchcs HUtor- 
iques sur les Perruqnes says that the Board 
consisted Init of Forty — the same number aa 
the Academy. "Le plus beau terns des per- 



" "With curls erect survives them all, 

" And tells in ev'iy hah then- story. 
"Think, think, how welcome at this 
"A relic, so beloved, sublime ! [time 
" "What worthier standard of th j Cause 

"Of Kingly Rightcau France demand ? 
" Or who among om- ranks can pause 

" To guard it, while a curl shall stand? 
" Behold, my friends " — (while thus he 

cried, 
A curtain, which conceal'd this pride 
Of Princely "Wigs was drawn aside) 
" Behold that grand Perruque — how big 

" "With recollections for the world — 
"For France— for us— Great Louis' 
"Wig, [tirl'd — 

" By HiPPOLYTEt new frizz'd and 
"Ncwfriss'd! alas, tis but too true, 
" "Well may you start at that word new — 
"But such the sacrifice, my friends, 
" Th' Imperial Cossack recommends ; 
"Thinking such small concessions sage, 
" To meet the spirit of the age, 
" And do what best that spirit flatters, 
" In "Wigs — if not in weightier matters. 
""Wherefore, to please the Czar, and 
show [know 

" That ire too, much-wrong'd Bom-bons, 
" "What liberalism in Monarchs is, 
" We have conceded the Xew Friz ! 
" Thus arm'd, ye gallant Ultras, say, 
" Can men, can Frenchmen, fear the fray 
" With this proud relic in om* van, 

"And D'Angouleme our worthy 
" Let rebel Spain do all she can, [leader, 

" Let recreant England arm and feed 
her, — 
" Urged by that pupil of Hunt's school, 
" That Radical Lord Liverpool— 
" France can have naught to fear — far 
from it— 

" "When once astounded Europe sees 
" The wig of Louis, like a Comet, 

" Streaming above the Pyrenees, 
" All's o'er with Spain — then on, my 

" On, my incomparable Duke, [sons, 
"And, shouting for the Holy Ones, 

"Cry Five la Guerre— et la Per- 
ruque /" 
ruques fut celui oii Louis XLY. commen9a a 

porter, luimeme, perruque ; On 

Ignore I'^poque oii se fit cette r^Svolution : mais 
on salt qu'pile engagea Louis le Grand k y 
donner ses soins paternels, en creunt, en 165(5, 
quaraute charges de perruquiers, suivant la 
cour ; et en 1673, il forma un corps de deux 
cents perruquiers pour la Villa de Paris." — 

r. in: 

I A celebrated Coif cur of the present day. 




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MOOKE'S WOEKS 




RHYMES ON THE ROAD, 



BXTRACTED FROM THB JOURNAL OF A TRAVKLLIXO MEMBER OF 



THE POCO-CURANTE SOCIETY, 1819. 



The greater part of the follo-vdng 
Rhymes -vvere written or composed in 
an old caliche, for tbe purpose of beguil- 
ing the ennui of solitary- travelling ; and 
as verses, made by a gentleman in hia 
sleep, have been lately called " d, psy- 
chological curiosity," it is to be hoped 
that verses, composed by a gentleman 
to keep himself awake, may be honored 
with some appellation equally Greek. 

RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 

INTEODUCTORr RHYMES. 

Different AttUudes in vMch Authors compose. 
— Bayes, Henry Stephens, Herodotus, oC-c. — 
Writinff in Bed — in the Fields. — Plato and 
Sir Richard Blackmore.— Fiddling with 
Gloves and Tivigs.— Madame de Stael.— 
Rhyming on the Road, in an old Caleche. 

"What various attitudes, and ways, 

And tricks, we authors have in writ- 
ing ! [Bates, 
While some write sitting, some, like 

Usually stand, while they're inditing. 
Poets there are, who wear the floor out, 

Measuring a line at every stride ; 
"While some, like Henry Stephens, 
pour out [ride.* 

Rhymes by the dozen, while they 
Herodotus wrote most in bed ; 

And RicHERAND, a French physician, 
Declares the clock-work of the head 

Goes best in that reclined position, [on 
If you consult MoNTAiGNEf and Pliny 
The subject, 'tis their joint opinion 
That Thought its richest harvest yields 
Abroad, among the woods and fields ; 
That bards, who deal in small retail, 

* Pleraque sua carraina equitans composuit. 
— Paravicin. Singular. 

t "Mes pensScs dorment, si Je les assis." — 
Montaigne. 

Animus corum qui iu aperto acre ambulant, 
attollitur.— Puny. 



At home may, at then* counters, stop; 
But that the grove, the hill, the vale. 

Are Poesy's true wholesale shop. 
And, veril}', I think they're right — 

For, many a time, on summer eves, 
Just at that closing horn- of light, 

When, like an Eastern Prince, who 
leaves 
For distant war his Haram bow'rs. 
The Sun bids farewell to the flow'rs, 
Whose heads are sunk, whose tears are 

flowing 
Mid aU the glory of his going ! — 
Even / have felt, beneath those beams. 

When wand'ring through the fields 
alone. 
Thoughts, fancies, intellectual gleams. 

Which, far too bright to be my own, 
Seem'd lent me' by the Sunny Power, 
That was abroad at that still hour. 

If thus I've felt, how must they feel. 
The few, whom genuine Genius 
warms ; 
Upon whose souls he stamps his seal. 
Graven with Beauty's countless 
forms ;— 
The few upon this earth, who seem 
Bom to give truth to Plato's dream, 
Since in their thoughts, as in a glass. 
Shadows of heavenly things appear, 
Reflections of bright shapes that pass 
Through other worlds, above oui 
sphere ! 

But this reminds me I digress ; — 
For Plato, too, produced, 'tis said, 

(As one, indeed, might almost guess,) 
His glorious visions all ui bed.| 
t The only authority I know for imputing 

this practice to Plato and Herodotus, is a Latin 

Poem by M. de Valols on liis Bed, in which ho 

says: — 

Lucifer Herodotum vidit Vespergue cnbantem, 
Desedit totos hdc Plato S£epe dies. 




To tearless eyes and hearts at ease 
The leafy shores and sun -bright seas. 
That lay beneath that mountain's height. 
Had been a fair enchanting sight. 
'Twas one of those ambrosial eves 
A day of storm so often leaves 
At its calm setting — when the West 
< )pens her golden bowers of rest. 



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RHYMES 0^ THE ROAD. 



525 



'Twas in his carriage the sublime 
Su-RiCHARD BLACKMOREused to rhyme; 

Aud (if the wits dou't do him wrong) 
'Twixt death* and epics pass'd his time, 

ScribbUug and kilUng all day long — 
Like Phcebus in his car, at ease, 

ifow warbling forth a lofty song, 
Kow mm-d'ring the yoiing Niobes. 

There was a hero 'mong the Danes, 
Who wrote, we're told, 'mid all the 
pains 
An 1 horrors of exenteration, 
Nine charming odes, which, if you'll 
look, 
You'll find preserved, with a transla- 
tion, 
By BARTHOLiNrsin his book.t 
In short, ' twere endless to recite 
The various modes in which men write. 
Some wits are only in the mind. 
When lieausaud belles are round them 
prating; 
Some, when they dress for dinner, find 
Their muse and valet both in waiting; 
And manage, at the self-same time, 
T' adjust a neckcloth and a rhyme. 

Some bards there are who cannot scrib- 
ble 
Without a glove to tear or nibble ; 
Or a small twig to whisk about — 

As if the hidden founts of Fancy, 
Like wells of old, were thus found out 

By mystic tricks of rhabdomaucy. 
Such was the Mttle feathery wand.t 
That, held forever in the hand 
Of her, § who won and wore the crown 

Of female genius in this age, 
Seem'd the conductor that drew down 

Those words of lightning to her page. 
As for myself — to come, at last. 

To the odd way in which / write — 
Having employ'd these few months 
past 

Clnolly in traveling, day and night, 
I've got into the easy mode, 
O'l rhyming thus along the road — 
Making a way-bill of my pages, 
Counting my stanzas by my stages — 
'Twixt lays and re-lays no time lost — 
In short, in two words, writing post. 

* Sir Eichard Blackmore was a physician, as 
■well as a bad poet. 

f Eadem cura iiRC minores inter cruciatus 
aa-'-nam infelicom a!::L'nti fnit Asbioriio Prudaj 
Danico heroi, cum Bruso ipsum. intestina ex- 
trahens, immaniter torqaeret, tunc onim norem 



EXTRACT I. 

Geneva. 
View of the Lake of Geneva from the Jura.W— 
Anxious to reach it before the Hunwent down. 
— Obliged to proceed on Foot. — Alps. — Mont 
Blanc. — Effect of the Scene. 

'TwAS late— the sun had almost shone 
His last and best, when I ran on, 
Anxious to reach that splendid view. 
Before the day-beams quite withdrew ; 
And feeling as all feel, on first [told. 

Approaching scenes, where, they are 
Such glories on their eyes will burst. 

As youthful bards in di'eams behold. 

'Twas distant yet, and, as I ran. 

Full often was my wistful gaze 
Turn'd to the sun, who now began 

To call in all his outpost rays, 
And form a denser march of light. 
Such as beseems a hero's flight. 
Oh, how I wish'd for Joshua's pow'r. 
To stay the brightness of that hour ! 
But no — the sun still less became, 

Diminish'd to a speck, as splendid 
And small as were those tongues oi 
flame, [ed ! 

That on th' Apostles' heads descend- 

'Twas at this instant— whUe there plow'd 

This last, intensest gleam of fight — 
Suddenly, thi-ough the opening road, 

The valley bm'st upon my sight ! 
That glorious valley, with its Lake, 

And Alps on Alps in clusters swelling, 
Mighty, aud pure, aud fit to make [ing. 

The ramparts of a Godhead's dwell- 

I stood entranced — as Rabbins say 
This whole assembled, gazing world 

WiU stand upon that awful day. 
When the Ark's Light, aloft unfurl'd, 

Among the opening clouds shall shine. 

Divinity's own radiant sign ! 

Mighty Mont Blanc, thou wert to me, 

That minute, with thy brow in heaven. 
As sure a sign of Deity 

As e'er to mortal gaze was given ; 
Nor ever, were I destined yet 

To five my life twice o'er again. 
Can I the deep-felt awe forget, [then ! 

The dream, the trance that rapt me 

carmina cecinit, &c.— Bartholin, de Causis 
Contempt. Mort. 

I Made of paper, twisted up like a fan or 
feather. 

^ Madame de Staiil. 

II Between "Vattay and Gex. 




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526 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



'Twas all that consciousness of pow'r 
And life, beyond this mortal hour ; — 
Those mountings of the soul within 
At thoughts of Heav'n — as birds begin 
By mstinct in the cage to rise, [skies ;— 
When near their time for change of 
That proud assurance of our claim " 

To rank among the Sons of Light, 
Mingled with shame — oh bitter shame ! — 

At having risk'd that splendid right. 
For aught that earth through all its 
Of glories, offers in exchange ! [range 
'Twas all this, at that instant brought. 
Like breaking sunshine; o'er my 

thought^ 
'Twas all this, kindled to a glow 

Of sacred zeal, which, could it shine 
Thus purely ever, man might grow 

Ev'n upon earth, a thing divine. 
And be, once more, the creature made 
To walk unstaiu'd th' Elysian shade ! 

1^0, never shall I lose the trace 

Of what I've felt in this bright place. 

And, should my spirit's hope grow weak, 

Should I, oh God, e'er doubt thy 
pow'r, 
This mightv scene again I'll seek, 

At the same calm and glowing hour. 
And here, at the sublimest shrine 

That Nature ever rear'd to Thee, 
Rekindle aU that hope divine, 

And feel my immortality ! 



EXTRACT II. 

Geneva. 
FATE OF GENEVA IN THE TEAR 1782. 

A FKAC.MENT. 

Yes — if there yet live some of those. 
Who, when this small RepubHc rose, 
Quick as a startled hive of bees, 
Against her leaguering enemies—* 
"WTien, as the Royal Satrap shook 

His well-known fetters at her gates, 
Ev'n wives and mothers arm'd, and took 

Their stations by their sons and 

mates ; [no, 

And on these walls there stood — yet, 

Shame to the traitors— zuomZcZ have 
As firm a band as e'er let flow [stood 

AtFreedom's base their sacred blood ; 

* lu the year 1782, when the forces of Berne, 
Sardinia, and France laid siege to Geneva, and 
vhen, after a demonstration of heroism and 
self-devotion, which promised to rival the fents 
of their ancestors in 1602, against Savoy, the 
Genevans, either panic-struck or botrnycd. to 



If those yet live, who, on that night. 
When all were watching, girt for'fight. 
Stole, like the creeping of a pest, [breast: 
From rank to rank, from breast ttf 
FiUiug the weak, the old with fears, 
Turning the heroine's zeal to tears, — 
Betraying Honor to that brink, 
Where, one step more, and he must 
sink— [the last, 

And quenching hopes, which, though 
Like meteors on a drowning mast, 
Would yet have led to death more 

bright, 
Than life e'er look'd, in all its light ! 
Till soon, too soon, distrast, alarms 

Throughout th' embattled thousands 
And the high spirit, late in arms, [ran. 
The zeal, that might have work'd such 

Fell, like a broken talisman — [charms, 
Their gates, that they had sworn should 

The gates of Death, that very dawn. 
Gave passage widely, bloodlessly. 

To the proud foe— nor sword was 
drawn, 
Nor ev'n one martyr'd body cast 
To stain their footsteps, as they passed ; 
But, of the many sworu at night 
To do or die, some fled the sight. 
Some stood to look, with sullen frown, 

While some, in impotent despair. 
Broke their bright armor and lay down, 

Weeping, upon the fragments there ! — 
If those, I say, who brought that shame, 
That blast upon Geneva's name. 
Be living still — though crime so dark 

Shall hang up, fix'd and unforgiv'n. 
In History's page, th' eternal mark 

For Scorn to pierce — so help me, 
Heav'n, 
I wish the traitorous slaves no worse. 

No deeper, deadlier disaster, 
From all earth's ills no fouler cm-se 

Than to have *********** then- mas- 
ter! 



EXTRACT III. 

Geneva. 
Fancy and Truth.— Hippomenes and Atalanta. 
— Mont Blanc. — Clouds. 

Even here, in this region of wonders, I 

find [far behind ; 

That light-footed Fancy leaves Truth 

the surprise of all Europe, opened their gates 
to the besiegers, and submitted without a 
struggle to the extinction of their liberties — 
See an account of this Revolution in Coxe'« 
Switzerland. 




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RHYMES 0^ THE ROAD, 



527 



Or, at least, like Hippomenes, turns her 

asti'ay [y^'Aj- * 

By the golden illusions he flings in her 

What a glory it seem'd the first ev'ning 

I gazed, [deuly raised 

Mont Blanc, Uke a vision, then sud- 
On the wreck of the sunset — and all his 

array [with a light 

Of high-towering Alps, touch'd still 

Far holier, purer than that of the Day, 

As if nearness to Heaven had made 

them so bright ! [dors away 

Then the dying, at last, cf these splen- 
Prom peak after peak, till they left but 

a ray. 
One roseate ray, that, too precious to fly, 
O'er the Mighty of Mountains still 

glowingly hung, [when high 

Like the last sunny step of AsTRiEA, 

From the summit of earth to Elysium 

she sprung ! [from the sight 

And those infinite Alps, stretching out 
TUl they mingled with Heaven, now 

shorn of their light, [sky. 

Stood lofty, and lifeless, and pale in the 
Like the ghosts of a Giant Creation 

gone by ! 

That scene— I have view'd it this even- 
ing again, [over it then — 

By the same brilliant light that hung 

The valley, the lake in their tenderest 

charms— [and the whole 

Mont Blanc in his awfuUest pomp — 

A bright picture of Beauty, reclined in 

the arms [soul ! 

Of Sublimity, bridegi'oom elect of her 

But where are the mountains, that 
round me at first, 

One dazzling hoiizon of miracles, burst ? 

Those Alps beyond Alps, without end, 
sweiiing on U^icy gone ? 

Like the waves of eternity — where are 

Clouds — clouds— they were nothing but 
clouds, after all !t 
That chain of Mont Blancs, which 
my fancy flew o'er, 

* nitidique cupidino poitii 

Declinat cursus, aurumque vohibile tollit. 
Ovid. 
T It is often very diflBoult to distinguish be- 
tween clouds and Alps; and on the evening 
when I first saw this magnificent scene, the 
clouds were so disposed along the whole hori- 
zon as to deceive me into an idea of the stu- 
pendous extent of these mountains, which my 
subsequent observation was very far, of course, 
fram confirming. 



"With a wonder that naught on this earth 
can recall, 
Were but clouds of the evening, and 
now are no more. 

What a picture of Life's young illusions! 

Oh, l^ight, 
Drop thy curtain, at once, and hide all 

from my sight. 



EXTRACT IV. 

Milan. 
The Picture Gallery.— Albano's Rape of Pros- 
erpine. — Reflections. — Universal Halvation. — 
Abraham sending away Agar, by Guercino. 
—Genius. 

Went to the .Brera— saw a Dance of 

Loves [pencil teems 

By smooth Albano ;t him, whose 

With Cupids, numerous as in summer 

groves [beams. 

The leaflets are, or motes in summer 

'Tis for the theft of Enna's flow'r§ from 

earth, [mu'th 

These urchins celebrate their dance of 

Round the green tree, like fays upon a 

heath— [bright, 

Those, that are nearest, link'd in order 

Cheek after cheek, like rose-buds in a 

wreath ; [beneath 

And those, more distant, showing from 

The others' wings their little eyes of 

light. [ brother, 

While see, among the clouds, then- eldest 

But just flown up, tells with a smile 

of bliss [mother, 

This prank of Pluto to his charmed 

Who turns to greet the tidings with a 

kiss ! 

Well might the Loves rejoice— and well 

did they, [their weaving. 

Who wove t&ese fables, pictm^e, in 

That blessed truth, (which, in a darker 

day, [ing,)— n 

Origen lost his saintship for behev- 

That Love, eternal Love, whose fadeless 

ray [cast 

Nor time, nor death, nor sin can over- 

JThis picture, tlio Agar of Guercino, and 
the Apostles of Guido, (the two Intter of which 
are now the chief ornaments of the Brera,) 
were formerly in the Palazzo Zampieri, at 
Bologna. 

\ that fair field 

Of Enna, where Proserpine, gatlieriiig flowers. 
Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis was 
gather'd. 

II Tlie extension oftlio Divine Love ultimately 
even to the regions of the damned. 




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528 



MOOKE'S ^ORKS. 



Ev'n to the depths of hell will find its 

way, [there at last! 

And soothe, and heal, and triumph 

GtJERCiNO's Agar — where the bondmaid 

hears [must part; 

From Abram's lips that he and she 

And looks at him with eyes all full of 

tears, [her heart. 

That seem the very last drops from 
Exquisite picture ! — let me not be told 
Of minor faults, of coloring tame and 

cold — 
If thus to conjure up a face so fair,* 
So full of son-ow ; with the story there 
Of all that woman suffers, when the 

stay [away— 

Her trusting heart hath lean'd on falls 
If thus to touch the bosom's tend'rest 

spring, 
By calhng into hfe such eyes, as bring 
Back to our sad remembrance some of 

those [joys and woes, 

We've smiled and wept with, in their 
Thus filling them with tears, like tears 

we've known, [own — 

Till all the pictured grief becomes our 
If tJiis be deem'd the victory of Art — 
If thus, by pen or pencil, to lay bare 
The deep, fresh, living fountains of the 

heart 
Before all eyes, he Genius — it is there ! 



EXTRACT Y. 

Padua. 
Fancy and Reality. — Fain-drops and Lakes. — 
Plan of a Story. — Where to place the Scene of 
it. — In some unknown Region. — Psalmana- 
zar's Imposture with respect to the Island of 
Formosa. 

The more I've view'd^ this world, the 
more I've found, 
That, fill'd as 'tis with scenes and 
creatm-es rare, [round, 

Fancy commands, within her own bright 
A world of scenes and creatures far 
more fair. [there 

Nor is it that her power can call up 
A single charm, that's notfrom Nature 
won, [can wear 

No more than rainbows, in their pride, 
A single hue unborrow'd from the 
sun— [through 

But 'tis the mental medium it shines 
* It is probable that this fine head ia a por- 
trait, as we find it repeated in a picture by 
Guercino, which is in the possession of Signor 



That lends to Beauty all its charm and 
hue; [lake 

As the same light, that o'er the level 
One dull monotony of lustre flings. 

Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, 
make 

' Colors as gay as those on Peris' wings! 

And such, I deem, the diiFrence be- 
tween real. 
Existing Beauty and that form ideal. 
Which she assumes, when seen by poets' 
eyes, [dyes. 

Like sunshine in the drop — with all those 
Which Fancy's variegating prism sun- 
phes. 

I have a story of two lovers, fill'd 
With all the pure romance, the bliss- 
ful sadttiess, [thriU'd 
And the sad, doubtful bliss, that ever 
Two young and longing hearts in that 

sweet madness. 
But where to choose the region of my 

vision [spot 

In this wide, vulgar world — what real 
Can be found out sufficiently Elysian 
For two such perfect lovers, I know 

not. 
Oh for some fair Formosa, such as he. 
The young Jew fabled of, in th' Indian 

Sea, [known. 

By nothing, but its name of Beauty, 
And which Queen Fancy might make 

aU her own, [lands. 

Her fairy kingdom— take its people, 
And tenements into her own bright 

hands, [fit 

And make, at least, one earthly corner 
For Love to live in, pure and exquisite ! 

EXTEACT YT. 

Venice. 
The Fall of Venice not to be lamented.— For- 
mer Glory. — Expedition against Constanti- 
nople. — CHustinianis. — Republic. — Character 
istics of the Old Government. — Golden Bool 
—Brazen Mou ths.— Spies.— Dungeons.— Pre 
sent Desolation. 

Mourn not for Yenice— let her rest 
In ruin,'mong those States uubless'd. 
Beneath whose gilded hoofs of pride, 
Where'er they trampled. Freedom died. 
No — let us keep our tears for them. 
Where'er they pine, whose fall hath 
been 

Camuccini.the brother of the celebrated paii»t«i 
at Rome. 



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RHYMES 0-S THE ROAD. 



529 



JSTot from a blood-stain'd diadem, 

Like that which deck'd this ocean- 
queen, 
But from high daring in the cause 

Of human Rights— the only good 
And blessed strife, in which man draws 

His mighty sword on laud or flood. 
Mourn not for Venice ; though her fall 

Be awful, as if Ocean's wave 
Swept o'er her, she deserves it all, 

And Justice triumphs o'er her grave. 
Thus perish ev'ry King and State, 

That run the guilty race she ran, 
Strong but in ill, and only great 

By outrage against God and man ! 
True, her high spirit is at rest, 

And all those days of glory gone, 
"When the world's waters, east and west, 

Beneath her white-wing'd commerce 

shone ; [went 

"When, with her countless barks she 

To meet the Orient Empire's might,* 
And her Giustinianis sent 

Then- hundred heroes to that fight, t 
Vanish'd are all her pomps, 'tis true. 
But mourn them not — for vanish'd, too, 

* Under the Doge Michaeli, in 1171. 

t " La famille eiitidve des Justiniani, Tune 
des plus illustres de Venise. voulut marcher 
toate eatiere dans cette expedition; ello fournit 
cent combattans ; c'Stait renouveler I'exemple 
d'uiie illustre famille de Rome; le merae 
malhenr les attendait." — Histoire de Venise, 
par Daru. 

♦The celebrated Era Paolo. The collection 
of Maxims which this bold monk drew up at 
the request of the Venetian Government, for 
the guidance of the Secret Inquisition of State, 
are so atrocious as to seem rather an over- 
charged satire upon despotism, than a system 
of policy, seriously inculcated, and but too 
readily and constantly pursued. 

The spirit, in which these maxims of Father 
Paul are conceived, may be judged from tlie 
instructinns wliich he gives for the manage- 
ment of the Venetian colonies and provinces. 
Of the former he s.ays: — "II faut les traiter 
coinme des animaux" feroces, les rogner les 
dents, et les griffes, les hurailier souvent, sur- 
tout leur otCT les occasions de s'aguerrir. Da 

Sain et le biton, voili ce qu'il leur fant : gar- 
onsl'liumanite pour uno meilleure occasion." 
For the treatment of the provinces he ad- 
vises thus:— " Tendre a d^pouiller les villes 
de leurs privileges, faire que les habitans s"ap- 
prtuvriss3nt, et que leurs biens soient achetes 
par les ViJnitiens. Ceux qui, dans les eonseils 
muiiicipaux, se montreront on pins audacienx 
ou plus devours aux int^rets de la population, 
il fiut les perdre ou les gagner a quelquc prix 
que ce soit; enfin, s'il se trouve dan^ let pro- 
vinces quelques chefs de parti, il faut les exter- 
mitier sous un pretexte quelconque, mais en 



(Thanks to that Pow'r, who, soon or late, 
Hurls to the dust the guilty Great,) 
Are all the outrage, falsehood, fraud. 

The chains, the rapine, and the blood, 
That fill'd each spot, at home, abroad, 

Where the Republic's standard stood. 
Desolate Venice ! when I track [back; 
Thy haughty course through cent'ries 
Thy ruthless pow'r, obey'd but cm-sed — 

The stem machinery of thy State, 
Which hatred would, like steam, have 
burst, [hate ;— 

Had stronger fear not chill'd ev'u 
Thy perfidy, still worse than aught 
Thy own unblushing SarpiJ taught ; — 
Thy friendship, which, o'er all beneath 
Its shadow,rain'd down dews of death; — § 
Thy Oligarchy's Book of Gold, 

Closed against humble Virtue's name, || 
But open'd wide for slaves who sold 

Their native land to thee and shame ;1I 
Thy all-pervading host of spies, 

iVatching o'er ev'ry glance and breath. 
Till men look'd in each others' eyes. 

To read their chance of life or death; — 
Thy laws, that made a mart of blood. 

And legalized th' assassin's knife;—** 

evitant de recoiirir d, la justice ordinaire. Que 
le iHiisoti fasse V office de bourreau, cela est moins 
odieux et heaucoup plus profitable." 

§ Conduct of Venice towards her allies and 
dependencies, particularly to unfortunate Pa- 
dua. — Fate of Francesco Carrara, for which 
see Daru, vol. ii. p 141. 

II '-A I'exception des treute citadins ndmis 
au grand conseil pendant la guerre di Cliiozzi, 
il n'est pas arrive une seuh fois que les talens 
ou les services aient paru a cette noblesse 
orgueilleuse des litres sulEsans pour s'asseoir 
avec elle." — Dauu. 

11 Among those admitted to the honor of 
being inscribed in the Libro d'oro were some 
families of Brescia, Treviso, and other places, 
whose only claim to that distinction was the 
zeal with which they prostrated themselves and 
their country at the feet of the republic. 

** By the infamous statutes of the State In- 
quisition, ' not only was as.sassination recog- 
nized as a regular mode of punishment, but 
this secret power over life was delegated to 
their minions at a distance, with nearly as 
much facility as a license is given under the 
game laws of England. The only restriction 
seems to have been the necessity'of applying 
for a new certificate, after every individual 
exercise of the power. 

• M. Daru has given an abstract of these 
Statutes, frwra a manuscript in the Bibliothe(iufl 
du Roi, and it is hardly credible that such a 
system of treachery and cruelty should ever 
have been established by any government, or 
submitted to. for an instant, by any people. 
Among various precautions against the in- 



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530 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Thy sunless cells beneath the flood, 
And racks, and Leads,* that burnt 
out Life ; — 
"WTien I review all this, and see 
The doom that now hath fall'n on thee ; 
Thy nobles, tow'iing once so proud, 
Themselves beneath the yoke now 

bow'd, — 
A yoke, by no one grace redeem'd. 
Such as, of old, around thee beam'd, 
But mean and base as e'er yet gaU'd 
Earth's tyrants, when, themselves, en- 

thraU'd,— 
I feel the moral vengeance sweet. 
And, smiling o'er the wreck, repeat, 
" Thus perish ev'ry King and State 

" That tread the steps which Venice 

" Strong but in ill, and only great [ trod, 

"By outrage against man and God!" 



EXTRACT VII. 

Venice. 
Lord Byron's Memoirs, written by himself. — 

Itcfiections, when about to read them. 
Let me, a moment, — ere with fear and 
hope [I ope— 

Of gloomy, glorious things, these leaves 
As one, iu fauy tale, to whom the key 
Of some enchanter's secret halls is 
giv'n. 
Doubts, while he enters, slowly, trem- 
blingly, 
trignes of their own Nobles, we find the follovr- 
ins':— "Pour persuader aux etrangers qu'il 
^tait difficile et dangerenx d'entretenirquelque 
iirtrigue secrete avec les nobles V6nitiens, on 
imagina de faire arertir mysterieusement le 
Konce du Pane (afln que les autres ministres 
en fussent intormts) cjue I'lnquisition avait 
autorise les patricieus a poiguarder quiconque 
essaier.'iit de tenter leur fid(51it(?. Mais craig_- 
nant que les ambassadeurs ne pretassont foi 
ditllcilemeut a uno delibi'ration, qui en effet 
n'existait pas, I'lnquisition voulait prouver 
qii'elle en 6tait capable. Elle ordonna des 
rech^rches pour d^couvrir s'il n'y avait pas 
dans Venise quelque exilt5 au-dessus du com- 
mun, qui eut rompu son ban; ensuite un des 
patriciens qui 6taient aux gages du tribunal, 
reifut la mission d'assassiner ce malheureux, et 
I'ordre de s'en vanter, en disant qu'il s'etait 
poit^ a cet acte, parce que ce banni 6tai_t 
f agentd'un ministre Stranger, et avait cherche 
a le corrompre."— "Remarquons." adds M. 
Daru, "que ceci n'est pas une simple anecdote; 
c'est une mission proietee, dfiliber^e, ^crite 
d'avance ; une rfegle de conduite trac^e par 
des hommes graves a leurs successeurs, et con- 
signee dans des statuts." 

TliP cases, in which assassination is ordered 
by tlipsp Statutes are as follow : — 
" " Uu ouvrier de I'arscuul, uu chef de ce qu'on 



If he shall meet with shapes from hell 

or heav'n — 
Let me, a moment, think what thou- 
sands live 
O'er the ■wide earth this instant, wha 

would give, [the brow 

Gladly, whole sleepless nights to bend 
Over "these precious leaves, as I do now. 
How all who know— and where is he 

unknown ? [flown. 

To what far region have his songs not 
Like Psaphon's birds,! speaking their 

master's name, 
In ev'ry language, syllabled by Fame ? — 
How all, who've felt the various spells 

combined 
"Within the circle of that master-mind, — 
Like spells, derived irom many a star, 

and met 
Together in some wondrous amulet,— 
Would bm-n to know when fii-st the 

Light awoke 
In his young soul, — and if the gleams 

that broke 
From that Aurora of his genius, raised 
Most pain or bliss in those on whom 

they blazed ; [that pow'r, 

Would love to trace th' unfolding of 
Which hath grown ampler, grander, ev'ry 

hour ; [vance, 

And feel, iu watching o'er his first ad- 

As did th' Egyptian traveller, J when 

he stood 

appelle parmi les marins le menstrance, pas- 
sait-il au service d'une puissance ^trangere : 
il fallait le faire assassincr, surtout si c'etait uu 
homme r^put6 brave et habile dans sa profes- 
sion." (Art. 3, des Statuls.) 

" Avait-il conimis quelque action qu'on ne 
jugeait pas a propos de punir juridiquement, on 
devait le faire empoisonner." {Art. 14.) 

"Un artisan passait-il a I'^trangeren y ex- 
portant quelque procedfi de I'industrie nation- 
ale : c'etait encore un crime capital, que la loi 
inconnue ordonnait de punir par unassassinat." 
(Art. 26.) 

The facility with which they got rid of their 
Duke of Bedfords, Lord Fitzwilliams, <tc., was 
admirable ; it was thus : — 

"Le patricien qui se permettait le moindrc 
propos centre le gouvernement, Ctait admon- 
6te deux fois, et a la troisifeme noye eomme 
incorrigible." {Art. 39.) 

* "Les prisons des plombs ; c'est-a dire ces 
fournaises ardentes qu'on avait distributes en 
petites cellules sous les terrasses qui couvreut 
le palais." 

i Psaphon. iu order to attract the attention 
of the world, taught multitudes of birds to 
speak his name and then let them fly away in 
various directions ; whence the proverb, "Psa 
phonis aves." 

t Bruce. 




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KHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



531 



By the young Xile, and fathom'd with 

his lance [flood. 

The fast small fountauis of that mighty 

They, too, who, 'mid the scornful 
thoughts that dwell [streams,— 
In hi.s rich fancy, tinging all its 
As if the Star of Bitterness, which fell 
On earth of old,* had touch'd them 
with its beams, — [to hate, 

Can track a spirit, which, though driven 
From Nature's hands came kind, affec- 
tionate ; [with blight. 
And which, ev'n now, struck as it is 
Comes out, at times, in love's own na- 
tive light ;— [struggling rays 
How gladly aU, who've watch'd these 
Of a bright, ruin'd spirit through his lays, 
"Would here inquire, as from his own 
frank lips, [had driven 
What desolating grief, what wrongs 
That noble nature into cold eclipse ; 
Like some fair orb that, once a sun in 
heaven. 
And bom, not only to surprise, but 
cheer [sphere, 
With warmth and lustre all within its 
Is now so quench'd, that of its grandeur 
lasts which it casts ! 
Naught, Irat the wide, cold shadow 

Eventful volume ! whatsoe'er the change 
Of scene and clime— th' adventures, 

bold and strange— [told— 

The griefs —the frailties, but too frankly 
The loves, the feuds thy pages may un- 
fold, [locks 
If Truth with half so prompt a hand un- 
His vii'tues as his failings, we shall 

find [rocks. 

The record there of friendships, held like 

And enmities, Mke sun-touch'd snow, 

resigu'd : [chiE, 

Of fealty, cherish'd without change or 
In those who seiTed him, young, and 

serve him still ; [less art 

Of gen'rous aid, giv'n with that noise- 
"Which wakes not pride, to many a 

wounded heart ; [aught 

Of acts— but, no— not from himself must 

Of the bright features of his life be 

sought. [Milton's cloud, t 

While they, who court the world, Uke 

* " Antl the name of the star is called woi-ra- 
wood, and the third part of the waters became 
wormwood." — Bev. viii. 
i " Did a sable cloud 

Turn forth her silrer lining on the night?" 
Comits. 



"Turn forth their silver lining" on the 

crowd. 

This gifted Being wraps himself in night ; 

And, keeping all that softens, and 

adorns, [sight, 

And gilds his social nature hid from 

Turns but its darkness on a world he 



EXTRACT VIII. 



Venice. 



Female Beauty at Venice. — No longer wJiat it 
wan i7^ the Time of Titian. — His Mistresn. — 
VaHous Forms in which he has painted her. 
— Venus.— Divine and Profane Love.— La 
Fragilita d' Amore.—Paul Veronese.— His 
Women. — Marriage of Oana. — Character of 
Italian Beauty.— Raphael Fornarina. — Mo- 
desty. 

Thy brave, thy leam'd, have pass'd 

away ; 
Thy beautiful !— ah, where are they ? 
The forms, the faces, that once shone. 

Models of grace, in Titian's e^'o, [on 
Where are they now ? while flowers live 

In ruin'd places, why, oh why 

Must Beauty thus with Glory die ? 
That maid, whose lips would still have 
moved, [them , 

Could art have breathed a spirit through 
Whose varying charms her artist loved 

More fondly ev'ry time he drew them, 
(So oft beneath his touch they pass'd. 
Each semblance fafrerthan the last;) 
Wearing each shape that Fancy's raugo 

Offers to Love— yet still the one 
Fair idol, seen through every change. 

Like facets of some orient stone, — 

In each the same bright image shown. 
Sometimes a Venus, unarray'd 

Bvit in her beautyt— sometimes deck'd 
In costly raiment, as a maid 

That kings might for a throne select. § 
Now high and proud, like one who 

thought 
The world should at her feet be brought; 
Now, with a look reproachfiU, sad, — 1| 
Unwonted look from brow so glad ; 
And telling of a pain too deep 
For tongue to speak or eyes to weep. 
Sometimes, through allegory's veil, 

In double semblance seen to shine, 

t In the Tribune at Florence. 

Sin the Palazzo Pitti. 

II Alludes particularly to the portrait of lier 
in the Sciarra collection at Rome, where the 
look of mournful reproach iu those full, shadowy 
eyes, as if slie had been unjustly accused of 
something wrong, is exquisite. 



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532 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



Telling a strange and mystic tale 

Of Love Prolane and Love Divine — * 
■Akin in features, but in heart 
As far as earth and heav'n apart. 
Or else (by quaint device to prove 
The frailty of aU worldly love) 
Holding a globe of glass, as thin 

As au--blown bubbles, in her hand, 
With a young Love confined therein, 

Whose wuigs seem waiting to expand— 
And telUng, by her anxious eyes, 
That, if that frail orb breaks, he flies If 

Thou, too, with touch magnificent, 

Paul of Verona ! — where are they, 
The oriental forms, t tbat lent 

Thy canvass such a bright array ? 
Noljle and gorgeous dames, whose dress 
Seems part of their own loveliness ; 
Like the sun's drapery, which, at eve. 
The floating clouds around him weave 
Of fight they from himself receive ! 
Where is there now the living face 

Like those that, in thy nuptial throng. 
By then- superb, voluptuous grace, 
Make us forget the time, the place. 

The holy guests they smile among, — 
Till, in that feast of heaven-sent wine,§ 
We saw no miracles but thine. 

If e'er, except in Painting's dream, 

There bloom'd such beauty here, 'tis 
gone, — 
Gone, like the face that in the stream 

Of Ocean for an instant shone. 
When Venus at that mirror gave 
A last look, ere she left the wave. 
And though, among the crowded ways. 
We oft are startled'by the blaze 
Of eyes that pass, with fitful light. 
Like fire-flies on the wing at night, || 
'Tis not that nobler beauty, giv'n 
To show how angels look in heav'n. 
Ev'n in its shape, most pm-e and fair, 

'Tis Beauty, with but half her zone,— 
All that can warm the Sense is there, 

But the Soul's deeper charm is 
flown : — 
'Tis Raphael's Fomaiina, — warm. 

Luxuriant, arch, but um-efined ; 

* The fine picture in tlie Palazzo Borgrhese, 
called (it is not easy to say why) '•Sacred and 
Profane Love," in which the tivo figures, sit- 
ting on the edare of the fountain, are "evidently 
portraits of the same person. 

t This fanciful alle^-ory is the subject of a 
picture by Titian, in the possession of the 
Marquis (Jainbian at Turin, whoso collection, 
thougli small, contains some beautiful speci- 
mens of all the great masters. 



A flower, round which the noontide 
swarm 
Of young Desires may buzz and wind. 
But where true Love no treasure meets, 
Worth hoarding in his hive of sweets. 

Ah, no, — for this, and for the hue 

Upon the rounded cheek, vhich teUs 
How Iresh, within the heart, this dew 

Of Love's unrifled sweetness dwells, 
We must go back to our own Isles, 

Where Modesty, which here but gives 
A rare and transient grace to smiles. 

In the heart's holy centre fives ; 
And thence, as from her throne difi'uses 

O'er thoughts and looks so bland a 
reign, 
That not a thought or feeling loses 

Its freshness in that gentle chain. 



EXTRACT IX. 



Venice. 



The English to be met with everywhere. — Alps 
and threadiieedle Street.— The Siiirphni and 
the Stocks.— Rage for travelling.— JUve Stock- 
ings among the Wahabees. — Parasols and 
Pyramids. — Mrs. Hopkins and the Wall oj 
China. 

And is there then no earthly place, 

Where we can rest in dream Elysian, 
Without some cursed, round Engfish 
face. 

Popping up near to break the vision ? 
'Mid northern lakes, 'mid southern vines, 

Unholy cits we're doom'd to meet ; 
ISTor highest Alps nor Apennines 

Are sacred fi-om Threadneedle Street! 

If up the Simplon's path we wind, 
Fancymg we leave this world behind, 
Such pleasant sounds salute one's ear 
As— "Baddish news from 'Change, my 

dear— [hfil)— 

"The Funds — (phew, curse this ugly 
" Ai-e low'ring fast, — (what, higher 

still?)— [heaven!)— 

" And — (zooks, we're mounting up to 
" WiU soon be dovra to sLsty-seveu." 

Go Avhere we may — rest where we will. 
Eternal London haunts us stiU. 

J As Paul Veronese gave but little into the 
beau ideal, his women may be regarded as 
pretty close imitations of the living models 
wliieh Venice afforded in his time. 

§ The Marriage of Cana. 

II "Certain it is (as Arthur Young truly and 
feelingly says) one now and then meets witk 
terrible eyes in Italy." 




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RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



533 



The trash of Almack's or Fleet Ditch — 
And scarce a pin's head difference 

which — 
Mixes, though ev'n to Greece -we run, 
With every rill from Helicon ! 
And, if this rage for travelling lasts, 
If Cockneys, of all sects and castes, 
Old maidens, aldermen, and squires, 
Will leave their puddings and coal fii'es. 
To gape at things in foreign lands, 
N"o soul among them understands ; 
If Blues desert their coteries. 
To show oU' 'moug the "VTahabees ; 
If neither sex nor a^e controls, 

Nor fear of Mamelukes forbids 
YlSung ladies, with pink parasols, 

To glide among the Pyramids — * 
Why, then, farewell all hope to find 
A spot, that's free from London-kind ! 
Who knows, if to the West we roam. 
But we may find some L'lae " at home " 

Among the Blacks of Carolina — 
Or, flying to the Eastward, see 
Some Mrs. Hopkins, taking tea 

And toast upon the Wall of China. 

EXTRACT X. 

Mantua. 
Verses ofHippolyta to her Husband. 

Thky tell me thou'rt the favor'd guestt 

Of every fair and brilliant throng ; 
No ■wit, like thine, to wake the jest, 

No voice like thine, to breathe the song. 
And none could guess, so gay thou art. 
That thou and I are far apart. 
Alas, alas, how different flows, 

With thee and me the time away. 
Not that I wish thee sad, heaven knows — 

StiU if thou canst, be light and gay ; 
I only know that without'thee 
The sun himself is dark for me. 

Do I put on the jewels rare 
Thou st always loved to see me wear ? 
Do I perfume the locks that thou 
So oft hast braided o'er my brow, [run. 
Thus deck'd, tkrough festive crowds to 
And aU th' assembled world to see, — 

* It was pink spencers, I believe, that the im- 
a.ffinatiuu of the Freneli traveller conjured up. 
t Utque feniiit ItBtus coiiviviii Iseta 

Et eelebras lentis otia mista jocis; 
Aut cithaia lestivum attenuas cantuque calo- 
rem. 

Hei mihi, qiiara dispar nunc mea vita tuse ! 
Nee mihi (lisplieeaut quae sunttibigratn; scd 
ipsa est. 

Te sine, Jus oeulis pene inimica meis. 
Kon auro aut gemma caput exoruare nitenti 



All but the one, the absent one, [me ! 

Worth more than present worlds to 
No, nothing cheers this widow'd hear: — 
My only joy, from thee apart, 
From thee thyself, is sitting hom-s 

And days, before thy pictured form — 

That di-eam ef thee, which Raphael's 

pow'rs [ warm ! 

Have made with all but life-breath 
And as I smile to it, and say 
The -n'ords I speak to thee in play, 
I fancy from their silent frame. 
Those eyes and lips give back the same ; 
And StiU I gaze, and stiU they keep 
Smiling thus on me— till I weep ! 
Our little boy, too, knows it well, 

For there I lead htm every day, 
And teach his lisping lips to teU 

The name of one that's far away. 
Forgive me, love, but thus alone 
My time is cheer'd, while thou art gone. 



EXTRACT XI. 

Florence. 
No — 'tis not the region where Love's to 
be found— [glances that rove, 
They have bosoms that sigh, they have 
They have language a Sappho's own lip 
might resound. 
When she warbled her best— but 
they've nothing like Love. 

Noris't that pure sentiment only they 
want, [tranquil hath made— 

Which Heav'n for the mild and the 
Calm, wedded affection, that home-root- 
ed plant, [in the shade ; 
Which sweetens seclusion, and smiles 

That feeling, which, after long years 

have gone Ijy, [in youth. 

Remains, like a portrait we've sat for 

Wbere, ev'n though the flush of the 

colors may fly, [smiling truth ; 

The features still live, in their first 

That union, where all that in Woman is 

kind, [tow'rs. 

With aU that in man most ennoblingly 

Me jurat, aut Arabo spargere odore comas? 

Non celebres ludos fastis speetare diebus. 

Sola tuos vultus referens Raphaelis imago 

Picta manu, cui'as allevat usque meas. 
Huic ego delicias faeio, arvideoque jocorque, 

AUoquor et tanquam reddere verba queat. 
Assensu nutuque mihi Stcpe ilia videtur 

Dicere velle aliquid et tua verba loqui. 
Agnoscit balboque patrem puer ore salutat 

Hoc Bolpr longas decipioque dies. 



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534 



MOOEE'S "\^OKKS. 



Grow wreath'd into one — like the col- 
umn, combined [capital's ^ow'rs. 
Of the strength of the shaft and the 

Of this — bear ye witness, ye wives, 

ev'rywhere, [streams — 

By the Arno, the Po, by all Italy's 

Of tills heart-wedded love, so delicious 

to share, [iu his di-eams. 

Not a husband hath even one glimpse 

But it is not this, only ; — born full of 

the light [uriant festoons 

Of a sun, from whose fount the his- 

Of these beautiful valleys drink lustre 

so bright, [north are but moons, — 

That beside him our suns of the 

"We might fancy, at least, liko their cli- 
mate they burn'd ; 
And that Love, though unused in this 
region of spring, [turn'd, 

To be thus to a tame Household Deity 
"Would yet be all soul, when abroad on 
the wing. 

And there may be, there are, those ex- 
plosions of heart, 
"Which burst, when the senses have 
first caught the flame ; [impart, 
Such fits of the blood as those climates 
"Where Love is the sun-stroke that 
maddeus the frame. 

But that Passion, which springs in the 
depth of the soul ; [as the source 
"Whose beginnings are virginly pure 
Of some smaU mountain rivulet, destia- 
ed to roll [its course- 

As a torrent, ere long, losing peace in 

A course, to which Modesty's struggle 

but lends [chance of recall ; 

A more headlong descent, without 

But which Modesty ev'n to the last edge 

attends, [round its fall ! 

And, then, throws a halo of tears 

This exquisite Passion — ay, exquisite 

even [halii made, 

Mid the rain its madness too often 

As it keeT>s, even then, a bright trace of 

th. heaven, [has stray'd— 

That heaven of Virtue from which it 

This entireness of love, which can only 

be found, [holy, watch'd over, 

"Where "Woman, Uke something that's 

And fenced, from her childhood, with 

purity round, [to a lover ! 

Comes, body and soiJ, fresh as Spring, 



"Where not an eye answers, where not a 

hand presses, [move . 

Till spirit with spfrit in sympathy 

And the Senses, asleep in their sacred 

recesses, [temple of Love I — 

Can only be reach 'd thi-ough the 

This perfection of Passion— how can it 

be found, [round the tie 

"Where the mystery natm-e hath hung 

By which souls are together attracted 

and bound, [and eye ; — 

Is laid open, forever, to heart, ear, 

"Where naught of that innocent doubt 

can exist, [ledge more bright, 

That ignorance, even than kno*'- 

"Which circles the young, like the mom's 

sunny mist, [native light ; — 

And curtains them roimd in their own 

"Wliere Experience leaves nothing for 

Love to reveal, [the thought ; 

Or for Fancy, in visions, to gleam o'er 

But the truths which, alone, we would 

die to conceal 

From the maiden's young heart, are 

the only ones taught. 

'So, no, 'tis not here, howsoever we 

sigh, [planet we pray, 

"Whether purely to Hymen's one 

Or adore, like Sabajans, each light of 

Love's sky, [stray. 

Here is not the region, to fix or to 

For faithless in wedlock, in gallaxitry 

gi-oss, [to restrain, 

"Without honor to guard, or reserve 

Wliat have they, a husband can mourn 

as a loss"? [a gain ? 

What have they, a lover can prize as 



EXTEACT XII. 

Florence. 
Music in Italy. — Disappointed hy it. — Kecollec- 
tions of other Times and Friends.— Dalton.— 
Sir John Stevenson.— His Daughter.— Musi- 
cal Evenings together. 



If it 6e true that Music reigns. 

Supreme, in Italy's soft shades, 
'Tis like that Harmony, so famous, 
Among the spheres, which, He of Samos 
Declared, had such transcendent merit, 
That not a soul on earth could hear it ; 
For, far as I have come — from Lakes, 
"Whose sleep the Tramontaua breaks. 




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EHTMES OX THE ROAD. 



535 



Through Milan, and that laud, Trhich 
gave 

The Hero of the rainbow vest — * 
By MiNCio's bauks, and by that wave.t 

Which made Yerona's bard so 
bless'd— 
Places, that (like the Attic shore, 

Which rung back music, when the sea 
Struck on its marge) should be, all o'er. 

Thrilling alive with melody — 
I've heard no music— not a note 
Of such sweet native airs as float. 
In my own land, among the throng, 
And speak our nation's soul for song. 
Nay, ev'n in higher walks, where Art 
Performs, as 'twere, the gardener's part, 
And richer, if not sweeter, makes 
The flow'rs she from the wild-hedge 
takes — [ear, 

Ev'n there, no voice hath charm'd my 

No taste hath won my perfect praise. 
Like thine, dear friendt — long, truly 
dear — 

Thine, and thy loved Olivia's lays. 
She, always beautiful, and growing 

Still more so ev'ry note she sings — 
Like an inspired young Sibyl, $ glowing 

With her own bright imaginings ! 
And thou, most worthy to be tied 

In music to her, as in love, 
Breathing that language by her side, 

AH other language far above. 
Eloquent Song— whose tones and words 
In ev'ry heart find answering chords ! 

How happy once the hours we pass'd. 

Singing or list'ning all day long, 
Till Time itself seem'd changed, at last. 

To music, and we lived in song ! 
Turning the leaves of Haydn o'er. 

As quick, beneath her master hand. 
They open'd all their brilliant store, 

Like chambers, toueh'd by fairy wand ; 
Or o'er the page of Mozaet bending, 

Now by his airy warblings cheer'd, 
Now in his mournful Requiem blending 

Voices, through which the heart was 
heard. 
And still, to lead our ev'ning choir. 
Was He invoked, thy loved-one's 
Ske-ll 

, * Bergamo— the birthplace, it is said, of Har- 
lequin. 

t The Laffo di Garda. 

J Edward Tuite Daltou, the first husband of 
Sir John Stevenson's daughter, the late Mar- 
chioness of Ileadfort. 



He, who if aught of grace there be 

In the wild notes I write or sing, 
First smooth'd then- links of hamiony. 

And lent them charms they did not 
bring;— 
He, of the gentlest, simplest heart, 
With whom, employ'd in his sweet art, 
(That art, which gives this world of ours 

A notion how they speak in heav'n,) 

I've pass'd more bright and charmed 

hom-s [giv'u. 

That all earth's wisdom could have 
Oh happy days, oh early friends. 

How Life, since then, hath lost its 

flow'rs ! [rends, 

But yet— though Time some foliage 

The stem, the Friendship, stillisom's; 
And long may it endure, as green. 
And fresh as it hath always been ! 

How I have wander'd from my theme ! 

But where is he, that could return 
To such cold subjects from a dream. 

Through which these best of feelings 
burn ?— 
Not all the works of Science, Art, 

Or Genius in this world are worth 
One geniune sigh, that fi"om the heart 

Friendship or Love draws freshly 
forth. 



EXTRACT XIII. 

Home. 
Reflections on reading Du Gefeeau^s Account 
of the Cons%nracy of Rienzi, in 1347.11 — Thy 
Meeting of the Conspirators on the Nifjht of 
the ISih 'of May.— Their Procession in the 
Morning to the Capitol.— RienzVs Speech. 

'TwAS a proud moment — ev'n to hear 

the words [temples l)reathed. 

Of Truth and Freedom 'mid these 

And see, once more, the Forum shine 

with swords, 

In the Republic's sacred name uu- 

sheath'd — [day, 

That ghmpse, that vision of a brighter 

For his dear Rome, must to a Roman 

be, 

Short as it was, worth ages pass'd away 

In the dull lapse of hopeless slavery. 



§ Such as those of Domeniehino in the ] 
Borgheso at the Capitol, &,c. 

II Sir John Stevenson. 

IT The " Conjuration de Nicolas Gabrini, dit 
de Rienzi," by the Jesuit Du Cercean. is chiefly 
taken from the much more authentic work of 
Fortifiocca on the same subject. Kienzi was 
the son of a laundress. 



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536 



MOOEB'S "WORKS. 



'Twas on a night of May, beneath that 

moon, [Time untune 

Which had, through many an age, seen 
The strings of this Great Empire, till it 

fell [shell— 

From his rude hands, a brolien, silent 
The souud of the church clock,* near 

Adrian's Tomb, [for Rome, 

Summon'd the warriors, who had risen 
To meet unarm' d, — with none to watch 

them there, [in prayer. 

But God's own eye,— and pass the night 
Holy beginning of a holy cause, 
When heroes, girt for Freedom's combat, 

pause [their might. 

Before high Heav'n, and, humble in 
CaU down its blessing on that coming 

fight. 

At dawn, in arms, went forth the patriot 
band ; [fann'd 

And, as the breeze, fresh from the Tiber, 

Then- gilded gonfalons, all eyes could see 
The palm-tree there, the sword, the 
keys of Heav'uf — 

Types of the justice, peace, and liberty, 
"That were to bless them, when their 
chains were riv'n. 

On to the Capitol the pageant moved. 
While many a Shade of other times, 
that still [roved, 

Around that grave of grandeur sighing 
Hung o'er their footsteps up the Sa- 
cred Hill, [last 

And heard its mournful echoes, as the 

High-minded heirs of the Republic 
pass'd. [(name, which brought 

'Twas then that thou, their Tribune, t 

Dreams of lost glory to each patriot's 
thought,) [seek 

Didst, with a spirit Rome in vain shall 

To wake up in her sons again, thus 
speak : — [cred place 

" Romans, look round you— on this sa- 
" There ouce stood shrines, and gods, 
and godUke men. 

" What see younow? what solitary trace 

* It is not easy to discover what church is 
meant by Du Cerceau here: — "II fit crier dans 
les rues de Rome, a son de trompe, que chacun 
e<it a se trouver, sans armes, la nuit du lende- 
main, dix-neuvieme, dans I'eglise du chateau 
de Saint-Anfre, an son de la cloche, afin de 
pourvoir au Bon Etat." 

t " Les {^entilshommes conjures portaient 
devant lui trois 6tendarts. Nicolas truallato, 
suriiomm(5 le bon diseur, portait le premier, qui 
6tait de couleur rouge, et plus prand que les 
autres. On y voyait des caracteres d'or avec 
ane fcmme assise sur deux lions, tenant d'une 



"Is left of all, that made Rome's 

glory then? [Mount bereft 

'The shrines are suhk, the Sacred 

"Ev'n of its name — and nothing now 



" But the deep mem'ry of that glory, left 

" To whet our pangs and aggravate 

our chains ! [the same, — 

" But shall this be ?— our sun and sky 

"Treading the very soil our fathers 

trod, — [soul and frame, 

"What with'ring curse hath I'aU'u on 

" What visitation hath there come 

from God, [slaves, 

" To blast our strength, and rot us into 

" Here, on our great forefathers' glorious 

gi-aves ? [Dead,— 

"It cannot be — rise up, ye Mighty 

" If we, the living, are too weak to 

crush [empire tread, 

" These tjn'ant priests, that o'er yonr 

" Till all but Romans at Rome's tame- 

ness blush ! 

" Happy, Palmyra, in thy desert domes, 
" Where only date- trees sigh and ser- 
pents hiss ; [homes 
" And thou, whose pillars are but silent 
" For the stork's brood, superb Per- 
SEPOLis ! [guish'd race 
" Thrice happy both, that your extin- 
" Have left no embers — no half-living 
trace — [proud spot, 
" No slaves, to crawl around the once 
"TUI past renown in present shame's 
forgot. [very wrecks, 
" While Rome, the Queen of all, whose 
" If lone and lifeless through a desert 
hm-l'd, [than decks 
"Would wear more trae magniHceuce 
"Th' assembled thrones of all th' ex- 
isting world— 
" Rome, Rome alone, is haunted, stain'd, 
and cursed, 
" Through ev'ry spot her princely Ti- 
ber laves, [worst, 
" Byliviug human things — the deadliest, 
main le globe du monde, et de I'autre iine 
Palme pour repr^senter la ville de Home. 
C'^tait le Gonfalon de la Liberie. Le second, 
h fonds Wane, avec un St. Paul tenant de la 
droite une Epee nue et de la gauche la cou- 
ronne de Justice, 6tait port6 par Etieune Ma^- 
naeuccia, uotaire apostohque. Dans le 
troisifeme, St. Pierre avait en main les clefs de 
la Concorde et de la Paix. Tout cela insinuait 
le dessein de Eienzi, qui fitait de ri5tablir la 
liberty, la justice et la Daix."— Du Ckuceao 
liv. ii. 
t Kienm. 



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KHTMES ON THE EOAD. 



537 



"This earth engenders — tyrants and 
their slaves ! [ponder'd o'er 

" And ■we — oh shame ! — we, who have 
" The patriot's lesson and the poet's 
lay;* [cientlore, 

" Have mounted up the streams of an- 
" Tracking oiu* country's glories all 
the way — [the ground 

" Ev'n we have tamely, basely kiss'd 
"Before that Papal Power, — that 
Ghost of Her, [ting, crown'd 

"The "World's Imperial mistress— sit- 
" And ghastly, on her mould'ring se- 
pulchre !t 

"But this is past, — too long have lordly 

priests [our pride 

"And priestly lords led us, with all 

"With'ring about us— like devoted 

beasts, [garlands tied. 

" Dragg'd to the shiine, with faded 

" Tis o'er, — the dawn of our deliv'rancc 

I 



' Up from his sleep of centuries awakes 
' The Genius of the Old Republic, free 
'As first he stood, in chainless majesty, 
And sends his voice through ages yet 
to come, [Eternal Kome !" 

'Proclaiming Eome, Rome, Rome, 



EXTRACT XIY. 

Rome. 
Tragment of a Dream. — 'The great Painters 
supposed to be Magicians. — the Beginnings 
of the Art.— Gildings on the Glories and Dra- 
peries. — hnprovements under Giotto, <tc. — 
The first Dawn of the true Style in Masaccio. 
— Studied by all the great Artists who followed 
him. — Leonardo da Yinci, with whom com- 
menced the Golden Age of Painting. — His 
Knowledge of Mathematics aiid of Music. — 
His female Heads all like each other. — Trian- 
gular Faces. — Portraits of Mona Lisa, dbc — 
Picture of Vanity and Modesty.— His chef- 
d'oeuvre, the Last Supper.— Faded and almost 
effaced. 

E'ill'd with the wonders I had seen, 

In Rome's stupendous shrines and 
I felt the veil of sleep, serene, [halls, 
* The fine Canzone of Petrarch, beginning 
" Spirto gentil,"is supposed, by Voltaire and 
others, to have been addressed to Rienzi ; but 
there is much more evidence of its having been 
■written, as Gingucn6 asserts, to the young 
Stephen Colonna. on his being created a Sena- 
tor of Rome. That Petrarch, however, was 
filled with high and patriotic hopes by the 
first measures of this extraordinary man, ap- 
pears from one of his letters, quoted by Du 
Cerciau, where he says,—" Pour tout dire, en 
un mot, j'atteste, nou comme lecteur, mais 
comme tSmoin oculaire, qu'il nous a rameuc la 



Come o'er the mem'ry of each scene, 

As twilight o'er the landscape falls. 
ISTor was it slumber, sound and deep. 

But such as suits a poet's rest — 
That sort of thin, transparent sleep. 

Through which his day-dreams shine 
the best. 
Methought upon a plain I stood, [said, 

Where certain wondrous men, 'twas 
"With strange, mirac'lous pow'r endued. 

Were coming, each in turn, to shed 
His arts' Ulusions o'er the sight. 
And call up miracles of light. 
The sky above this lonely place 

Was of that cold, uncertain hue, 
The canvass wears, ere, wann'd apace, 

Its bright creation dawns to view. 

But soon a glimmer from the east 

Proclaim'd the first enchantments 
And as the feeble light increased, [nigh;t 

Strange figures moved across the sky. 
With golden glories deck'd, and strealcs 

Of gold among their gannont.s' dyes ;§ 
And life's resemblance tinged their 
cheeks, 

But naught of life was in their eyes ; — 
Like the fresh-painted Dead one meets. 
Borne slow along Rome's mournful 

streets. 
But soon these figures pass'd away ; 

And forms succeeded to their place. 
With less of gold in their array, 

But shining with more natiiral grace, 
And all could see the charming wands 
Had pass'd into more gifted hands. || 

Among these visions there was one,1[ 
Surpassing fair, on which the sun, 

justice, la paix, la bonne foi, la s6cnrit6, et toui 
les aulres vestiges de I'age dor." 

t This imace is borrowed from Hobbes, 
whose words arc, as near as I can recollect : — 
" Por what is the Papacy, but the Ghost of tlie 
old Roman Empire, sitting crowned on the 
grave thereof? " 

t The paintings of those artists who were 
introduced into Venice and riorenco from 
Greece. 

§ Margaritone of Orezzo,who was a pupil 
and imitator of the Greeks, is said to have m- 
vented this art of gilding the ornaments of 
pictures, a practice which, though it gave wnv 
to a purer taste at the beginning of the Ifith 
century, was still occasionally used bv many 
of the great masters: as by Raphael in the 
ornaments of the Pornarina, and ny Reubens 
not unfrequently in glories and flames. 

II Cimabue, Giotto, Sec. 

IT The words of !^^a3accio — for the character 
of this powerful and original genius, see Sir 
Joshua Reynolds' twelfth discourse. His ccle 



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538 



MOORE'S WOEES. 



That instant ris'n, a beam let fall, 

Which through the dusky twilight 

trembled, [all 

And reach' d at length the spot where 

Those great magicians stood assem- 
bled. 
An d as they tum'd their heads, to view 

The shining lustre, I could trace 
The bright varieties it threw 

On each uplifted studying face ;* 
While many a voice with loud acclaim, 
Call'd forth, " Masaccio" as the name 
Of him, th' Enchanter, who had raised 
This miracle, on which all gazed. 

'Twas daylight now — the sun had ris'n, 

From out'the dungeon of old Night, — 
Like the Apostle, from his prison 

Led by the Angel's hand of light ; 
And— as the fetters, when that ray 
Of glory reach'd them, dropp'd away,t 
So tied" the clouds at touch of day ! 
Just theu, a bearded saget came forth. 

Who oft in thoughtful dream would 
To trace upon the dusky earth [stand. 

Strange learned figures with his 
And oft he took tho silver lutell [wandj'J 

His little page behind him bore, 
And waked such music as, when mute, 

Left in the soul a thirst for more ! 

Meanwhile, his potent spells went on. 
And forms and faces, that from out 

A depth of shadow mildly shone, 
"Were in the soft air seen about. 

Though thick as midnight stars they 
beam'd. 

Yet all like living sisters seem'd. 

So close, in every point, resembling 
Each other's beauties — from the eyes 

Lucid as if through crystal trembling. 
Yet soft as if suffused with sighs, 

To the long, fawn-like mouth, and chin, 
Lovely tapering, less and less, 
Till, by this very charm's excess, 

brated frescoes are in the church of St. Pietro 
del Carmine, at Florence. 

, * All the great artists studied, and many of 
(them borrowed from Masaccio. Several flg- 
lures iu the Cartoons of Raphael are taken, with 
but little alteration, from his frescoeK. 

t "And a lisht shined in the prison . . . 
and his chains fell off from his hands."— 4c<s. 

t Leonardo da Vinci. 

\ His treatise on Mechanics, Optics, &c., 
preserved in the Arabrosion library at Milan. 

II On dit que Lf-onard parut pour la premiere 
fois k la oour de Milan, dans un esp^co de con- 
cours ouvert entre les meilleurs joueurs de lyre 
d'ltalie. 11 se prfisenta avec une lyre de sa 



Like virtue on the verge of sin. 

It touch'd the bounds of ugliness. 
Here look'd as when they lived the 



Of some of Amo's dark-eyed maids — 
Such maids as should alone hve on. 
In dreams thus, when their charms are 
Some Mona Lisa, on whose eyes [gone ; 

A painter for whole years might gaze,1[ 
Nor find iu all his palette's dyes, [blaze! 

One that could even approach their 

Here float two spirit shapes,** the one, 
"With her white fingers to the sun 
Outspread, as if to ask his ray 
Whether it e'er had chanced to play 
On lilies half so fair as they ! 
This self-pleased nymph was Vanity — 
And by her side another smiled. 

In form as beautiful as she, 
But with that ah', subdued and mUd, 

That still reserve of pm-ity. 
Which is to beauty like the haze 

Of ev'ning to some sunny view, 
Soft'ning such charms as it displays, 

And veiling others in that hue 

Which fancy only can see through ! 
This phantom nymph, whf> could she be, 
But the bright Spirit, Moaesty ? 

Long did the leam'c? enchanter stay 

To weave his spf'-is, and still there 
As in the lantern's shifting play, [pass'a. 
Group after group in close array. 

Each fau-er, grander, than the last. 
But the great triumph of his pow'r 

Was yet tr come :— gi-adual and slow, 
(As all "that ir, ordatn'd to tow'r 

Among {aq works of man must grow, ) 
The sacred vision stole to view. 

In that half light, half shadow shown, 
Which gives to ev'n the gayest hue, 

A sober'd, melancholy tone. 
It was a vision of that lasttt 
Sorrowful night which Jesus pass'd 

faf »n, eonstruit en argent. — Histoire de h 
Peintureeii Italic. 

t He is said to have been four years em- 
ployed upon the portrait of this fair Florentine, 
without Deing able, after all, to come up to his 
idea of her beauty. 

** Vanity andModesty in the collection of 
Cardinal Fesch, at Home. The composition of 
the foui- hands here is rather awkward, but the 
picture, altogether, is very delightful. There is 
a repetition of the subject in the possession of 
Lucien Bonaparte. 

tt The Last Supper of Leonardo da Vinci, 
which is iu the Refectory of the convent della 
Grazie at Milan. See L'Histoire de la Pein- 




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EHTMES ON" THE EOAD, 



539 



"With his disciples, when he said 

Mournfully to them — "I shall be 
" Betray'd by one, who here hath fed 

" This night at the same board with 
me." 
And though the Saviour, in the dream 
Spoke not these words, we saw them 
Legibly in his eyes, (so well [beam 
The great magician work'd his spell,) 
And read in every thoughtful line 
Imprinted on that brow divine, 
The meek, the tender natm^e, grieved, 
Not anger'd, to be thus deceived — 
Celestial love requited ill 
For all its care, yet loving still- 
Deep, deep regret that there should fall 

From man's deceit so foul a blight 
Upon that parting hour — and all 

His Spirit must have felt that night, 
Who, soon to die for human kind, " 

Thought only, 'mid his mortal pain. 
How many a soul was left behind 

For whom he died that death in vain ! 

Such was the heavenly scene— alas, 
That scene so bright so soon should pass ! 
Bf pictured on the humid air. 
Its tints, ere long, grew languid there ;* 
And stonns came on, that, cold and 
rough, 

Scatter'd its gentlest glories all— 
As when the baffling winds blow off 

The hues that hang o'er Temi's fall, — 
Till, one by one, the vision's beams 

Faded away, and soon it fled. 
To join those other vanish'd dreams 

That now flit palely 'mong the dead, — 
The shadows of those shades, that go, 
Around Oblivion's lake, below ! 



EXTEACT XT. 

Rome. 
Mary Magdalen. — Her Story. — Numerous Pic- 
ture's of her. — Oorreggio. — Quido. — Raphael, 
d:c.'-Oanova's two exquisite Statues.— The 
Somanva Maadalen. — Chantrey's Admira- 
tion of Oanovd's Works. 

1^0 wonder. Mart, that thy story 

Touches all hearts — for there we see 
The soul'o corruption, and its glory. 

Its death and life combined m thee, 
ture ia Italia, hv. iii. chap. 45. The writer of 
that iatcrestiii}? work (to whom I tnl<e this 
opportunity of offering my noknowledgments, 
for the copy he sent me a year since from 
Rome) will see I have profited by some of his 
observations ou this celebrated picturo. 



From the first moment, when we find— 

Thy spirit haunted by a swarm 
Of dark desires— like demons shrined 

UnholUy in that fair form, — 
Till when, by touch of Heav'n set free. 

Thou cam'st with those bright locks of 
(So oft the gaze of Bethany,) [gold 

And cov'ring in their precious fold 
Thy Saviour's feet, didst shed such tears 
As paid, each drop, the sins of years ! 
Thence on, through all thy course of lovo 

To Him, thy Heavenly Master,— Him, 
Whose bitter death-cup from above 

Had yet this cordial round the brim, 
That woman's faith and love stood fast 
And fearless by Him to the last : — 
TUloh, bless'd boon for truth like thine ! 

Thou wert, of all, the chosen one. 
Before whose eyes that Face Divine, 

When risen from the dead, first shone ; 
That thou might' st see how, like a cloud, 
Had pass'd away its mortal shroud. 
And make that bright revealment 

known 
To hearts, less trusting than thy own. 
All is aff'ecting, cheering, grand ; 

The kindliest record ever giv'n, 
Ev'n under God's own kindly hand, 

Of what Eepentance.wins from Heav'n> 

'No wonder, Mary, that thy face. 

In all its touching light of tears, 
Should meet us in each holy place, 

"Where Man before his God appears, 
Hopeless— were he not taught to see 
All hope in Him who pardon'd thee ! 
jS'o wonder that the painter's skill 

Should oft have triumph'd in the 
Of keeping thee all lovely still [pow'r 

Ev'n in thy sorrow's bitt'rest horn* ; 
That soft CoRREGGio should diffuse 

His melting shadows round thy form ; 
That GuiDO's'pale, i;nearthly hues 

Should in portraying thee, grow 
That all— from the ideal, grand, [warm ; 
Inimitable Eoman hand, 
Down to the small, enamelling touch 

Of smooth Carlino— should delight 
In pict'ring her, who "lov'd so much," 

And was, in spite of sin, so bright ! 

But, Mary, 'mong these bold essays 
Of Genius and of Art to raise 

* Leonardo appears to have nsed a mistnre of 
oil and varnish for this picture, which alone, 
without the various other causes of its ruin, 
would have prevented any lonj; duration of its 
beauties. It is now almost entirely effaced. 



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540 



MOOKE'S T70EKS. 



A semblance of those weeping eyes — 

A vision worthy of the sphere 
Thy faith has earu'd thee in the skies, 

And in the hearts of all men here, — 
None e'er hath match'd, in grief or grace, 
Canova's day-dream of thy face, 
In those bright sculptured forms more 

bright 
"With true expression's breathing light, 
Than ever yet, beneath the stroke 
Of chisel, into life awoke. 
The one,* portraying what thou wert 

In thy first grief, — while yet the ilow'r 
Of those young beauties was imhm-t 

By sorrow's slow, consuming pow'r ; 
And mingling earth's seductive grace 

With heav'n's subUming thoughts so 
well, 
"We doubt, while gazing, in which place 

Such beauty was most form d to 
dwell ! 
The other, as thou look'dst when years 
Of fasting, penitence, and tears 
Had worn thy frame ;— and ne'er did Art 

"With half such speaking pow'r express 
The ruin which a breaking heart 

Spreads, by degrees, o'er loveliness. 
Those wasting arms, that keep the trace 
Ev'n still, of all their youthful grace. 
That loosen'd hair, of which thy brow 
"Was once so proud — neglected now ! — 
Those features, ev'n iu fading worth 

The freshest bloom to others giv'n. 
And those sunk eyes, now lost to earth, 

But, to the last, still fuU of heav'n ! 

"Wonderful artist ! — praise, like mine — 

Though springing from a soul that 
feels 
Deep worship of those works divine, 

"Where Genius all his light reveals — 
How weak 'tis to the words that came 
From him, thy peer in art and fame,t 
"Whom I have known, by day, by night. 
Hang o'er thy marble with delight ; 
And, while his ling'ring hand would 
steal 

O'er every grace the taper's rays,t 
Give thee, with all the gen'rous zeal 
Such master-spuits only feel, 

That best of fame, a rival's praise ! 

* This statue is one of the last works of 
Canova, and was not yet in marble when I left 
Kome. The other, which seems to prove, in 
contradiction to very high authority, thftt ex- 
pression, of the intensest kind, is fully within 
the sphere of sculpture, was executed many 



EXTKACT XVI. 

Les Charmettes. 
A Visit to the House where lioussecm lived with 
Madame de Warrens. — Their Menage. — Its 
Or ossness.— Claude Anet.— Reverence with 
which the Spot is now visited. — Absurdity vf 
this blind Devotion to Fame.— Feelings ex- 
cited by the Beauty and Seclusion of the 
Scene.— Disturbed by its Associatio7is icith 
Rousseau's History. — Impostures of Men if 
Genius. — Their power of mimickiiig all tiie 
best Feelings, Love, Independence, <£c. 

Strange power of Genius, that can 

throw 
Eound all that's vicious, weak, and low, 
Such magic lights, such rainbow dyes 
As dazzle ev'n the steadiest eves ! 



'Tis worse than weak — 'tis wrong, 'tis 

shame, 
This mean prostration before Fame ; 
This casting down beneath the car 
Of Idols, whatsoe'er they are, 
Life's purest, holiest decencies. 
To be career'd o'er, as they please. 
'So — give triumphant Genius all 
For which his loftiest wish can call ; 
If he be worshipp'd, let it be 

For attributes, his noblest, first ; 
Not with that base idolatry, 

■Which sanctifies his last and worst. 

I may be cold ; — may want that glow 
Of high romance, which bards should 
That holy homage, which is felt [know ; 
In treading where the great have dwelt ; 
This rev'rence, whatsoe'er it be, 

I fear, I feel, I have it not : — 
For here, at this stfil hour, to me 

The charms of this delightful spot ; 
Its calm seclusion from the throng. 

From all the heart would fain forget 
This narrow vaUey, and the song 

Of its small murm'ring rivulet ; 
The flitting, to and fro, of birds. 

Tranquil and tame as they were on* ' 
In Eden, ere the startUng words 

Of Man disturb'd their orisons ; 
Those little, shadowy paths, that wini 
Up the hiU-side, with fruit trees lined, 
And lighted only by the breaks 
The gay wind in the foliage makes, 

years ago, and is in the posseesion of the Count 
Somariva, at Paris, 
t Chantrey. 

\ Canova always shows his fine statue, the 
Venere Vincitrice, by the lightof a small candle, 



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EHTMES ON- THE EOAD. 



541 



Or vistas, here and there, that ope 

Through weeping willows, hke the 
snatches 
Of far-otf scenes of light, which Hope 

Bv'n through the shade of sadness 
catches ! — 
All this, which— could I once hut lose 

The memory of those vulgar ties, 
"Whose grossness all the heavenliest hues 

Of Genius can no more disguise. 
Than the sun's beams can do away 
The tilth of fens o'er which they play— 
This scene, which would have hll'd my 
heart 

With thoughts of all that happiest is ;— 
Of Love, where self hath only part, 

As echoing back another's bUss ; 
Of solitude, secure and sweet, 
Beneath whose shade the Virtues meet ; 
"Which, while it shelters, never chills 

Om- sympathies with human wo, 
But keeps them, like sequester'd rills, 

Purer and fresher in their flow ; 
Of happy days, that share their beams, 

'Twixt quiet mirth and wise employ ; 
Of tranquil nights, that give, in dreams, 

The moonlight of the morning's joy !— 
All this my heart could dwell on here. 
But for those gross mementoes near : 
Those sullying truths that cross the track 
Of each sweet thought, and drive them 
Full into all the mire, and strife, [back 
And vanities of that man's life, 
"Who, more than all that e'er have glow'd 

With Fancy's flame, (and it was his, 
In fullest warmth and radiance,) show'd 

"What an impostor Genius is ; 
How, with that strong, mimetic art, 

Which forms its life and soul, it takes 



All shapes of thought, all hues of heart, 

ISTor feels, itself, one throb it wakes ; 
How like a gem its hght may smile 

O'er the dark path, by mortals trod. 
Itself as mean a worm, the whde, 

As crawls at midnight o'er the sod ; 
What gentle words and thuughtsmay fall 

From its false lip, what zeal to bless. 
While home, friends, kindred, country, all, 

Lie waste beneath its sellishuess ; 
How, with the pencil hardly dry 

From coloring up such scenes of love 
And beauty, as make young hearts sigh, 

And di'eam, and think through heav'u 
they rove, 
They, who can thus describe and move, 

The very workers of these charms, 
Nor seek, nor know a joy, above 

Some Maman's or Theresa's arms ! 

How all, in short, that makes the boast 
Of their false tongues, they want the 

most; 
And, while with freedom on their lips. 

Sounding their timbrels, to set free 
This bright world, laboiiug in th' eclipse 

Of priestcraft and of slavery, — 
They may, themselves, be slaves as low 

As ever Lord or Patron made 
To blossom in his smile, or grow. 

Like stunted brushwood, in his shade. 
Out on the craft !— I'd rather be 

One ofthose hinds, that round me tread, 
With just enough of sense to see 

The noonday sun that's o'er his head, 
Than thus, with high-built genius cursed, 

That hath no heart for its foundation, 
Be all, at once, that's brightest, worst, 

Sublimest, meanest in crGatiou* 




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642 MOORE'S VORKS. 




MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



OP VARIOUS DATES. 



OCCASION-AL EPILOGUE. 

SPOKEN BY MR. CORRY, IN THE CHARACTER OF 
VAPID, AFTER THE PLAY OF THE DRAMATIST, 
AT THE KILKENNY THEATRE. 

{Entering as if to announce the Play.) 
Ladies and Gentlemen, on Monday 

night, 
For the ninth time — oh accents of delight 
To the poor author's ear, when three 

times three 
"With a full bumper crowns his Comedy ! 
When, long by money, and the muse, 
forsak'n, [tak'n, 

He finds, at length, his jokes and boxes 
And sees his play-bill circulate — alas, 
The only bill on which his name will 
pass! [of fame 

Thus, Vapid, thus shall Thespian scrolls 
Through box and gall'ry waft your well- 
known name, [con, 
"WTiile critic eyes the happy cast shall 
And learned ladies spell your Dram. 
Person. 

'Tis said our worthy Manager* intends 
To help my night, and he, you know, 

has friends. [parts, 

Friends, did 1 say ? for fixing friends, or 
Engaging actors, or engaging hearts. 
There's nothing like him ! wits, at his 

request, [to jest ; 

Are tum'd to fools, and dull dogs learn 
Soldiers, for him, good "trembling 

cowards " make, [his sake ; 

And beans, tum'd clowns, look ugly for 
For him ev'n lawyers talk without a fee, 
For him (oh friendship !) Jact tragedy ! 
In short, like Orpheus, his persuasive 

tricks Isticks. 

Make boars amusing, and put life in 
* The late Mr. Richard Power, 
t The brief appellation by which those per- 
sona were disting-uished who, at the opening- of 
the new theatre of Covent Garden, clamored 
for the continuance of the old prices of admis- 
sion. 



"With such a manager we can't but 
please, [0. P.'8,t 

Though London sent us all her loud 

Let them come on, like snakes, all hiss 
and rattle, 

Arm'd with a thousand fangs, we'd give 
them battle ; 

Tou, on our side, R. P.t upon our ban- 
ners, [manners; 

Soon should we teach the saucy 0. P.'s 

And show that here — howe'er John 
Bull may doubt — 

In all our plays, the Riot- Act's cut out ; 

And, while we skim the cream of many 
a jest, [zest. 

Tour well-timed thunder never sours its, 

Oh gently thus, when three short weeks 
are past, [our last ; 

At Shakspeare's altar, § shall we breathe 

And, ere this long-loved dome to ruin 
nods, 

Die all, die nobly, die like demigods ! 



EXTRACT 

FROM A PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BT 
THE AUTHOR, AT THE OPENING OF THE KIL- 
KENNY THEATRE, OCTOBER, 1809.; 



Yet, even here, though Fiction rules 
the hour, [yond her power; 

There shine some genuine smiles, be 
And there are tears, too— tears that 
Memory sheds [spreads, 

Ev'n o'er the feast that mimic Fancy 
When her heart misses one lamented 
guest, II 
t The initials of our manager's name. 
§ This alludes to a scenic representation then 
preparing for the last night of the performances. 
II The late Mr. John Lyster, one of the oldest 
members and best actors of the Kilkenny 
Theatrical Society. 



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c^ — —^ 




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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



543 



■Whose eye so Iod^t thre-w light o'er all 

the rest ! 
There, there, indeed, the Muse forgets 

her task, [mask. 

And drooping weeps behind ThaUa's 

Forgive this gloom — forgive this joyless 

strain, [train. 

Too sad to welcome pleasure's smiling 

But, meeting thus, oiu' hearts T;vill part 

the lighter, [brighter ; 

As mist at dawn but makes the setting 

Gay Epilogue will shine where Prologue 

fads— [their tails. 

As glow-worms keep their splendor for 

i know not why— but time, methinks, 
hath pass'd [last. 

More fleet than usual since we parted 
It seems but hke a di'eam of yester- 
night, [delaying light; 
"Whose charm stiU hangs, with foud, 
And, ere the memory lose one glowing 

hue 
Of former joy, we come to kindle new. 
Thus ever may the flying moments 
hfiste [waste. 

With trackless foot along life's vulgar 
But deeply print and hngeringly move, 
Wlien thus they reach the sunny spots 

we love. 
Oh yes, whatever be our gay career, 
Let this be still the solstice of the year, 
Where Pleasure's sun shall at its height 

remain, 
And slowly sink to level life again. 



THE SYLPH'S BALL. 

A Sylph, as bright as ever sported 
Her figure through the fields of air, 

By an old swarthy Gnome was comled. 
And, strange to say, he won the fair. 

The annals of the oldest witch 
A pair so sorted could not show. 

But how refuse ?— the Gnome was rich, 
The Eothschild of the worid below ; 

And Sylphs, like other pretty creatures, 
Are told, betimes, they must consider 

Love as an auctioneer of features, 
Who knocks them down to the best 
bidder. 

Home she was taken to his Mine — 
A Palace, paved with diamonds all— 

And, proud as Ivady Gnome to shine. 
Sent out her tickets for a Ball. 



The lower world, of cours e, was there, 
And all the best ; but of the upper 

The sprinkling was but shy and rai-e, 
A few old Sylphids, who loved supper. 

As none yet knew the wondrous Lamp 
Of Daw, that renown'd Aladdin, 

And the Gnome's Halls exhaled a damp. 
Which accidents from fire were bad in; 

The chambers were supplied with light 
By many strange but safe devices ; 

Large fire-flies, such as shine at night 
Among the Orients' flowers and 
spices ; — 

Musical flint-nulls— swiftly play'd 
By Elfin hands — that, flashing round, 

Like certain fije-eyed minstrel maids, 
Gave out, at once, both light and 
sound. 

Bologna stones, that drink the sun; 

And water from that Indian sea, 
Whose waves at night hke wild-fii-e 

Cork'd up in crystal carefully. [run- 
Glow-worms, that round the tiny dishes, 

Like little fight-houses, were set up ; 
And pretty phosphorescent fishes, [up. 

Tnat by their own gay light were eat 

'Mong the few guests from Ether, camr 
That wicked Sylph, whom Love we 

My Lady knew him but by name, [call: 
My Lord, her husband, not at aU. 

Some prudent Gnomes, 'tis said, apprized 
That he was coming, and, no doubt, 

Alarm'd about his touch, advised 
He should, by all means, be kept out. 

But others disapproved this plan, 
And, by his flame though somewhat 
frighted, 

Thought Love too much a gentleman. 
In such a dangerous place to light it . 

However, there he was— and dancing 
With the fair Sylph, light as a feather ; 

They look'd like two fresh sunbeams, 
glancing, 
At daybreak, down to earth together. 

And all had gone off" safe and well, 
But for that plaguy torch, whose light, 

Though not yet kindled— who could tell 
How soon, how devilishly, it might? 

And so it chanced — which, in those dark 
ind fireless halls, was quite amazing; 



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544 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



Did we not know how small a 
Can set the torch of Love a-blazing. 

Whether it came (when close entangled 
In the gay waltz) from her bright eyes, 

Or from the lucciole, that spangled 
Her locks of jet— is all surmise ; 

But certain 'tis th' ethereal girl [ing, 
Did drop a spark, at some odd tum- 

Which, by the waltz's windy whirl, 
"Was faim'd up into actual burning. 

Oh for that Lamp's metallic gauze, 
That curtain of protecting wire, 

"WTiich Davy deMcately draws 
Around illicit, dangerous fire! — 

The waU he sets 'twixt Flame and Air, 

(Like that, which barr'd young This- 

be's bliss,) [ous pair 

Through whose small holes this danger- 
May see each other, but not kiss.* 

At first the torch look'd rather bluely, 
A sign, they say, that no good boded — 

Then quick the gas became unruly, 
And, crack! the ball-room all ex- 
ploded. 

Sylphs, gnomes, and fiddlers mix'd to- 
gether, [nieces, 
"With all their aunts, sons, cousins, 
Like butterflies in stormy weather, 
"Were blown — legs, wings, and tails, 
to pieces ! 

"While 'mid these victims of the torch. 
The Sylph, alas, too, bore her part — 

Found lying, with a Mvid scorch. 
As if from lightning, o'er her heart ! 
****** 

" "Well done "—a laughing Goblin said- 
Escaping from this gaseous strife — 

" 'Tis not the first time Love has made 
A ilow-up in connubial life ! " 

REMOifSTRAN"CB. 

After a Conversation with Lord John Russell, 
»n tvhieh ha had intimated some Idea of giv- 
ing up all political Pursuits. 

What ! thou, in thy genius, thy youth, 

and thy name— [stinct to run 

Thou, bom of a Russell— whose in- 

The accustom'd career of thy sires, is 

the same [on the sun ! 

As the eaglet's, to soar with his eyes 

♦ Partique declare 

Oscula quisque suae, non pervenientia contr^. 



"Whose nobility comes .o thee, stamp'd 

with a seal, [e'er set ; 

Far, far more ennobling than mouarch 

"With the blood of thy race, ofiei-'d up 

for the weal [tyrdom yet ! 

Of a nation, that swears by that mar- 

Shalt thou be faint-hearted, and turn 

from the strife, [is grand, 

From the mighty arena, where all that 

And devoted, and pure, and adorning in 

life, [to command ? 

Is for high-thoughted spirits Mke thine 

Oh no, never dream it — while good men 

despair [timid men bow. 

Between tyrants and traitors, and 

l^ever think, for an instant, thy country 

can spare [as thou. 

Such alight from her darkening horizon 

"With a spirit, as meek as the gentlest of 

those [and warm ; 

"Who in hfe's sunny valley lie sheltefd 

Yet bold and heroic as ever yet rose 

To the top cliffs of Fortune, and 

breasted her storm ; 

"With an ardor for liberty, fresh as, in 
youth, 
It first kindles the bard and gives life 
to his lyre ; 
Yet meUow'd, ev'n now, by that mild- 
ness of truth, 
"Which tempers, but chills not, the pa- 
tiiot fire ; 

TTith an eloquence— not hke tnose nils 

fr-om a height, [por are o'er, 

"Which sparkle, and foam, and in va- 

But a cmTent, that works out its way 

into light [thought and of lore. 

Through the filtering recesses of 

Thus gifted, thou never canst sleep m 

the shade ; [of fame. 

If the stiiTings of Genius, the music 

And the charms of thy cause have not 

power to persuade. 

Yet tbink how to Freedom thou'rt 

pledged by thy ]S"ame. 

Like the boughs of that laurel, liv Del- 
phi's decree [vice divine, 
Set apart for the Fane and its ser- 
So the branches, that spring from the 
old Russell tree, [her Shrine. 
Are by Liberty claimed for the use ol 




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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



545 



MY BIRTH-DAT. 

"My birth-day " — what a diflfrent 

sound 

That word had in my youthful ears ! 

And how, each time the day comes 

round, 

Less and less white its mark appears ! 

"When first our scanty years are told, 
It seems like pastime to grow old; 
And, as Youth counts the shining links, 

That Time around him binds so fast. 
Pleased with the task, he little thinks 

How hard that chain wiU press at last. 
Vain was the man, and false as vain, 

Who said*— " were he ordatn'd to run 
" His long career of life again, 

"■ He would do all that he Imd done." — 
Ah, 'tis not thus the voice, that dwells 

In sober birth- days, speaks to me ; 
Far otherwise— of time it tells, 

Lavish'd unwisely, carelessly ; 
Of counsel mock'd ; of talents, made 

Haply for high and pure designs, 
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid 

Upon unholy, earthly shrines ; 
Of nursing many a wrong desire ; 

Of wandering after Love too far, 
And taking every meteor fire, [star. — 

That cross'd my pathway, for his 
All this it tells, and, could I trace 

Th' imperfect picture o'er again, 
With pow'r to add, retouch, efface 

Thelightsand shades, the joy and pain, 
How little of the past would stay ! 
How quickly all should melt away— 
A-ll— but that Freedom of the Mind, 

Which hath been more than wealth 

to me ; [twined. 

Those fiiendships, in my boyhood 

And kept till now unchangingly ; 
And that dear home, that saving ark. 

Where Love's true light at last I've 
fovmd, 
Cheering within, when all grows dark, 

And comfortless and stormy round ! 



FAIfCY. 

The more I've view'd this world, the 

more I've found, [tures rare. 

That, fiU'd as 'tis with scenes and crea- 

Faney commands, within her own bright 

round, [more fair. 

A world of scenes and creatures far 

* FoNTENELLE. — "Si je recominen9ais ma 

eajTwre, je ferai tout ce que j'ai iiut." 



Nor is it that her power can call up 

there [ture won,^ 

A single charm, that's not from na- 

No more than rainbows, in their pride, 

can wear 

A single tint unborrow'd from the sun ; 

But 'tis the mental mediima it shines 

through, \\m.(t ; 

That lends to Beauty all its charms and 

Asthe same light, that o'er the level lake 
One dull monotony of lustre flings. 

Will, entering in the rounded rain-dvop, 

make [wiugs ! 

Colors as gay as those on augels' 



SONG. 



FANNT, dearest! 

Yes ! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, 

Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh ; 
And every smUe on my cheek should 

To tears when thou art nigh, [turn 
But, between love, and wine, and sleep. 

So busy a Ufe I live. 
That even the time it would take to weep 

Is more than my heart can give. 
Then wish me not to despair and pine, 

Fanny, dearest of all the dears ! 
The Love that's order'd to bathe in wine. 

Would be sm-e to take cold in tears. 

Eeflected bright in this heart of mine, 

Fanny, dearest, thy image lies ; 
But, ah! the miiTor would cease to shine, 

If dimm'd too often with sighs. 
They lose the half of beauty's light. 

Who view it through sorrow's tear; 
And 'tis but to see thee truly bright 

That I keep my eye-beams clear. 

Then wait no longer till tears shall flow- 
Fanny, dearest ! the hope is vain ; 

If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, 
I shaU never attempt it with rain. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM CATUL- 1 
LUS. 

Carm. 70. 

IHcebas quondam, c£c. 

TO LESBIA. 

Thou told'st me, in our days of love, 
That I had aU that heart of thine ; 

That, ev'n to share the couch of Jove, 
Thou wouldst not, Lesbia, part from 



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mOOKE'S "VirOKKS. 



How pm-ely wert thou -worshipp'd then! 

Not with the vague and vulgar fires 
"WTnch Beauty wakes ui soulless men, — 

But loved, as childi'eu by their sires. 

That flatt'ring dream, alas, is o'er ; — 
I know thee now— and though these 

Boat on thee wildly as before, [eyes 
Yet even in doting, I despise. 

Yes, sorceress— mad as it may seem — 
With aU thy craft, such spells adorn 
thee, 

That passion even outlives esteem, 
And I, at once, adore and scorn thee. 

Carm. 11. 
Pauca nunciate mcce puellce. 
* * * * * * 

Comrades and friends ! with whom, 
where'er [I've roved, 

The fates have will'd through life 
Now speed ye home, and with you bear 

These bitter words to her I've loved. 

Tell her fi-om fool to fool to run, 
Where'er her vain caprice may call ; 

Of all her dupes not loving one. 
But ruining and madd'ning all. 

Bid her forget — what now is past — 
Our once dear love, whose ruin lies 

Like a fair flow'r, the meadow's last, 
Which feels the ploughshare's edge, 
and dies I 

Cann. 29. 

Peninsularwm S<rmio, imularumque 
Ocelle. 

Sweet Sirmio ! tboa, the very eye 

Of all peninsulas ar^d isles. 
That in our lakes of silver he, 

Or sleep, enwreath'd by Neptune's 
smiles — 

How gladly back to thee I fly ! 

Still doubting, asking — can it be 
That I have left Bithyuia s sky, 

And gaze in safety upon thee ? 

Oh ! what is happier than to find 
Our hearts at ease, our perils p^sf ; 

When, anxious long, the lighten'd mii'd 
Lays down its load of care at last : 

When, tired with toil o'er land and deep. 
Again we tread the welcome floor 
* O quid solutis est beatius curis, 
Cum mens ouus reponit, ac perefrrino 
Labcire fessi veniraus lareiii ad nostrum, 
Besidoratoque aciiuicsciuius Iccto. 



Of our own home, and sink to sleep 
On the long-wish'd-for bedonce more.* 

This, this it is, that pays alone 
The ills of all fife's former track. — 

Shine out, my beautiful, my own 
Sweet Su-mio ! greet thy master back. 

And thou, fah Lake, whose water quafla 
The fight of heav'n, fike Lydia's sea, 

Eejoice, rejoice— let all that laughs 
Abroad, at home, laugh out for me ! 



TIBULLUS TO SULPICIA. 

IfuUa tuum nobis subducet femina lectum, &c. 
&c. Lib. iv. Carm. 13. 

"Never shall woman's smile have 

pow'r [charms !" — 

"To win me from those gentlo 

Thus swore I, in that happy hour, 

When Love first gave thee to my 

arms. 

And still alone thou charm'st my sight- 
Still, though our city proudly shine 

With forms and faces, fair and bright, 
I see none fan* or bright but thine. 

Would thou wert fair for only me. 
And couldst no heart but mine al- 

To all men else unpleasing be, [Im-e ! — 
So shall I feel my prize secure, f 

Oh, love like mine ne'er wants the zest 
Of others' envy, others' praise ; 

But, in its silence safely bless' d. 
Broods o'er a bliss it ne'er betrays. 

Charm of my life ! by whose sweet pow'r 
All cares are hush'd, allfils subdued — 

My fight, in ev'n the darkest hour. 
My crowd, in deepest solitude !t 

No, not though heav'n itself sent dovm 
Some maid, of more than heav'nly 
charms. 

With bfiss undreamt thy bard to crown. 
Would he for her forsake those arms ! 



IMITATION. 

FROM THE FRENCH. 

TV xTH women and apples both Paris a 
Adam 
Made mischief enough in their day : 

t Displiceas !>liis. jic ego tutus ero. 
J Tu mihi ct<raT;;m rcouies, tu noctp vel a 
Lumen, et in solis tu mihi tui'ua lot-it^ 




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.-^r-) 




MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



547 



God be praised that the fate of mankmd, 
my dear ilauam, 
Depends not on us, the same "way. 
For, vreak as I am "svith temptation to 
grapple, [thee ; 

The world would have doubly to rue 
Like Adam, I'd gladly take from thee 
the apple, 
Like Paris, at once give it to thee. 



IXTITATION TO DINNER. 

AUDKESSED TO LORD LAXSDOWNE. 

September, 1818. 
SojiE think we bards have nothing real; 

That poets live among the stars so, 
Their very dinners are ideal, — [so,)— 

(And, heav'u knows, too oft they arc 
For instance, that we have, instead 

Of vulgar chops, and stews, and 
hashes. 
First course— a Phoenix, at the head. 

Done in its own celestial ashes ; 
At foot, a cygnet, which kept singing 
All the time its neck was wringing. 
Side dishes, thus— Minerva's owl, 
Or any such like learned fowl : 
Doves, such as heaven's poulterer gets, 
When Cupid shoots his mother's pets. 
Larks, stew'd in Morning's roseate 
breath. 

Or roasted by a sunbeam's splendor ; 
And nightingales, berhymed to death— 

Like young pigs whipp'd to make them 
tender. 

Such fare may suit those bards, who're 

able 
To banquet at Duke Humphrey's table ; 
But as for me, who've long been taught 

To eat and drinlv like other people ; 
And can put up with mutton, bought 

Where Bromham* rears its ancient 
steeple — 
If Lansdowne will consent to share 
My humble feast, though rude the fare. 
Yet, season'd by that salt he brings 
From Attica's salinest springs, 
'Twill turn to dainties ; — while the cup 
Beneath his influence bright'ning up, 

* A picturesque village in sight of my cot- 
tage, and from which it is separated but by a 
small Tordant valley. 

t Soon after Mr. Crabbe's death, the sons of 
that gentleman did mo the honor of presenting 
to me the inkstand, pencil, &c., which their 
distinguished father had long been in the habit 
of using. 



Like that of Baucis, touch'd by Jove, 
Will sparkle lit for gods above ! 



VERSES TO THE POET CRABBE'S 
INKSTAND.t 

WRITTEN MAV, 18.32. 

All, as he left it ! — ev'n the pen, 
So lately at that mind's command, 

Carelessly lying, as if then 
Just fallen from his gifted hand. 

Have we then lost him ? scarce an hour, 
A Httle hour, seems to have pass'd. 

Since Life and Inspiration's power 
Around that relic breathed their last. 

Ah, powerless now — like talisman. 
Found in some vanish'd wizard's haUs, 

Whose mighty charm with him began, 
Whose charm with him extinguish'd 
falls. 

Yet though, alas ! the gifts that shone 
Around that pen's exploring track, 

Be now, with its great master, gone, 
Nor Uving hand can call them back ; 

Who does not feel, while thus his eyes 
Rest on the enchanter's broken wand. 

Each earth-bom spell it work'd arise 
Before him in succession grand?— 

Grand, from the Truth that reigns o'er 
aU ; [light 

The unshrinking Trath, that lets her 
Through Life's low, dark interior fall. 

Opening the whole, severely bright : 

Yet softening, as she frowns along. 
O'er scenes which angels weep to see — 

Where Truth herself half veils the 
In pity of the Misery. [Wrong, 

Tnie bard : — and simple, as the race 

Of true-bom poets ever are, 
When, stooping from their starry place, 

They're children, near, though gods 
afar. 

How freshly doth my mind recall, 
'Mong the few days I've known with 

One that, most buoyantly of all, [thee, 
Floats in the wake of memory ;{ 

t The lines that follow allude to a day passed 
in company with Mr. Crabl)e, many years 
since, when a party, consisting of only Mr. 
Kogers, Mr. Crabbe, and the author of these 
verses, had the pleasure of dining with ^Ir. 
Thomaa Campbell, at his house at Sydea 
haim. 



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548 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



"WTien he, the poet, doubly graced, 
In life, as in his perfect strain, [Taste, 

"With that pnre, mellowing power of 
"Without which Fancy shines in vain ; 

"Who in his page mil leave behind, 
Pregnant with genius though it be. 

But half the treasures of a mind, 

"Where Sense o'er all holds mastery : — 

Friend of long years! of friendship tried 
Through many a bright and dark 
event ; [guide- 

la doubts, my judge — in taste, my 
In all, my stay and ornament ! 

He, too, was of our feast that day, 
And all were guests of one, whose hand 

Hath shed a new and deathless ray 
Around the lyre of this great land ; 

In "whose sea-odes — as in those shells 
"Where Ocean's voice of majesty 

Seems still to sound — immortal dwells 
Old Albion's Spirit of the Sea. 

Such was our host ; and though, since 
then, [me, 

Slight clouds have ris'n twist him and 
"WTio would not grasp such hand again, 

Stretch'd forth again in amity i 

Who can, in this short life, afford 

To let such mists a moment stay, 
When thus one frank, atoning word. 

Like sunshine, melts them all away ? 
Bright was our board that day— though 
one 

Unworthy brother there had place ; 
AS 'mong the horses of the Sun, 

One was, they say, of earthly race. 

Yet, next to Genius is the power 
Of feeling where true Genius lies ; 

And there was light around that hour 
Such as, in memory, never dies ; 

Light which comes o'er me, as I gaze, 
Thou relic of the Dead, on thee. 

Like all such dreams of vanish'd days, 
Brightly indeed— but mournfully ! 



TO CAROLINE, VISOOUJfTESS 
VALLETORT. 

WRITTEN AT LACOCK AliUEr, JANUARY, 1832. 

When I would sing thy beauty's light, 
Such various forms, and all so bright, 
I've seen thee, from thy childhood, wear, 
I know not which to call most fair. 



Nor 'mong the countless charms that 

spring 
Forever round thee, which to sing. 

"When I would paint thee as thou art, 
Then all thou wert comes o'er mj 

heart — 
The graceful child, in beauty's dawn, 
"Within the nursery's shade withd. awn. 
Or peeping out— like a young moon 
Upon a world 'twill brighten soon. 
Then next, in gMhood's blushing hour, 
As from thy own loved Abbey-tow'r 
I've seen thee look, all radiant, down, 
"With smiles that to the hoary frown 
Of centuries round thee lent a ray, 
Chasing even Age's gloom away ;- 
Or, in the world's resplendent throng, 
As I have mark'd thee glide along, 
Among the crowds of fair and great 
A spirit, pure and separate, 
To which eveu Admii-ation's eye 
"Was fearful to approach too nigh; — 
A creature, cu'cled by a spell [dweU 
"Within which nothing wrong eoulJ 
And fi-esh and clear as from the source, 
Holding through life her limpid course 
Like Arethusa through the sea 
Stealing in fountain purity. 

Now, too, another change of light ! 
As noble bride, still meekly bright. 
Thou bring'st thy Lord a dower abova 
All earthly price, pure woman's love ; 
And show'st what lustre Rank re- 
ceives, [leaves 
"When with Ms proud Corinthian 
Here rose thus high-bred Beauty waves. 

"Wonder not if, where all's so fair. 
To choose were more than bard can 
"Wonder not if, while every scene [dare ; 
I've watch'd thee through so bright hath 

been, 
Th' enamor'd Muse should, in her quest 
Of Beauty, know not where to rest, 
But, dazzled, at thy feet thus faU, 
Hailing thee beautiful in all ! 



A SPECULATION. 

Of aU speculations the market holds 

forth, [pelf, 

The best that I know for a lover o^ 

Is to buy Marcus up, at the price he is 

worth, [sets on himself 

And then sell him at that which he 




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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



549 



TO MY MOTHER. 

WRITTEN IN A POCKET BOOK, 1822. 

They tell us of an Indian tree, 
Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky 

May tempt its boughs to wander free, 
And shoot, and blossom, wide and 
high. 

Far better loves to bend its arms 
Downward again to that dear earth, 

From which the life that fills and 
warms 
Its grateful being, first had birth. 

'Tis thus, though woo'd by flattering 
friends, 

And fed with fame (*/fame it be) 
This heart, my own dear mother, bends, 

"With love's true instinct, back to thee ! 



LOVE AKB HYMEN. 

Love had a fever— ne'er could close 
His httle eyes till day was breaking. 

And wild and strange enough, Heav'n 

knows, [ing. 

The things he raved about while wak- 

To let him pine so were a sin ;— [or — 

One, to whom all the world's a debt- 
So Doctor Hymen was call'd in, [ter. 

And Love that night slept rather bet- 
Next day the case gave further hope 
yet, [tent ;— 

Though still some ugly fever la- 
"Dose, as before" — a gentle opiate. 

For which old Hymen has a patent. 

After a month of daUy call. 
So fast the dose went on restoring, 

That Love, who first ne'er slept at all. 
Now took, the rogue ! to downright 
snoring. 



LINES ON THE ENTRY OF THE 
AUSTRIANS INTO NAPLES, 1821. 
Carbone notati. 
Ay— down to the dust with them, 
slaves as they are. 
From this hour let the blood in their 
dastardly veins, [ty's war. 

That shrunk at the first touch of Liber- 
Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in 
chains. 

On, on like a cloud, through their beau- 
tiful vales, [o'er — 
Ye locusts of tyranny, blasting them 



Fill, fill up their wide sunny waters, ye 

sails [and shadow their shore ! 

From each slave-mart of Eiiropo, 

Let their fate l>e a mock- word — let men 

of all lands [ring to the poles. 

Laugh out, with a scorn that shall 

When each sword, that the cowards let 

fall fi'om their hands, [their souls. 

Shall be forged into fetters to enter 

And deep, and more deep, as the iron is 

driv'n, [agony be, 

Base slaves! let the whet of their 

To thmk— as the Doom'd often think of 

that heav'n 

They had once within reach — that 

they might have been free. 

Oh shame ! when there was not a bosom, 
whose heat [heart. 

Ever rose 'bo ve the zero of C h's 

That did not, like echo, yom- war-hymn 
repeat, 
And send aU its prayers with your 
Liberty's start ; 

Wfien the world stood in hope — when a 

spirit, that breathed 

The fresh air of the olden time, whis- 

per'd about ; [unsheath'd. 

And the swords of all Italy, half-way 

But waited one conquering cry, to 

flash out ! 

When around you the shades of your 
Mighty in fame, 
FiLicAJAs and Petrarchs, seem'd 
bursting to view. 
And their words, and their warnings, 
Mke tongues of bright flame 
Over Freedom's apostles, fell kindling 
on you ! 

Oh shame ! that, in such a proud mo- 
ment of life, [you but hurl'd 
Worth the hist'ry of ages, when, had 
One bolt at your tyrant invader, that 
strife 
Between freemen and tyrants had 
spread through the world— 

That then— oh ! disgrace upon manhood 

— ev'n then, [pitiful breath ; 

You should falter, should clmgto your 

Cow'r down into beasts, when you might 

have stood men, [tion to death. 

And prefer the slave's life of prostra- 




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550 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



J^ is strange, it is dreaifol :— shout, 

Tyramiy, shout 

Through j'our dungeons and palaces, 

" Freedom is o'er;''— 

If there lingers one spark of her Hght, 

tread it out, [ness once more. 

And retm-n to your empke of dark- 

Por, if such are me Draggaiis that claim 

to be free, [me kiss ; 

Come, Despot of Russia, thy feet let 

Par nobler to live the brute bondman of 

thee, \_g\e like this ! 

Than to sully ev'n chatas by a strug- 



SKEPTICISM. 

Eke Psyche drank the cup, that shed 
Immortal Life into her soul. 

Some evil spii-it poui-'d, 'tis said. 
One drop of Doubt into the bowl — 

"WTiich, mingling darkly with the stream, 
To Psyche's lips— she knew not why — 

Made even that blessed nectar seem 
As though its sweetness soon would die. 

Oft, in the very arms of Love, 
A chill came o'er her heart — a fear 

That Death might, even yet, remove 
Her spirit from that happy sphere. 

"Those sunny ringlets," she exclaim'd, 
Twining them round her snowy fin- 
gers ; 

" That foi-ehead, where alight, unnamed, 
" Unknown on earth, forever lingers ; 

" Those lips, through which I feel the 
breath [sever— 

"Of Heaven itself, whene'er they 
" Say, are they mine, beyond all death, 

"My own, hereafter, and forever? 

" Smde not— I know that starry brow, 
" Those linglets, and bright lips of 
thine, 

" "Will always shine as they do now — 
" But shall / live to see them shine ?" 

In vain did Love say, " Turn thine eyes 

"On all that sparkles round thee 

here — 

" Thou'rt now in heaven, where nothing 

dies, [fearf 

" And in these arms what canst thou 

In vain— the fatal di-op, that stole 
Into that cup's immortal treasure, 

Had lodged its bitter near her soul. 
And gave a tinge to every pleasure. 



And, t'\ough there ne'er was transport 
i ,iven 

Like Psyche's with that radiant boy. 
Hers if the only face in heaven, 

The* wears a cloud amid its joy. 



at 



A JOKE YERSIFIED. 

Come, come," said Tom's father, 

your time of life, 
" There's no longer excuse for thus 

playing the rake — 
It is time you should think, boy, of 

taking awife"^ [shaUItakef 
""Why, so it is, father— whose wife 



OI^" THE DEATH OF A FRIEis^D. 

Pure as the mantle, which, o'er him 

who stood [the sky, 

By Jordan's stream, descended from 

In that remembrance, which the wise 

and good [wlien they die. 

Leave in the hearts that love them. 

So pure, so precious shall the memory be, 

Bequeath'd, in dying, to our souls by 

thee— [ish'd warm 

So shall the love we bore thee, cher- 

Within our souls through giief, and 

pain, and strife. 

Be, like Elisha's cruise, a holy charm, 

Wherewith to "heal the waters" of 

this Mfe! 



TO JAMES CORRT, ESQ. 

ON ms MAKING ME A PRESENT OF A WINB 
STRAINElt. 



June, 1825. 

This life, dear Corry, who can doubt ? — 
Resembles much Mend Ewarts'* wine. 

When first the rosy drops come out, 
How beautiful, how clear they shine ! 

And thus awhile they keep their tint, 
So free from even a shade with some, 

That they would smile, did you but hint. 
That darker drops would ever come. 

But soon the ruby tide runs short. 
Each minute makes the sad truth 
plainer, 

Till life, like old and crusty port. 
When near its close, roquii-es a strainer. 

This friendship can alone confer, 
Alone can teach the drops to pass, 
* A wine-merchtMit. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



551 



If not as bright as once they were, 
At least unclouded, through the glass. 

Nor, Corry, could a boon be mine, 
Of which this heart were fonder, 
vainer, 

Than thus, if life grow lilie old wine, 
To have thy friendship for its strainer. 



FRAGMENT OP A CHARACTER. 

Here lies Factotum Ned at last; 

Long as he breathed the vital an-, 
Nothing throughout all Europe pass'd, 

In which Ned hadn't some small share. 

"WTioe'ei was in, whoe'er was out, 
"Whatever statesmen did or said, 

If not exactly brought about, 
'Twas all, at least, contrived by Ned. 

With Nap, if Russia went to war, 
'Twas owing, under Providence, 

To certain hints Ned gave the Czar— 
(Tide his pamphlet — price, sixpence.) 

If France was beat at "Waterloo— 
As all but Frenchmen think she was — 

To Ned, as Wellington well knew, 
"Was owing half that day's applause. 

Then for his news — no envoy's bag 
E'er pass'd so many secrets through it; 

Scarcely a telegraph could wag 
Its wooden linger, but Ned knew it. 

Such tales he had of foreign plots, 
AYith foreign names, one's ear to buzz 

Prom Russia, chefs and ofs in lots, [in ! 
Prom Poland, oicskis by the dozen. 

■When George, alarm'd for England's 
creed, 

Tum'd out the last "Whig ministry, 
And men ask'd — who advised the deed ? 

Ned modestly confess'd 'twas he. 

For though, by some unlucky miss, 
He had not downright seen the King, 

He sent such hints thi-ough Yiscount 

This, [thing. 

To Marquis TJiat, a.- clench'd the 

The same it was in science, arts. 
The Drama, Books, MS. and printed — 

Kean leam'd from Ned his cleverest 

parts, [hinted. 

And Scott's last work by him was 

OhUde Harold m the proofs he read, 
And here and there infused some soul 
in't— 



Nay, Davy's Lamp, tiU seen by Ned, 
Had — odd enough — an awkward hola 
in't. 

'Twas thus, aU-domg and all-knowing, 
"Wit, statesman, boxer, chemist, 
singer, 

"Whatever was the best pie going, [ger. 
In that Ned — trust him — had his tin- 



WHAT SHALL I SING THEE? 



"What shall I sing thee ? Shall I tell 
Of that bright hour, remember'd well 
As though it shone but yesterday, 
"When, loiteiing idly in the ray 
Of a spring-sun, I heard, o'erhead. 
My name as by some spirit said, 
And, looking up, saw two bright eyes 

Above me from a casement shine. 
Dazzling my mind with such surprise 

A.S they, who sail beyond the Line, 
Feel when new stars above them rise ; — 
And it was thine, the voice th t spoke, 

Like Ariel's, in the mid-air then ; 
And thine the eye, whose lustre broke — 

Never to be forgot again ! 

"What shall I sing thee ? Shall I weave 
A song of that sweet summer-eve, 
(Summer, of which the sunniest part 
"Was that we, each, had in the heart, ) 
"When thou and I, and one like thee. 

In life and beauty, to the sound 
Of our own breathless minstrelsy, 

Danced till the sunlight faded round. 
Ourselves the whole ideal Ball, 
Lights, music, company, and all ! 
Oh, 'tis not in the languid strain 

Of lute like mine, whose day is past. 
To call up even a dream again 

Of the fresh light those moments cast. 



COUNTRY DANCE AND QUAD- 
RILLE. 

One night the nymph call'd Cotjntrt 
Dance — 
("Whom folks, of late, have used so ill. 
Preferring a coquette from France, 
That mincing thing, Mamselle Quad- 
rille)— 

Having been chased from London dowu 
To that most humble haunt of all 



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552 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



She used to jEtrace — a Country Town — 
Went smiling to the I^ew- Year's Ball. 

" Here, here, at least," she cried, 
"though driven [tracks — 

" From London's gay and shining 
"Though, like a Peri cast from heaven, 

"I've lost, forever lost, Almack's — 

" Though not a Loudon Miss alive 
"Would now for her acquaintance 
own me ; 
"And spinsters, even, of forty-five, 
"Upon their honors ne'er have known 
me; 

" Here, here, at least, I triumph still, 
" And — spite of some few dandy Lan- 
cers, 
'' Who vainly try to preach Quadrille — 
" See naught but true-blue Country 
Dancers. 

" Here still I reign, and, fresh in charms, 
" My thi-oue, like Magna Charta, raise 

"'Mong sturdy, fi-eehorn legs and arms, 
"That scorn the threaten'd chaine 
Anglaisc." 

'Twas thus she said, as 'mid the din 
Of footmen, and the town sedan, 

She lighted at the King's Head Inn, 
An d up the stairs triumphant ran. 

The Squires and their Squiresses all, 
With young Squirinas, just come out, 

And my Lord's daughters from the HaU, 
(Quadi-illers, in their hearts, no 
doubt, ) — 

All these, as light she tripp'd up stairs, 
Were in the cloak-room seen assem- 
bling — 
When, hark ! some new, outlandish airs, 
From the Fh-st Fiddle, set her trem- 
bling. 

She stops— she listens —can it be ? 

Alas, in vain her ears would 'scape 
It is " Di tauti palpiti " [it — 

As plain as English bow can scrape it. 

" Corn-age !" however — in she goes. 
With her best, sweeping country 
grace ; 
When, ah too true, her worst of foes. 
Quadrille, there meets her, face to 
face. 

Oh for the lyre, or violin, 
Or kit of that gay Muse, Terpsichore, 



To sing the rage these nymphs were in. 
Their looks and language, airs and 
trickery. 

There stood Quadrille, with cat-like 
face, 

(The beau-ideal of French beauty,) 
A bandbox thing, aU art and lace 

Down from her nose-tip to her shoe-tie. 

Her flounces, fresh from Victorine — 
From Hippolyte, her rouge and hair— 

Her poetry, from Lamartine — 
Her morals, from — the Lord knows 
where. 

And, when she danced — so slidingly. 
So near the ground she plied her art. 

You'd swear her mother-earth and she 
Had made a compact ne'er to part. 

Her face tois, all the while, sedate, 
]Sro signs of life or motion showing. 

Like a hright pendule' s dial-plate— 
So still, you'd hardly thiak 'twas go 
ing. 

Full fronting her stood Country Dance — 
A fresh, frank nymph, whom you 
would know 

For English at a single glance — 
English all o'er, from top to toe. 

A little gauche, 'tis fair to own, [ces ; 

And rather given to skips and boun- 
Endangering thereby many a gown, 

And playing, oft, the devil with floim- 
ces. 

Unlike Mamselle — who would prefer 

(As morally a lesser ill) 
A thousand flaws of character, 

To one vile rumple of a fi-ill. 

N"o rouge did she of Albion wear ; 

Let her but run that two-heat race 
She calls a Set, not Dian e'er 

Came rosier from the woodland chase. 

Such was the nymph, whose soul hadin't 
Such anger now — whose eyes of blue 

(Eyes of that bright, victorious tint. 
Which English maids call " Water- 
loo") 

Like summer lightnings, in the dusk 
Of a warm evening, flashing broke, 
While— to the tune of " Money Musk,"* 
Which struck up now — she proudly 
spoke : — 
* An old English Country Danoe. 




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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 5G: 



"Heard you that strain— that joyous 
strain ? 

'"Twas such as England loved to hear, 
" Ere thou, and all thy frippery train, 

" Corrupted both her foot and ear— 

"Ere "Waltz, that rake fi-om foreign 
lands, 
"Presumed, in sight of all beholders, 
" To lay his mde licentious hands 
" On virtuous English backs and shoul- 
ders — 

" Ere times and morals both grew bad, 
" And, yet unfleeced by funding block- 
heads, 

" Happy John Bull not only had, [ets.' 
"But danced to, 'Money in both pock- 

" Alas, the change !— Oh, L— d— y, 
"Where is the land could 'scape dif^- 
asters, 

" "With such a Foreign Secretary, 
" Aided by Foreign Dancing Masters ? 

'' "Wo to ye, men of ships and shops ! 

" Kulers of day-books and of waves ! 
" QuadiTll'd, on one side, into fops, 

" And drill'd, on t'other, into slaves ! 

" Ye, too, ye lovely victims, seen, 
" Like pigeons, truss'd for exhibition, 

" "With elbows a la crapaudine, 

" And feet in — God knows what po- 
sition ; 

" Hemm'd in by watchful chaperons, 
"Inspectors of your airs and graces, 

" "Who intercept aU whisper'd tones, 
" And read your telegraphic faces ; 

"Unable with the youth adored, 

" In that grim cordon of Mammas, 
" To interchange one tender word, 
" Though whisper'd but in queue de 
chats. 
"Ah did you know how bless'd we 
ranged die — 

•' Ere vile QuadriUe usurp'd the fid- 
" "What looks in setting were exchanged, 
" "What tender words in down the mid- 
dle; 

" How many a couple, like the wind, 
" "Which nothing in its course controls, 

"Left time and chaperons far behind, 
" And gave a loose to legs and souls ; 

"How matrimony throve — ere stoi)p'd 
"By this cold, silent, foot-eoquetting— 



" How charmingly one's partner popp't' 
" Th' important question in pousset- 
ting. 

" "While now, alas— no sly advances — 
"No marriage hints — all goes on 
badly — [ Dances, 

"'Twixt Parson Malthus and French 
""We, girls, are at a discount sadly. 

"Sir "William Scott (now Baron StoweU) 
" Declares not half so much is made 

"By Licenses — and he must know well — 
"Since vile Quadrilling spoU'd the 
trade !" 

She ceased— tears fell from every Miss — 
She now had touch'd the true pathet- 

One such authentic fact as this [ic :— 
Is worth whole volumes theoretic. 

Instant the cry was " Country Dance I" 
And the maid saw, with brightening 
face. 

The Steward of the night advance, 
And lead her to her birthright place. 

The fiddles, which awhUe had ceased, 
Now tuned again their summon* 
sweet. 

And, for one happy night, at least, 
Old England's triumph was < 



GAZEL. 

Haste, Maami, the spring is nigh ; 

Already, in th' unopen'd flowers 
That sleep around us, Fancy's eye 

Can see the blush of futui-e bowers ; 
And joy it brings to thee and me, 
My own beloved Maami ! 

The streamlet frozen on its way, 
To feed the marble Founts of Kings, 

Now, loosen'd by the vernal ray, 
Upon its path' exulting springs— 

As doth this bounding heart to thee, 

My ever blissful Maami ! 

Such bright hours were not made to stay 
Enough if they a while remain, 

Like Irem's bowers, that fade away. 
From time to time, and come again. 

And life shall all one Irem be 

For us, my gentle Maami. 

haste, for this impatient heart 
Is like the rose in Yemen's vale, 

That rends its Inmost leaves apart 
"With passion for the nightingale 

So languishes this soul for thee. 

My bright and blushing Maami ! 



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554 



MOOEE'S A70EKS. 



LIN"ES ON- THE DEATH OF JO- 
SEPH ATKINSON ESQ., OP DUB- 

If ever life was prosperously cast, 

If ever life was like the lengthened 

flow [last, 

Of some sweet music, sweetness to the 

'Twas his who, moum'd by many, 

sleeps below. 

The sunny temper, bright where all is 

strife, [wiles; 

The simple heart, above all worldly 

Light wit that plays along the calm of 

life, [smiles; 

And stirs its languid surface into 

Pure charity, that comes not in a show- 
er, [feeds. 
Sudden and loud, oppressing what it 
But, like the dew, with gradual silent 
power, [meads ; 
Felt in the bloom it leaves along the 

The happy grateful spirit that improves 

And brightens every gift by fortune 

given ; [loves, 

That, wander where it will with those it 

Makes every place a home, and home 

a heaven ; 

All these were his.— Oh, thou who 

read'st this stone, [sky 

■When for thyself, thy children, to the 

Thou humbly prayest, ask this boon 

alone, [niay die ! 

That ye like him may live, hke him 



GENIUS AND CEITICISM. 

Scripsit quidem fata, sed sequitur. 

Seneca. 

Of old, the Sultan Genius reign'd. 
As liature meant, supreme, alone ; 

"With mind uncheck'd, and hands un- 

chain'd, [own. 

His views, his conquests were his 

But power like his, that digs its grave 
■With its own sceptre, could not last ; 

So Genius' self became the slave 
Of laws that Genius' self had pass'd. 

As Jove, who forged the chain of Fate, 
■Was, ever after, doom'd to wear it ; 

His nods, his struggles all too late — 
" Qui semel jussit, semper parct." 



To check young Genius' proud career, 

The slaves, who now his throne in- 
Made Criticism his prime Vizir, [vaded, 
And from that hour his glories faded. 

Tied down m Legislation's school, 
Afraid of even his own amlntion, 

His very victories tvere by rule, 
And he was great but by permission. 

His most heroic deeds— the same, 
That dazzled, when spontaneous 
actions — [tame, 

N-Qw, done by law, seem'd cold and 
And shorn of aU their first attractions. 

If he but stirr'd to take the air. 
Instant the Vizir's counsel sat — 

" Gaod Lord, your Highness can't go 

there— [that." 

" Bless me, your Highness can't do 

If, loving pomp, he chose to buy 

Kich jewels for his diadem, 
"The taste was bad, the price was 
high— 

'• A flower were simpler than a gem." 

To please them, if he took to flowers— 
" ■What trifling, what unmeaning? 
thmgs ! 

" Fit for a woman's toilet hours, 
" But not at aU the style for Kings." 

If, fond of his domestic sphere. 
He play'd no more the rambling com- 
et— 

" A dull, good sort of man, 'twas clear, 
"But as for great or brave, far fi'om it." 

Did he then look o'er distant oceans. 
For realms more worthy to enthrone 
him? 

" Saint Aristotle, what wild notions ! 
" Serve a ' ne exeat regno ' on him." 

At length, their last and worst to do. 
They round him placed a guard of 
watchmen, 
Keviewers, knaves in brown or blue, 
Tum'd up with yeUow— chiefly 
Scotchmen ; 

To dog his footsteps all about, [grounds, 
Like those in Long wood's prison 

"Who at Napoleon's heels rode out. 
For fear the Conqueror should break 
bounds. 

Oh for some Champion of his power, 
Some Ultra spint, to set free. 




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MISCBLLAi^EOLo ^ o^^g. 



As erst in Sliakspeare's sov'reign hour, 
The thunders of his royalty ! — 

To vindicate his ancient line, 
The first, the true, the only one 

Of Eight eternal and divine, 
That rules beneath the blessed sun. 



TO LADY J.* E * * T, 



Written at Middleton. 

Oh albums, albums, how I dread 

Your everlasting scrap and scrawl ! 
How often wish that from the dead, 
Old Omar would pop forth his head, 
And make a bonfire of you all ! 

So might I 'scape the spinster band, 
The blushless blues, who, day and 
night, 
Like duuri in doorwaj^s, take their stand 
To waylay l)ards, with book in hand, 
Crying forever, "Write, sir, write !" 

So might I shim the shame and pain, 
That o'er me at this instant come. 
When Beauty, seeking Wit in vain. 
Knocks at the portal of my brain. 
And gets, for answer, "Not at home !" 

November, 1828. 



TO THE SAME, 

ON LOOKING THROUGH HEK ALBUM. 

N"o wonder bards, both high and low. 
From Byron down to ****"* and me. 

Should seek the fame, which all bestow 
On him whose task is praising thee. 

Let but the theme be J* r * * y's eyes. 
At once all errors are forgiven; 

As ev'n old Sternhold still we prize, 
Because, though dull, he sings of 
heaven. 



ATKEGHT.* 

At night, when all is still around. 
How sweet to hear the distant sound 

Of footsteps, coming soft and light ! 
WTiat pleasure in the anxious beat. 
With which the bosom flies to meet 

That foot that comes so soft at night ! 

And then, at night, how sweet to say 
" 'Tis lato, my love !'' and chide delay, 

* Tliesfi lines allude to a curious lamp, which 
has for its device a Cupid, with the words " at 
night ' written over him. 



Though still the western clouds are 
bright ; 
Oh ! happy, too, the silent press. 
The eloquence of mute caress, [night ! 

With those we love exchanged at 

TO LADY HOLLAND, 
ON napoleon's legacy of a snuff-box. 
Gift of the Hero, on his dying day. 
To her, whose pity watch'd, forever 
nigh ; [ray, 

Oh ! could he see the proud, the happy 
This relic lights up in her generous eye. 
Sighing, he'd feel how easy 'tis to pay 
A friendship all his kingdoms could not 
buy. 

Pari^, July, 1821. 



EPILOGUE. 

WRITTEN FOR LADY DACRE's TRAGEDY OF INA. 

Last night, as lonely o'er my fire I sat, 
Thinking of cues, starts, exits, and— all 

that, [sprite 

And wondering much what little knavish 
Had put it first in women's heads to 

write: [dream- 

Sudden I saw — as in some witching 
A bright-blue glory round my book-case 

beam, [hght 

Prom whose quick-opening folds of azure 
Out flew a tiny form, as small and bright 
As Puck the Fairy, when he pops his 

head, 
Some sunny morning, from a violet bed. 
" Bless me !" I starting cried, "what 

imp are you?"— Bas Bleu— 
" A small he-devQ, Ma'am — my name 
" A bookish sprite, much giv'n to routs 

and reading; [breeding, 

" 'Tis I who teach your spmsters of good 
" The reigning taste in chemistry and 

caps, [maps, 

"The last new bounds of tuckers and of 
"And, when the waltz has twirl'd her 

giddy brain, [again !" 

"With metaphysics twirl it back 

I view'd him, as he spoke — his hose was 
blue, [view — 

His wings— the covers of the last Ee- 
Cerulean, border'd with a jaundice hue, 
And tinsell'd gayly o'er for evening 
wear, [fledged pair. 

Till the next quarter brings a new- 
" Inspired by me, — (pursued" this wag- 
gish Fairy)— 




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556 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



" That best of wives and Sapphos, Lady 

Mary, 
" Yotary alike of Crispin and the Muse, 
"Makes her own splay-foot epigrams 
and shoes, [shine, 

"For me the eyes of yomig Camilla 
"And mingle Love's blue brilliances 
with mine ; [shrinking, 

"Forme she sits apart, from coxcombs 
" Looks wise— the pretty soul !— and 

tliinks she's thinking. 
"By my advice Miss Indigo attends 
" Lectures ou Memory, and assures her 
friends, [surpass the plan 

" ' 'Pon honor !—(mmics)— nothing can 
"'Of that professor— (^rymf7 to recol- 
lect) — psha ! that memory man— 
" ' That — what's his name ? — him I at- 
tended lately — [greatly.' " 
" ' 'Pon honor, he improved my memory 

Here, curtseying low, I ask'd the blue- 
legg'd sprite, [night. 

What share he had in this our play to- 
"Nay, there — (he cried) — there I am 
guiltless quite — [Gothic time, 
"What! choose a heroine from that 
" When no one waltz'd. and none but 
monks could rhyme ; [and wUd, 
"When lovely woman, all unschool'd 
" Blush'd without art and without cul- 
ture smiled — [they shone, 
" Simple as flowers, whUe yet unclass'd 
" Ere Science call'd their brilliant world 
her own, [orders, 
" Ranged the wild, rosy things in learned 
"And fill'd with Greek the garden's 

blushing borders ! — 
" N"o, no — your gentle Inas will not do — 
" To-morrow evening, when the lights 

bum blue, 
" I'll come — {pointing downwards) — ^you 
understand— tiU then adieu !" 

And has the sprite been here ? No- 
jests apart— 
Howe'er man rules in science and in art. 
The sphere of woman's glories is the 

heart. 
And, if our muse have sketch'd with 

pencil true 
The wue — the mother — firm, yet gentle 
too — [spun, 

Whose soul, wrapp'd up in ties itself hath 
Trembles, if touch'd in the remotest one ; 
* In these stanzas I have done little more 
than relate a fact in verse; and the lady, 
whooe singing gave rise to thia curious instance 



Who loves— yet dares even Love hirj- 
self disown, [his throne ; 

When Honor's broken shaft supports 
If such our Ina, she may scorn the evils, 
Dire as they are, of Critics and— Blue 
Devils. 



THE DAY-DREAM.* 

They both were hush'd, the voice, the 
chords,— 

I heard but once that witching lay ; 
And few the notes, and few the words, 

My spell -bound memoiy brought away; 

Traces remember'd here and there. 
Like echoes of some broken strain ;— 

LinliS of a sweetness lost in air. 
That nothing now could join again. 

Ev'n these, too, ere the morning, fled ; 

And, though the charm still linger'd on. 
That o'er each sense her song had shed. 

The song itself was faded, gone ; — 

Gone, like the thoughts that once were 

ours. 

On summer days, ere youth had set; 

Thoughts bright, we know, as summer 

flowers, [get. 

Though what they were, we now for- 

In vain, with hints from other strains, 

I woo'd this truant air to come- 
As birds are taught, on eastern plains, 
To lure their wilder kindred home. 

In vain :— the song that Sappho gave. 
In dying, to the mournful sea, 

l^ot muter slept beneath the wave, 
Than this within my memory. 

At length, one morning, as I lay 
In that half-waking mood, when 
dreams 

Unwillingly at last give way 
To the full truth of daylight's beams, 

A face— the very face, methought. 
From which had breathed, as from a 
shrine 

Of song and soul, the notes I sought — 
Came with its music close to mine ; 

And sung the long-lost measure o'er, — 
Each note and word, with every tons 

And look, that lent it life before,- 
AH perfect, all again my own ! 

of the power of memory in sleep, is Mrs. Robert 
Arkwiight. 



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MISCELLAl^EOTJS POEMS. 



Like parted souls, vrhen, 'mid the Blest 
They meet again, each widow'd sound 

Through memory's realm had wing'd in 
quest 
Of its sweet mate, till all were found. 

ITor even in waking did the clue, 

Thus strangely caught, escape again ; 

For never lark its matins knew 
So well as now I knew this strain. 

And oft, when memory's wondrous spell 
Is talk'd of in our tranquil bower, 

1 sing this lady's song, and tell 
The vision of that morning hour. 



SONG. 



"Where is the heart that would not give 

Years of drowsy days and nights, 
One little hour, like this, to live — 
Full, to the brim, of life's delights ? 

Look, look around 

This fairy ground, 
"With love-lights glittering o'er ; 

While cups that shine 

With freight divine 
Go coasting round its shore. 

Hope is the dupe of future hours, 
Memory hves in those gone by ; 
Neither can see the moment's flowers 
Springing up fresh beneath the eye. 

Wouldst thou, or thou, 

Forego what's now, 
For all that Hope may say ? 

No— Joy's reply, 

From every eye, 
Is, " Live we while we may." 



SONG OF THE POCO-CIJRANTE 

SOCIETY. 

Haud curat Eippoclides. 

Eh ASM. Adag. 
To those we love we've drank to night ; 

But now attend, and stare not, 
While I the ampler list recite 
Of those for whom— We care not. 

For royal men, howe'er they frown, 
If on their fronts they bear not 

That noblest gem that decks a crown. 
The People's Love— We care not. 

For slavish men, who bend beneath 
A despot yoke, yet dare not 

Pronounce the will, whose very breath 
Would rend its links— We care not. 



For priestly men, who covet sway 
And wealth, though they declare 
not; 

Who point, like finger-posts, the way 
They never go — We care not. 

For martial men, who on their sword, 
Howe'er it conquers, wear not 

The pledges of a soldier's word, 
Redeem'd and pm-e— We care not. 

For legal men, who plead for wrong, 
And, though to lies they swear not, 

Are hardly better than the throng 
Of those who do— We care not. 

For courtly men, who feed upon 
The land, hke grubs, and spare not 

The smallest leaf, where they can sun 
Their crawlmg limbs — We care not. 

For wealthy men, who keep their mines 
In darkness hid, and share not 

The paltry ore with him who pines 
In honest want — We cake not. 

For prudent men, who hold the power 
Of Love aloof, and bare not 

Their hearts in any guardless hour 
To Beauty's shaft— We care not 

For all, in short, on land or sea. 
In camp or court, who are not. 

Who never were, or e'er will be 
Good men and true— We care not, 



ANNE BOLEYN. 

TRANSLATION FUOM THE METRICAL " HI8T0IRH 
U'ANNE BOLEYN." 

S'elle estoit bello et de taillo 616gante, 
Estoit des yeiilx encor plus attirante, 
Lesquelz s^avoit bien condiiyro k propos 
En les tenant quelquefoys en repos ; 
Aucunet'oys envoyant en messMg^o 
Porter du cueur le secret tesmoignage. 

Much as her form seduced the sight, 
Her eyes could even more surely woo ; 

And when and how to shoot their light 
Into men's hearts ftdl weU she knew. 

For sometimes, in repose, she hid 
Their rays beneath a downcast lid ; 
And then again, with wakenmg ah-, 

Would send their sunny glances oui 
Like heralds of delight, to bear 

Her heart's sweet messages about. 




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558 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



THE DREAM OF THE TWO 
SISTERS. 

FROM DANTE. 

Nell era, credo, cbe dell' oriente 
Prima raggi6 nol monte Citerea, 
Che di fuoco d' amor par sempre ardente, 

Giovaue e bella in sogno mi parea 
Donna vedere andar per una landa 
Cogliendo fiori ; e cantando dicea : — 

Sappia qualunque '1 mio nome dimanda, 
Cn io mi son Lia, e vo movendo 'ntorno 
Le belle mani a farmi una ^hirlanda— 

Per piacermi alio specchio qui m' adorno ; 
Ma mia suora Rachel mai uon si smaga 
Dal sue ammiraglio, e siede tutto il giorno. 

Eir 6 de' suoi begli occhi veder vaga, 
Com' io dell' adornarmi con le mani ; 
Lei Io vedere e me I'ovrare appaga. 

Dante, Purg. canto xrvii. 

'TwAS eve's soft hour, and bright above, 

The star of Beauty beam'd, 
While luU'd by light so full of love, 

In slumber thus I dream' d — 
Methought, at that sweet hour, 

A nymph came o'er the lea. 
Who, gath'ring many a flow'r, 

Thus said and sung to me : — 
" Should any ask what Leila loves, 

" Say thou, To wreath her hair 
•'With fiow'rets cuU'd from glens and 

" Is Leila's only care. [groves, 

" While thus in quest of fiow'rets rare, 

" O'er hill and dale I roam, 
"My sister, Rachel, far more fair, 

" Sits lone and mute at home. 
" Before her glass untiling 

" With thoughts that never stray, 
"Her own bright eyes admiring, 

" She sits the live-long day; 
"While I ! — oh, seldom even a look 

" Of self salutes my eye ; — 
"My only glass, the limjud brook, 

"That shines and passes by." 



While, ranged around, the wise, the 
In thee their mistress own'd : [great. 
And still the same, thy gentle sway 
O'er willing subjects won its way — 
Till all confess'd the Right Divine 
To rule o'er man was only thiae ! 

But Io, the scene now changed again — 

And borne on plumed steed, 
I saw thee o'er the battle-plain 

Our land's defenders lead ; 
And stronger in thy beauty's charms. 
Than man, with countless hosts in arms, 
Thy voice, like music, cheer'd the Free, 
Thy very smile was victory ! 

Nor reign such queens on thrones alone — 

In cot and court the same. 
Wherever woman's smUe is known, 

Victoria's still her name. 
For though she almost blush to reign, 
Though Love's own fiow'rets wreath the 
Disguise our bondage as we will, [chain, 
'Tis woman, woman, rules us stiU. 



• SOVEREIGN" WOMAN". 

A BALLAD. 

The dance was o'er, yet stUl in dreams 

That fairy scene went on ; 
Like clouds stUl flush'd with daylight 

Though day itself is gone. [gleams. 
And gracefully, to music's sound. 
The same bright nymphs went gliding 

round ; 
While thou, the Queen of all, wert there — 
The Fairest still, where all were fair. 

The dream then changed — in halls of 
I saw thee high enthroned ; [state 



COME, PLAT ME THAT SIMPLE 
AIR AGAIN". 

A BALLAD. 

Come, play me that simple air again, 

I used so to love, in life's young day, 
And bring, if thou canst, the dreams 
that then 
Were waken'd by that sweet lay ; 
The tender gloom its strain 

Shed o'er the heart and brow. 
Griefs shadow, without its pain — 
Say where, where is it now ? 
But play me the well-known air once 
more, [strain, 

For thoughts of youth still haunt its 
Like dreams of some far, fairy shore 
We never shall see agam. 

Sweet ail-, how every note brings hack 
Some sunny hope, some day-dream 
bright, 

That, shiumg o'er life's early track, 
Fill'd ev'n its tears with light. 

The new-found life that came 

With love's first echo'd vow ; — 
The fear, the bliss, the shame — 
Ah — where, where are they now? 
But, still the same lov'd notes prolong, 
For sweet 'twere thus, to that old lay, 
In dreams of youth and love and song, 
To breatho life's hoi^r away. 



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THE LOVES OP THE AN'GELS. 559 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



1823. 



PREFACE. 

The Eastern story of the angels Ha- 
rnt and Marut,* and the Rabbinical fic- 
tions of the loves of Uzziel and Shiim- 
chazai, f are the only sources to which I 
need refer, for the origin of the notion on 
which this Romance is founded. In ad- 
dition to the fitness of the subject for 
poetry, it struck me also as capable of 
aflFording an allegorical medium, through 
which might be shadowed out (as I have 
endeavored to do in the following sto- 
ries) the fall of the Soul from its origmal 
purityt — the loss of light and happiness 
which it suffers in the pm-suit of this 
world's perishable pleasm-es— and the 
punishments, both from conscience and 
Divine justice, with which impurity, 
pride, and presumptuous inquiry into 
the awful secrets of Heaven are sure to 
be visited. The beautiful story of Cupid 
and Psyche owes its chief ehann to this 
sort of " veiled meaning," and it has 
been my wish (however I may have 
failed in the attempt) to communicate 
to the following pages the same 7noral 
interest. 

Among the doctrines, or notions, de- 
rived by Plato from the East, one of the 
most natural and sublime is that which 
inculcates the pre-existence of the soul, 
and its gi-adual descent into this dark 
material world, from that region of 
spirit and light which it is supposed to 

* See note on page 524. 

t Hyde, de Eeli^. Vet. Persarum, p. 272. 

I The accoimt which Macrobius gives* of the 
downward journey of the Soul, throup-h tliat 
gate of the zodiac which opens into the lower 
spheres, is a curious specimen of the wild fan- 
cies passed for philosophy in ancient times. 

In the system of Manes, the luminous or 
spiritual principle owes its corruption not to 
any evil teudency of its own, but to a Tiolent 



have once inhabited, and to which, after 
a long lapse of purification and trial, it 
will return. This belief, under vari- 
ous symbolical forms, may be traced 
through almost all the Oriental theolo- 
gies. The Chaldeans represent the Soul 
as originally endowed with wings, 
which fall away when it sinks from Its 
native element, and must be reproduced 
before it can hope to return. Some dis- 
ciples of Zoroaster once inquired of him, 
" How the wings of the Soul might be 
made to grow again ?"— " By sprinkhng 
them," he rephed, " with the Waters of 
Life." — "But where are those Waters to 
be foimd ?" they asked. — "In the Gar- 
den of God,'' replied Zoroaster. 

The mythology of the Persians has 
allegorized the same doctrine, in the his- 
tory of those genii of light who strayed 
from their dwellings in the stars, and 
obscured their original nature by mix- 
ture with this material sphere ; while the 
Egyptians, connecting it with the descent 
and ascent of the sun in the zodiac, 
considered Autumn as emblematic of 
the Soul's decline towards darkness, and 
the re-appearance of Spring as its return 
to light and life. 

Besides the chief spirits of the Ma- 
hometan heaven, such as Gabriel, the 
angel of Revelation, Israfil, by whom 
the last trumpet is to be sounded^ and 
Azrael, the angel of death, there were 
also a number of subaltern intelligences, 

inroad of the spirits of darkness, who, finding 
themselves in the neighborhood of this pure 
light, and becoming passionately enamored of 
its beauty, break the boundaries between them, 
end take" forcible possession of it.t 

•In Somn. Sclplonis, cap. 12 




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5G0 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



of which tradition has preserved the 
names, appointed to preside over the 
different stages, or ascents, into which 
the celestial world was supposed to be 
divided.* Thus Kelail governs the fifth 
heaven; while Sadiel, the presiding 
spirit of the third, is also employed in 
steadying the motions of the earth, 
which would l)e in a constant state of 
agitation, if this angel did not keep his 
foot planted upon its orb.t 

Among other mnaculous interposi- 
tions in favor of Mahomet, we find com- 
memorated in the pages of the Koran 
the appearance of five thousand angels 
on his side at the battle of Bedr. 

The ancient Persians supposed that 
Ormuzd appointed thirty angels to pre- 
side successively over the days of the 
month, and twelve greater ones to as- 
sume the government of the months 
themselves ; among whom Bahnian (to 
whom Ormuzd committed the custody 
of all animals, except man) was the 
greatest. Mihr, the angel of the 7th 
month, was also the spirit that watched 
over the affans of friendship and love ; 
— Chur had the care of the disk of the 
sun ; — Mah was agent for the concerns 
of the moon ; — Isphandarmaz (whom 
Cazvin calls the Spirit of the Earth) was 
the tutelar genius of good and virtuous 
women, &c., &g., <feo. For all this the 
reader may consult the 19th and 20th 
chapters of Hyde de Relig. Vet. Persa- 
rum, where the names and attributes of 
these daily and monthly angels are with 
much minuteness and eradition ex- 
plained. It appears, from the Zend- 
avesta, that the Persians had a certain 
office or prayer for every day of the 
month, (addressed to the particular angel 
who presided over it, ) which they called 
the Sirouze. 

The Celestial Hierarchy of the Syri- 
ans, as described by Kircher, appears to 
be the most regularly graduated of any 
of these systems. In the sphere of the 
Moon they placed the angels, in that of 
Mercury the archangels, Venus and the 
Sun contained the Principalities and the 
[Powers ; — and so on to the summit of 

* " ^Ve adorned the lower Leaven with lights, 
and placed therein a guard of angels." — Koran, 
chap. xli. 

t See D'Herbelot, passim. 

I The Mahometans believe, says D'Herbelot, 
that in that early period of the world, " les 



the planetary system, where, in the 
sphere of Satm-n, the Thrones had their 
station. Above this was the habitation 
of the Cherubim in the sphere of the 
fixed stars ; and still higher, in the re- 
gion of those stars which are so distant 
as to be imperceptible, the Seraphim, 
we are told, the most perfect of all ce- 
lestial creatures, dwelt. 

The Sabeans also (as D'Herbelot tells 
us) had their classes of angels, to whom 
they prayed as mediators or interces- 
sors ; and the Arabians worshipped fe- 
male angels, whom they called Benad 
Hasche, or Daughters of God. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



'TwAS when the world was in its prime, 

When the fresh stars had just begun 
Their race of glory, and young Time 

Told his first birth-days by the sun ; 
When, in the light of Nature's dawn 

Rejoicing, men and angels metj: 
On the high hill and sunny lawn, — 
Ere sorrow came, or Sin had drawn 

'Twixt man and heav'n her curtain yet ! 
When earth lay nearer to the skies 

Than in these days of crime and wo, 
And mortals saw without surprise. 
In the mid-au-, angelic eyes 

upon this world below. 



Alas, that Passion should profane, 
Ev'n then, the morning of the earth ! 

That, sadder still, the fatal stain [birth- 
Should fall on hearts of heav'nly 

And that from Woman's love should fall 

So dark a stain, most sad of all ! 

One ev'ning, in that primal hour. 

On a hUl's side, where hung the ray 
Of sunset, bright'ning rill and bow'r. 

Three noble youths conversing lay ; 
And, as they look'd, from time to time. 

To the far sky, where Daylight furl'd 
His radiant wing, their brows sublime 

Bespoke them of that distant world — 
Spirits, who once, in brotherhood 
Of faith and bhss, near Alla stood. 
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had 
blown [throne, $ 

The wind that breathes from Alla's 



n'eurent qu'une seule religion, ot fureut 
souvent visitfis des Anges, qui leui- dounoient 
la main." 

§ "To which will be joined the sound of the 
bells hanging on the trees, which will be put in 
motion by the wind proceeding from the Th«wet 




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THE LOYES OP THE ANGELS. 



561 



Creatures of light, such as still play, 

Like motes iu sunshine, round the 
And through their infinite array [Lord, 
Transmit each moment, night and day. 
The echo of His luminous word ! 

Of Heaven they spoke, and, still more 
oft, [thence; 

Of the bright eyes that charm'd them 
Till, yielding gradual to the soft 

And balmy evening's influence — 
The silent breathing of the flow'rs. 

The melting hght that beam'd above, 
As on their first, foud, eiTing hours, 

Each told the story of his love, 
The history of that hour unbless'd, 
"When, like a bird, fi-om its high nest 
■\Von down by fascinating eyes, 
For Woman's smile he lost the skies. 

The First who spoke was one, with look 

The least celestial of the three — 
A Spirit of light mould, that took 

The prints of earth most yieldingly ; 
"WTio, ev'n in heav'n, was not of those 

ISTearest the Throne, * but held a place 
Far ofl", among those shining rows 

That cucle out through endless space. 
And o'er whose wings the light from Him 
In Heaven's centre falls most dim. 

Still fair and glorious, he but shone 
Among those youths th' unheavenliest 

one — 
A creature, to whom light remain'd 
From Eden still, but alter'd, stain'd, 
And o'er whose brow not Love alone 

A blight had, in his transit, cast, 
But other, earthfier joys had gone. 

And left their foot-prints as they pass'd. 
Sighing, as back through ages llown, 

Like a tomb-searcher, Mem'ry ran. 
Lifting each shroud that Time had thrown 

O'er buried hopes, he thus began : — 



FIRST AN-GEL'S STORY. 

"'TWAS in a land, that far away 

Into the golden orient lies. 
Where Nature knows not night's delay, 

80 often as the Blessed wish for music." See 
Sale's Koran, Prelim. Dissert. 

* The ancient Persians supposed that this 
Throne was placed in the Sun, and that tlirouuli 
the stars were distributed the various classes 
of Angels that encircled it. 

The Basilidians supposed that there were 
three hundred and sixtv-five orders of aufrels, 
"dont la perfection alloit en decroiasant, h, 



But springs to meet her bridegroom. Day, 

Upon the threshold of the sMes. 
One morn, on earthly mission sent, f 

And midway choosing where to light, 
I saw, from the blue element — 

Oh beautiful, but fatal sight ! 
One of earth's fairest womankind, 
Half veil'd from view, or rather shrined 
In the clear crystal of a brook ; 

Which, while it hid no single gleam 
Of her young beauties, made them lorA 

More spirit-like, as they might seem 

Through the dim shadowing of o 
Pausing in wonder I look'd on, [di-eam. 

While, playfully around her breaking 
The waters, that like diamonds shone. 

She moved in light of her own mak- 
At length, as from that airy height [ing. 
I gently lower'd my breathless flight, 
The tremble of my wing all o'er [thrill) 

(For through each plume I felt the 
Startled her, as she reach'd the shore 

Of that small lake— her min-or still- 
Above whose brink she stood, like snow 
When rosy with a sunset glow. 
iSTever shall I forget those 3yes !— 
The shame, the innocent sm-prise 
Of that bright face, when in the air 
Uplooking, she beheld me there. 
It seem'd as if each thought, and look. 

And motion, were that minute chain'd 
Fast to the spot, such root she took, 
And — like a sunflower by a brook, 

With face uptmu'd — so still remain'd! 

In pity to the wond'ring maid, [ing, 

Though loath from such a vision tnrn- 
Downward I bent, beneath the shade 

Of my spread wings to hide the burn- 
ing 
Of glances, which— I well could feel — 

For me, for her, too warmly shone ; 
But, ere I could again unseal 
My restless eyes, or even steal [gone — 

One sidelong look, the maid was 
Hid from me in the forest leaves, 

Sudden as when, in all her charms 
Of full-blown light, some cloud receives 

The Moon into his dusky arms. 

mesure qu'ils s'filoignoicnt do la premiftro classe 
d'esprits places dans le premier ciel." Seo 
Diipuis, Orig. dcs Cultes, tom. ii. p. 112. 

t It appears that, in most languages, the 
terra employed for an angel moans also a mes- 
senger. Firischtch, the Persian word for 
angel, is derived (says D'llerbelot) from the 
verb Firischtin, to send. The Hebrew term. 
too, Meluk, ha« the same signification. 




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562 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



'Tis not in words to tell the power, 
The despotism that, from that hour, 
Passion held o'er me. Day and night 

I sought around each neighboring 
spot ; 
And, in the chase of this sweet light, 

My task, and heaven, and all forgot ; 
All, but the one, sole, haunting dream 
Of her I saw in that bright stream. 

]!f or was it long, ere by her side 

I found myself, whole happy days, 
List'ning to words, whose music vied 

"With oiu own Eden's seraph lays, 
When seraph lays are warm'd by love, 
But, wanting that, far, far above !— 
And looking into eyes where, blue 
And lieautiful, like skies seen through 
The sleeping wave, for me there shone 
A heaven more worshipp'd than my 

own. 
Oh what, while I could hear and see 
Such words and looks, washeav'nto me? 
Though gross the air on earth I drew, 
'Twas blessed, while she breathed it too ; 
Though dark the fiow'rs, though dim the 
sky, [nigh. 

Love lent them light, while she was 
Throughout creation I but knew [small. 
Two separate worlds — the one, that 

Beloved, and consecrated spot 
Where Lea was — the other, all \_not ! 

The dull, wide waste, where she was 

But vain my suit, my madness vain ; 
Though gladly, from her eyes to gain 

One earthly look, one stray desire, 
I would have torn the wings, that himg 

Furl'd at my back, and o'er the Fire 
In Gehim's* pit their fragments flung ; — 
'Twas hopeless all — pure and unmoved 

She stood, as lihes in the light 

Of the hot noon but look more white ; 
And though she loved me, deeply loved, 
'Twas not as man, as mortal — no, 
Nothing of earth was in that glow — 
She loved me but as one, of race 
Angelic, from that radiant place 
She saw so oft in dreams— that Heaven, 

* The name given by the Mahometans to the 
infernal regions, over which, they say, the 
angel Tabhek presides. 

By the seven gates of hell, mentioned in the 
Koran, the commentators understand seven 
dilferent departments or wards, in which seven 
different sorts of sinners are to bo punished. 
The first, called Gehennem, is for sinful Mus- 
sulmans ; the second, Ladha, for Christian of- 



To which her prayers at mom were 
sent. 
And on whose light she gazed at even. 
Wishing for wings, that she might go 
Out of this shadowy world below, 

To that free, glorious element ! 

Well I remember by her side 

Sitting at rosy even-tide, 

When,— turning to the star, whose head 

Look'd out, as from a bridal bed. 

At that mute, blushing hour,— she said, 

' Oh 1 that it were my doom to be 

' The Spirit of yon beauteous star, 
' Dwelling up there in purity, [are; — 

'Alone, as all such bright things 
' My sole employ to pray and shine, 

' To light my censer at the sun, 
' And cast its fire towards the shrine 

' Of Him in heav'n, th' Eternal one !' 

So innocent the maid, so free 

Prom mortal taint in soul and frame. 
Whom 'twas my crime — my destiny — 
To love, ay, bum for, with a flame 
To which earth's wildest fires are tame. 
Had you but seen her look, when first 
From my mad lips th' avowal burst ; 
Not anger'd— no— the feeling came 
From depths beyond mere anger's 
It was a son-ow, calm as deep, [flame — 
A moumfuluess that could not weep, 
So fiU'd her heart was to the brink. 
So fix'd and froz'n with grief, to think 
That angel natures— that ev'u I, 
Whose love she clung to, as the tie 
Between her spirit and the sky — 
Should fall thus headlong from the height 
Of aU that heav'n hath pure and bright ! 

That very night — my heart had grown 

Impatient of its inward burning ; 
The term, too, of my stay was flown. 
And the bright Watchers near the throne. 
Already, if a meteor shone 
Between them and this nether zone, 
Thought 'twas then- herald's wing re 
turning. 
Oft did the potent speU-word giv'n 
To Envoys hither from the skies, 

fenders; the third, Hothama, is appointed for 
Jews ; and the fourth and fifth, called Sair and 
Sacar, are destined to receive the Sabseans and 
the worshippers of fire ; in the sixth, named 
Gehim, those pagans and idolaters who admit 
a plurality of gods are placed ; while into the 
abyss of the seventh, called Derk Asfal, or the 
Deepest, the hypocritical canters of all religions 
are thrown. 




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UilUllliailllilllllllllllJIllllHIIIIIIIIIIUIIIIIIHIIlHilimilllflllUilliUIIIIIUilltllllllUlilllUliailltlllllliUlllllllllUUlllUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIII^ 





THE LOYBS OP THE A^-GELS. 



563 



To be pronounQed, when back to heav'n 

It is their time or -wish to rise, 
Come to my lips that fatal day ; 

And once, too, was so nearly spoken, 
That my spread plumage in the ray 
And breeze of heav'n began to play ; — 

When my heart fail'd — the spell was 
broken — 
The word uufinish'd died away. 
And my check'd plumes, ready to soar, 
Fell slack and lifeless as before. 
How could I leave a world which she, 
Or lost or won, made all to me ? 
]S"o matter where my wand'rings were, 

So there she look'd, breathed, moved 
about — 
"Wo, ruin, death, more sweet with her. 

Than Paradise itself, without ! 

But, to return— that very day 

A feast was held, where, full of mirth, 
Came — crowding thick as flow'rs at play 
In summer winds — the young and gay 

And beautiful of this bright earth. 
And she was there, and 'mid the young 

And beautiful stood first, alone ; 
Though on her gentle brow still hung 

The shadow I that morn had thrown— 
The fii-st, that ever shame or wo 
Had cast upon its vernal snow. 
My heart was madden'd ; — in the flush 

Of the wild revel I gave way 
To all that frantic mhth — that rush 

Of desp'rate gayety, which they, 
Who never felt how pain's excess 
Can break out thus, think happiness ! 
Sad mimicry of mirth and liie. 
Whose flashes come but from the strife 
Of inward passions— like the light 
Struck out by clashing swords in fight. 

Then, too, that juice of earth, the bane 
And blessing of man's heart and brain — 
That draught of sorcery, which brings 
Phantoms of fah, forbidden things— 
Whose drops, like those of rainbows, 
smile 

Upon the mists that circle man, 
Bright'uing not only Earth, the while, 

But grasping Heav'n, too, in their 
span ! — 
Then first the fatal wine-cup rain'd 

Its dews of darkness through my lips,* 

* I lifive already mentioned that some of the 
circumstances of this story were suggested to 
me l)y tlie eastern legend of the two angels, 
Harut and Marut, as given by Mariti, who says 
that the author of the Taalim founds UBon "it 
the Mahometan prohibitiou of wiuo.* I have I 



Casting whate'er of light remaiu'd 
To my lost soul into eclipse ; 

And fining it with such wild dj-eams, 
Such fantasies and wrong deshes, 

As, in the absence of heav'n's beams. 
Haunt us forever -fike wild-fh-es 
That walk this earth, when day retires. 

jSTow hear the rest ;— our banquet donC; 

I sought her in th' accustom'd bow'r 
Where late we oft, when day was gone. 
And the world hush'd, had met alone, 

At the same sQeut, moonlight hour. 
Her eyes, as usual, were uptum'd 
To her lov'd star, whose lustre bum'd 

Purer than ever on that night ; 

While she, in looking, grew more 
bright, 

As though she borrow'd of its fight. 

There was a virtue in that scene, 

A spell of holiness around. 
Which, had my bm*ning brain not been 

Thus madden'd, would have held me 
bound. 

As though I trod celestial ground. 
Ev'n as it was, with soul all flame. 

And fips that bum'd in their own 
sighs, 
I stood to gaze, with awe and shame — 
The memory of Eden came 

Pull o'er me when I saw those eyes ; 
And though too well each glance of 
mine 

To the pale, shrinking maiden proved 
How far, alas, from aught divine. 
Aught worthy of so pure a shrine. 

Was the wild love with which I loved. 
Yet must she, too, have seen — oh yes, 

'Tis soothing but to think she saw 
The deep, time, soul-felt tenderness. 

The homage of an Angel's awe 
To her, a mortal, whom pure love 
Then placed above him— far above— 
And all that struggle to repress 
A sinful spirit's mad excess, 
Which work'd within me at that hour, 

When, with a voice, where Passion shed 
All the deep sadness of her power. 

Her melancholy power— I said, 
' Then be it so ; if back to heaven 

' I must unloved, impitiod, fly, 
'Without one blest memorial giv'n 
since found that Mariti's version of the tale 
(which dill'ers also from that of Dr. Prideuux, 
in his Life of ilahomet) is taken from the 
French Encyclopedic, inwhich work, under tho 
head " Arot et Marot," the reader will tind ic 
> Tho Baibardanush »eUs tho fable dlflferently. 



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564 



MOORE'S TfOEKS. 



' To soothe me in that lonely sky ; 
'One look, like those the young and fond 

' Give when they're parting — which 
would be, 
' Bv'n in remembrance, far beyond 

' All heav'n hath left of bUss for me ! 

• Oh, but to see that head recline 

' A minute on this trembling arm, 

• And those mild eyes look up to mine, 

' Without a di-ead, a thought of harm ! 

• To meet, but once, tlie thrilliug touch 

' Of hps too pm-ely fond to fear me— 
' Or, if that boon be all too much, 

' Bv'n thus to bring their fragrance 
near me ! 
'Nay, shrink not so— a look— a word— 

' Give them but kindly and I fly ; 
' Already, see, my plumes have stirr'd, 

' And tremble for their home on high. 
' Thus be our parting— cheek to cheek — 

' One minute's lapse will be forgiv'n, 

• And thou, the nest, shalt hear me speak 

' The spell that plumes my wing for 
heav'n !' 
While thus I spoke, the fearful maid. 
Of me, and of herself, afraid, 
Had shrinking stood, like flow'rs beneath 
The scorching of the south-wind's 

breath : 
But when I named — alas, too well, 

I now recall, though wilder'd then, — 
Instantly, when I named the spell, 

Her brow, her eyes, uprose again. 
And, with an eagerness, that spoke 
The sudden light that o'er her broke, 
' The spell, the spell ! — oh, speak it now, 

'And I will bless thee!' she ex- 
claim'd— 

Unknowing what I did, inflamed. 
And lost abeady, on her brow 

I stamp'done burning kiss, and named 
The mystic word, till tlien ne'er told 
To hving creature of earth's mould ! 
Scarce was it said, when, quick as 

thought. 
Her hps fi-om mine, like echo, caught 
The holy sound— her hands and eyes 
Were instant lifted to the skies. 
And thrice to heav'n she spoke it out 

With that triumphant look Faith 
wears. 
When not a cloud of fear or doubt, 

A vapor from this vale of tears. 

Between her and her God appears ! 
That very moment her whole frame 
AH bright and glorified became, 



And at her back 1 saw imclose 
Two wings, magnificent as those 

That sparkle around Alla's Throne, 
Whose plumes, as buoyantly she rose, 

Above me, in the moonbeam shone 
With a pure Mght, which— from its hue, 
Unknown upon this earth — I knew 
Was light from Edeu,glist'ning through ! 
Most holy vision ! ne'er before 

Did aught so radiant— since the day 
When Eblis, in his downfall, bore 

The third of the bright stars away — 
Else, in earth's beauty, to repair 
That loss of light and glory there ! 

But did I tamely view her flight ? 

Did not /, too, proclaim out thrice 
The pow'rful words that were, that 

night, — 
Oh, ev'n fur heav'n too much delight ! - 

Again to bring us, eyes to eyes, 

And soul to soul, in Paradise ? 
I did — I spoke it o'er and o'er — 

I pray'd, I wept, but all in vain ; 
For me the spell had pow'r no more. 

There seem'd ai-ound me some dark 
Which still, as I essay'd to soar, [chain 

Baffled, alas, each wild endeavor : 
Dead lay my Aviugs, as they have lain 
Since that sad hour, and will remain — 

So wills th' offended God— for ever ! 

It was to yonder star I traced 
Her journey up tli' illumined waste — 
That isle in the blue firmament. 
To which so oft her fancy went 

In wishes and in dreams before, 
And which was now — such, Purity, 
Thy bless'd reward — ordain'd to be 

Her home of light for evermore ! 
Once — or did I but fancy so ? — 

Ev'n in her flight to that fair sphere, 
'Mid aU her spirit's new -felt glow, 
A pitying look she tm-u'd below 

On hkn who stood in darkness here ; 
Him whom, perhaps, if vain regret 
Can dwell in heaven, she pities yet; 
And oft, when looking to this dim 
And distant world, remembers him. 

But soon that passing di-eam was gone : 
Farther and farther otf she shone, 
Till lessen'd to a point, as small 

As are those specks that yonder bum,- 
Those vivid drops of light, that fall 

The last from Day's exhausted urn. 
And when at length she merged, atar. 
Into her own immortal star, 



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iiiHiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiinygs)) 




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THE LOYES OF THE ANGELS. 



565 



And when at length my straining sight 

Had caught her wing's last fading ray, 
That minute from my soul the light 

Of heav'u and love both pass'd away ; 
And I forgot my home, my birth, 

Profaned my spirit, sunk my brow, 
And revell'd in gross joys of earth, 

Till I became — what I am now I" 

The Spirit bow'd his head in shame ; 

A shame, that of itself would tell — 
"Were there not ev'n those breaks of 

flame, 
Celestial, through his clouded frame — 
How grand the height from which he 
fell! 
That holy Shame, which ne'er forgets 
Th' unblench'd renown it used to 
wear; 
Whose blush remains, when Virtue sets, 
To show her sunshine has been there. 

Once only, while the tale he told, 

"Were his eyes lifted to behold 

That happy, stainless star, where she 

Dwelt in her bower of purity ! 

One minute did he look, and then — 
As though he felt some deadly pain 
From its sweet light through heart and 
Drain — 

Shnmk back, and never look'd again. 



WTio was the Second Spirit? he 

"With the proud front and piercing 
glance, [expanse, 

"Who seem'd, when viewing heaven's 
As though his far-sent eye could see 
On, on into th' Immensity 
Behind the veils of that blue sky, 
"Where Alla's grandest secrets He? — 
His wings, the while, though day was 
gone, 

Flashing with many a various hue 
Of light they from themselves alone. 

Instinct with Eden's brightness, drew. 
'Twas lluBr — once among the prime 

And flow'r of those bright creatures, 
named 
Spirits of Knowledge,* who o'er Time 

And Space and Thought an empire 
claira'd, 
Second alone to Him, whose light 
"Was, ev'n to theh's, as day to night ; 
•Twixt whom and them was distance far 

And wide as would the journey be 

* The Kcmbiim, as the Mussulmans call 
them, are often joined indiscriminately with the 
Asrafil or Seraphim, under quo common name 



To reach from any island star 
The vague shores of Inhmty ! 

'Twas RuBi, in whose mournful eye 
Slept the dim light of days gone by; 
"Whose voice, though sweet, fell on the 

Like echoes, in some silent place, [ear 
"When first awaked for many a year ; 

And when be smiled, if o'er his face 

Smile ever shone, 'twas like the grace 
Of moonlight rainbows, fair, but wan, 
The bunny hfe, the glory gone, [same, 
Ev'n o'er his pride, though still the 
A soft'ning shade from sorrow came ; 
And though at times his spirit knew 

The kindlings of disdain and ire. 
Short was the fitful glare they threw^ 
Like the last flashes, fierce but few, 

Seen through some noble pile on fire ! 

Such was the Angel, who now broke 

The silence that had come o'er all, 
"When he, the Spirit that last spoke, 

Closed the sad hist'ry of his fall ; 
And, while a sacred lustre, flo\vn 

For many a day, relumed his cheek-^ 
Beautiful, as in days of old ; 
And not those eloquent lips alone. 

But every feature seem'd to speak 
Thus his eventful story told : — 

SECOiN-D AN-GEL'S STORY. 

" YotJ both remember well the day, 

When unto Eden's new-made bow'rs, 
Alla convoked the bright array 

Of his supreme angelic pow'rs. 
To witness the one wonder yet. 

Beyond man, angel, star, or sun. 
He must achieve, ere he could set 

His seal upon the world, as done— 
To see that last perfection rise. 

That crowning of creation's bulh, 
"When, mid the worship and surprise 
Of circling angels, "Woman's eyes 

First open'd upon heav'u arid earth ; 
And from their Mds a thrill was sent, 
That through each living spirit went, 
Like first light through the firmament ! 

Can you forget how gradual stole 
The fresh-awaken'd breath of soul 
Throughout her perfect form— which 

seem'd 
To grow transparent, as there beam'd 
That dawn of Mind within, and caught 

of Azazil, by which all spirits who approach 
near the throne of Alla are desiguated. 




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iKiiiiiiitiDiiiiniuiiiiiiiiiuuiiuiiuuiiuiiiuiiiuiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuauiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiHii^ 



MOOKE'S TfOEKS. 



New loveliness from each new thought ? 
Slow as o'er summer seas we trace 

The progress of the noontide air, 
Dimpling its bright and silent face 
Each minute into some new grace, 

And varying heav'n's reflections 
there— 
Or, like the light of evening, stealing 

O'er some fair temple, which aU day 
Hath slept in shadow, slow revealing 

Its several heautie?;, ray by ray, 
Till it shines out, a thing to bless, 
AU full of Kght and loveliness. 
Can you forget her blush, when round 
Through Eden's lone, enchanted ground 
She look'd, and saw, the sea — the skies— 

And heard the rush of many a wing. 

On high behests then vanishing ; 
And saw the last few angel eyes, 
Still Ung'riug — mine among tho rest, — 
Reluctant leaving scenes so blest ? 
From that miraculous hour, the fate 

Of this new, glorious Being dwelt 
Forever, with a spell-like weight, 
ITpon my spirit — early, late, 

Whate'er I did, or dream'd, or felt, 
The thought of what might yet befall 
That matchless creature mix'd with all. — 
Hot she alone, but her whole race 

Through ages yet to come — whate'er 

Of feminine, and fond, and fair, [face. 
Should spring from that pure mind and 

All wak'd my soul's intensest care ; 
Their forms, souls, feelings, still to me 
Creation's strangest mystery ! 

It was my doom— ev'n from the first, 
When witnessing the primal burst 
Of Nature's wonders, I saw rise 
Those bright creations in the skies, - - 
Those worlds instinct with life and iight. 
Which man, remote, but sees by night, — 
It was my doom still to be haunted 
By some new wonder, some sublime 
And matchless work, that, for the time 
Held all my soul, enchain' d, enchanted, 

* "C'est un fait indubitable que la plupart 
des anciens philosophes, soit Chaldeens, soit 
Grecs, nous ont doim6 les astres comme animes, 
et ont soutenu que les astres, qui nous 6elairent, 
n'6toicnt que on les chars, ou meme les navi- 
res, des Intelligences qui les coDduisoient. 
Pour les Chars, cela se lit partout ; on n'a 
qu'ourrir I'line, St. C16ment," &c.. Sic— Me- 
moire Historique, sur le Sabiisme, par M. 

FOUKMONT. 

A belief that the stars are either spirits or 
the veliich^s of spirits, was common to all tho 
religions and heresies of the East Kiroher has 



And left me not a thought, a dream, 
A word, but on that only theme ! 

The wish to know — that endless thirst, 

"Which ev'n by quenching is awaked. 
And which becomes or bless'd or cursed, 

As is the fount whereat 'tis slaked — 
Still urged me onward with desire 
Insatiate, to explore, inquu-e — 
Whate'er the wondro-is things might be 
That waked each new idolatrj^ — 

Their cause, aim, source, whence-ever 
sprung— 
Their inmost pow'rs, as though ior me 

Existence on that knowledge hung. 

Oh what a vision were the stars. 

When first I saw them bum on high, 
EoUing along, like living cars 

Of light, for gods to journey by !* 
They were my heart's first passion — days 
And nights, unwearied, in their rays 
Have I hung floating, till each sense 
Seem'd full of thek bright influence. 
Innocent joy ! alas, how much 

Of misery had I shunn'd below. 
Could I have still lived bless'd with such ; 

Nor, proud and restless, bum'd to 
know [wo. 

The knowledge that brings guilt and 
Often — so much I loved to trace 
The secrets of this staiTy race — 
Have I at morn and evening run 
Along the lines of radiance spun 
Like webs, between them and the sun 
Untwisting all the tangled ties 
Of light into their difiereut dyes- 
Then fleetly wing'd I off in quest 
Of those, the farthest, loneliest. 
That watch, like winking sentinels, t 
The void, beyond which Chaos dwells ; 
And there, with noiseless plume, pursued 
Their track through that grand solitude. 
Asking intently all and each 

What soul within their radiance dwelt. 
And wishing their sweet fight were 
speech, 

That they might teU me all they felt. 

given the names and stations of the seven arch- 
angels, who were by the Cabala of the Jews 
distributed through the planets. 

t According to the cosmogony of the ancient 
Persians, there were four stars set as sentinels 
in the four quarters of the heavens, to watch 
over the other fixed stars, and superintend the 
planets in their course. The names of these 
four sejitinel stars are, according to the Boun- 
desh, Taschter, for the east ; Satevis, for the 
west ; Venand, for the south ; and Haftorang, 
for the Doitb. 




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THE LOVES OF THE AlfGBLS. 



567 



ITay, oft, so passionate my chase 
Of these resplendent heirs of space, 
Oft did I follow— lest a ray 

Should 'scape me in the farthest 
Some pilgrim Comet, on his way [night — 

To visit distant shrines of light, 
And well remember how I sung 

Exultingly, when on my sight 
New worlds of stars, all fresh and young, 
As if just bom of darkness, sprung ! 

Such was my pure ambition then. 

My sinless transport, night and mom ; 
Ere yet this newer world of men. 

And that most fair of stars was bom 
"Which I, in fatal hour, saw rise 
Among the flow'rs of Paradise ! 
Theuceforth my nature all was changed. 

My heart, soul, senses tum'd below ; 
And he, who but so lately ranged 

Yon wonderful expanse, where glow 
"Worlds upon worlds, — yet found his mind 
Ev'n in that luminous range confined, — 
2^ow bless'd the humblest, meanest sod 
Of the dark earth where "Woman trod ! 
In vain my former idols glisten'd [ears 

From their far thrones ; in vain these 
To the once-thrilUng music listen' d. 

That hymn'd aroimd my favorite 
spheres — 
To earth, to earth each thought was giv'n. 

That in this half-lost soul had birth ; 
Like some high mount, whose head's in 
heav'n, 

TVTiile its whole shadow rests on earth ! 

Nor was it Love, ev'n yet, that thrall'd 

My spirit in his burning ties ; 
And less, still less could it be caU'd 

That grosser flame, round which Love 

JSTearer and nearer, till he dies — [flies 
No, it was wonder, such as thrill'd 

At all God's works my dazzled sense ; 
The same rapt wonder, only fiU'd 

"With passion more profound, in- 
tense, — 
A vehement, but wand'ring fire, 
"Which, though nor love, nor yet desire — 
Though through all womankind it took 

Its range, as lawless lightnings run, 
Yet wanted but a touch, a look. 

To fix it burning upon One. 

Then, too, the ever-restless zeal, 

Th' insatiate curiosity 
To know how shapes, so fair, must feel — 
To look, but once, beneath the seal 

Of 80 much loveliness, and see 



"What souls belong'd to such bright eyes — 
"Whether, as sunbeams find their way 

Into the gem that hidden lies, [ray. 
Those looks could inward tum their 
And make the soul as bright as they : 

All this impeU'd my anxious chase. 
And still the more I saw and knew 

Of Woman's fond, weak, conqu'xingrace, 
Th' intenser still my wonder grew. 

I had beheld their Fu-st, their Eve, 

Bom in that splendid Paradise, 
"Which sprung there solely to receive 

The first light of her waking eyes. 
I had seen purest angels lean 

In worship o'er her from above ; 
And man — oh yes, had envying seen 

Proud man possess'd of all her love. 

I saw their happiness, so brief. 

So exquisite — her error, too, 
That easy trust, that prompt belief 

In what the warm heart wishes true ; 
That faith in words, when kindly said. 
By which the whole fond sex is led — 
Mingled with— what I durst not blame. 

For 'tis my own — that zeal to know, 
Sad, fatal zeal, so sure of wo ; [came, 
"Which, though from heav'n all pure it 
Yet staiu'd, misused, brought sin and 

On her, on me, on aU below ! [shame 

I had seen this ; had seen Man, arm'd. 

As his soul is, with strength and sense. 
By her first words to ruin charm'd ; 

His vaunted reason's cold defence, 
Like an ice-barrier in the ray 
Of melting summer, smiled away ; 
Nay, stranger yet, spite of aU this — 

Though by her counsels taught to err, 

Though driv'n from Paradise for her, 
(And with her — that, at least, was bliss,) 
Had I not heard him, ere he cross'd 

Tlie threshold of that earthly heav'n, 
"Which by her wildering smile he lost— 

So quickly was the wrong forgiv'n I— 
Had I not heard him, as he press'd 
The frail, fond trembler to a breast 
"Which she had doomed to sin and strife 
CaU her — ev'n then— his Life ! his Life !* 
Yes, such the love-taught name, the first, 

That ruin'd Man to "Woman gave, 
Ev'n in his outcast hour, when cursed 
By her fond witchery, with that worst 

And earliest boon of love, the grave ! 

* Cliavah, or, as it is in Arabic, Ilavali, (the 
name by which Adam called the womou after 
tiiuirtrajiagreeeiou,) moaus "Life." 




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•WJ. 



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568 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



She, -who brought death into the world, 
There stood before him, with the light 
Of their lost Paradise still bright 

Upon those sunny locks, that ciu-l'd 

Down her white shoulders to her feet — 

So beautiful ia form, so sweet 

In heart and voice, as to redeem 
The loss, the death of all things dear. 

Except herself— and make it seem 
Life, endless Life, while she was near ! 

Could I help wond'ring at a creature. 
Thus circled round with spells so 
strong — [ture, 

One, to whose ev'ry thought, word, fea- 
In joy and wo, through right and 
wrong, 

Such sweet omnipotence neaven gave, 

To bless or ruin, curse or save ? 

Not did the marvel cease with her — 

New Eves in all her daughters came, 
As strong to charm, as weak to err. 

As sure of man through praise and 
blame, [shame, 

Whate'er they brought liim, pride or 
He still th' unreasoning worshipper, 

And they, throughout all time the 
same, 

Enchanti-esses of soul and frame,- 
Into whose hands, from fii-st to last, 

This world with all its destinies. 
Devotedly by heav'n seems cast, 

To save or nun, as they please ! 
Oh, 'tis not to be told how long. 

How restlessly I sigh'd to find 
Some o??p, from out that witching throng. 

Some abstract of the form and mind 
Of the whole matchless sex, from which 

In my own arms beheld, possess'd, 
I might learn all the powers to witch. 

To warm, and (if my fate unbless'd 

Would have it) ruin, of the rest ! 
Into whose inward soul and sense 

I might descend, as doth the bee 
Into the flower's deep heart, and thence 

Rifle, in all its piu-ity. 
The prime, the quintessence, the whole 
Of wondi'ous Woman's frame and soul! 

Atlength, my bumuigwish, my prayer — 
(For such— oh what will tongues not 

dare, [ferr'd)— 

WTien hearts go wrong ?— this lip pre- 
At length my ominous prayer was 

heard — 
But whether heard in heaven or hell, 
Listen — and thou wilt know t09 well. 



There was a maid, of all who move 

Like visions o'er this orb, most fit 
To be a bright young angel's love, 

Herself so bright, so exquisite ! 
The pride, too, of her step, as light 

Along th' unconscious earth she wett, 
Seem'd that of one, bom with a right 

To walk some heavenlier element. 
And tread in places where her feet 
A star at ev'ry step should meet. 
'T was not alone that loveliness [caught — 

By which the wilder'd sense is 
Of lips, whose very breath could bless ; 

Of playful blushes, that seem'd naught 

But luminous escapes of thought ; 
Of eyes that, when by anger stiiT'd, 
Were fire itself, but, at a word 

Of tenderness, all soft became, [bird, 
As though they could, like the sun's 

Dissolve away in their own flame — 
Of form, as pliant as the shoots 

Of a young tree, in vernal flower ; 
Yet round and glowing as the fruits 

That drop fi"om it in summer's hour ; — 
'Twas not alone this loveliness 

That falls to loveliest woman's share. 

Though, even here, her form could 
spare 
From its own beauty's rich excess 

Enough to makeev'n them more fair — 
But 'twas the Mind, outshining clear 
Through her whole frame— the soul, still 

near. 
To light each charm, yet independent 

Of what it lighted, as the sun 
That shines on flowers, would be re- 
splendent 

Were there no flowers to shine upon — 
'Twas this, all this, in one combined — 

Th' unnumber'd looks and arts that 
The glory of young woman-kind, [form 

Taken in their perfection, warm, 

Ere time had chill'd a single charm. 
And stamp'd with such a seal of Miad, 

As gave to beauties, that might bo 
Too sensual else, too unrefined, 

The impress of Divinity ! 

'Twas this — a union, which the hand 

Of Nature kept for her alone. 
Of every thing most playful, bland, 
Voluptuous, sphitual, grand. 

In angel-natures and her own — 
Oh this it was that drew me nigh 
One, who seem'd kin to heaven as I, 
A bright twin-sister from on high — 
One, in whose love, I felt, were given 



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(d—*^ 




THE LOVES OF THE AS"GELS. 



CGO 



The mix'd clolights of either sphere, 
All that the spirit seeks in heaven, 
And all the senses bum for here. 

Had we— but hold— hear every part 

Of our sad tale— spite of the"^ pain 
Eemembrance gives, when the lix'd dart 

Is stirr'd thus in the wound again— 
jHeai* every step, so full ef bliss, 

And yet so ruinous, that led 
Down to the last, dark precipice, 

"Wliere perish'd both — the fallen, the 
dead ! 

From the first hour she caught my sight, 
I never left her — day and mght 
Hovering unseen around her way, 

And 'mid her loneliest musings near, 
I soon could track each thought that lay. 

Gleaming within her heart, as clear 

As pebbles within brooks appear; 
And there, among the countless things 

That keep young hearts forever glow- 
Vague wishes, fond imaginings, [iJ^gj 

Love-dreams, as yet no object know- 
ing — [bid, 
Light, winged hopes, that come when 

And rainbow joys that end in weep- 
ing; 
And passions, among pure thoughts hid, 

Like serpents under flowerets sleep- 
ing:— 
'Mong all these feelings— felt where'er 
Young hearts are beating — I saw there 
Proud thoughts, asx)iringhigh beyond 
"Whate'er yet dwelt in soul so fond — 
Glimpses of glory, far away 

Into the bright, vague future given ; 
And fancies, free and grand, whose play, 

Like that of eaglets, is near heaven ! 
"With this, too — what a soul and heart 
To fall beneath the the tempter's art ! — 
A zeal for knowledge, such as ne'er 
Enshrined itself in form so fair, 
Since that first, fatal hour, when Eve 

"With every fruit of Eden bless' d. 
Save one alone — rather than leave 

That one unreach'd, lost all the rest. 

It was in dreams that first I stole 

With gentle mastery o'er her mind — 
In that rich twilight of the soul, 

"When reason's beam, half hid behind 

The clouds of sleep, obscurely gilds 

Each shadowy shape the Fancy builds — 

Twas then, by that soft light, I brought 

Vague, glimmering visions to her 

view: — 



Catches of radiance, lost when caught, 
Bright labyrinths, that led to naught. 

And vistas, with no pathway 
through ; — 
Dwellings of bliss, that opening shone, 

Then closed, dissolved, and left no 
trace — 
All that, iu short, could tempt Hope on, 

But give her wing no resting-place ; 
Myself the while, with brow, as yet, 
Pure as the young moon's coronet. 
Through every dream still iu her sight, 

Th' enchanter of each mocking scene, 
"Who gave the hope, then brought the 

blight, 
Who said, 'i3ehold yon world of light,' 

Then sudden dropp'd a veil between ! 

At length, when I perceived each 

thought. 
Waking or sleeping, fix'd on naught 

But these illusive scenes, and me— 
The phantom, who thus came and went, 
In half revealmeuts only meant 

To madden curiosity — 
When by such various arts I found 
Her fancy to its utmost wound. 
One night — 'twas in a holy spot, [grot 
"Which she for prayer had chosen— a 
Of pm-est marble, built below 
Her garden beds, through which a glow 
From lamps invisible then stole, 

Brightly pervading all the place — 
Like that mysterious light the soul, 

Itself unseen, sheds through the face — 
There, at her altar, while she knelt. 
And all that woman ever felt, [sighs — 

"When God and man both claim'd her 
Every warm thought, that ever dwelt. 

Like summer clouds, 't"s\-is.t earth and 
skies. 

Too pure to fall, too gross to rise. 

Spoke in her gestures, tones, and 
eyes- 
Then, as the mystic light's soft ray 
Grew softer still, as though its ray 
Was breathed firom her, I heard her 
say:— 

' Oh idol of my dreams ! whate'er 
' Thy nature be — human, divine, 

' Or but half heav'nly — still too fair, 
' Too hea-«enly to be ever mine ! 

'Wonderful Spirit, who dost make 
' Slumber so lovely that it seems 

'Xo longer life to live awake, [dreams, 
' Since heaven itself descends ia 




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570 



MOOKB'S WORKS. 



' "Why do I ever lose thee ? -why 
' When on thy realms and thee I gaze 

'Still drops that veil, which I could die, 
' Oh gladly, but one hour to raise ? 

' Long ere such miracles as thou [thirst 
' And thine came o'er my thoughts, a 

'For light was in this soul, which now 
' Thy looks have into passion nursed. 

' There's nothing bright above, below, 
' In sky — earth — ocean, that this 
breast 

'Doth not intensely bum to know, 
' And thee, thee, thee, o'er all the rest ! 

' Then come, oh Spirit, from behind 
' The curtains ot thy radiant home, 

' If thou wouldst be as angel shrined, 
' Or loved and clasp'd as mortal, come ! 

' Bring all thy dazzling wonders here, 
' That I may, waking, know and see ; 

' Or waft me hence to thy own sphere, 
' Thy heaven, or — ay, even that with 
thee! 

' Demon or God, who hold'st the book 
' Of knowledge spread beneath thine 
eye, [look 

'Give me, ^vith thee, but one bright 
' Into its leaves, and let me die ! 

' By those ethereal wings, whose way 
' Lies through an element, so fraught 

' With living Mind, that, as they play, 
' Their every movement is a thought! 

' By that bright, wreathed hair, between 
' Whose sunny clusters the sweet wind 

' Of Paradise so late hath been, 
' And left its fragrant soul behind ! 

' By those impassion'd eyes, that melt 
' Then: light into the inmost heart : 

' Like sunset in the waters, felt 
'As molten fire through every part— 

' I do implore thee, oh most bright 
. ' And worshipp'd Spirit, shine but o'er 
^'My waking, wondering eyes this night, 
' This one blest night— I ask no more !' 

Exhausted, breathless, as she said 
These burning words, her languid head 
Upon the altar's steps she'cast, 
As if that brain-throb were its last — 

Till, startled by the breathing, nigh, 
Of lips, that echoed back her sigh, 



Sudden her brow again she raised ; 

And there, just lighted on the shrine, 
Beheld me — not as I had blazed 

Around her, ftdl of hght divine, 
In her late dreams, but soften'd down 
Into more mortal grace ;— my crown 
Of flowers, too radiant for this world. 

Left hanging on yon starry steep ; 
My wings shut up, like banners furl'd. 

When Peace hath put their pomp to 
sleep ; 

Or like autumnal clouds, that keep 
Their lightnings sheath'd, rather than 

mar 
The dawning hour of some young star ; 
And nothing left, but what beseem'd 

Th' accessible, though glorious mate 
Of mortal woman — whose eyes beam'd 

Back upon hers, as passionate ; 
Whose ready heart brought flame for 
flame, [same; 

Whose sin, whose madness was the 
And whose soul lost, in that one hour, 

For her and for her love— oh more 
Of heaven's light than ev'n the power 

Of heav'n itself could now restore ! 

And yet, that hour !" 

The Spirit here 

Stopp'd in his utterance, as if words 
Gave way beneath the wild career 

Of bis then rashing thoughts— hke 
chords, 
Midway in some enthusiast's song, 
Breaking beneath a touch too strong ; 
While the clench'd hand upon the Ijrow 
Told how remembrance throbb'd there 

now ! 
But soon 'twas o'er — that casual blaze 
From the sunk fire of other days — 
That relic of a flame, whose burning 

Had been too fierce to be relumed 
Soon pass'd away, and the youth, turn- 
ing 

To his bright listeners, thus resumed:— 

"Days, months elapsed, and though what 
most 

On earth I sigh'd for was mine, all — 
Yet — was I happy ? God, thou know'st, 
Howe'er they smile, and feign, and boast, 

What happiness is theirs, who fall I 
'Twas bitterest anguish — made more 

keen 
Ev'n b}^ the love, the bliss, between 
Whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell 

In agonizing cross-light given 
Athwart the glimpses, they who dwell 



THE LOTES OF THE A17GELS. 



571 



In purgatory* catch of heaven ! 
The only feehng that to me 

Seem'd joy — or rather my sole rest 
From aching misery — was to see [blest. 

My young, proud, blooming Lilis 
She, the fair fountain of all ill 

To my lost soul -whom yet its thirst 
Fervidly panted after still, [first — 

And "^ found the charm fresh as at 
To see her happy— to reflect 

Whatever beams still round me play'd 
Of former pride, of glory wreck'd, 

On her, my Moon, whose light I made 

And whose soul svorshipp'd even my 
shade — 
This was, I own, enjoyment — this 
My sole, last lingering glimpse of bliss. 
And proud she was, fair creature ! — 
proud, 

Beyond what ev'n most queenly stirs 
In woman's heart, nor would have bow'd 

That beautiful young brow of hers 
To aught beneath the First above. 
So high she deem'd her Cherub's love ! 

Then, too, that passion hourly growing 

Stronger and stronger — to which even 
Her love, at times, gave way — of know- 
ing [en ; 

Every thing strange in earth and heav- 
Not only all that, full reveal'd, 

Th' eternal Alla loves to show, 
But all that He hath wisely seal'd 

In darkness, for man not to know — 
Ev'n this desire, alas, ill-starr'd 

Aud fatal as it was, I sought 
To feed each minute, and unbarr'd 

Suchrealms of wonder on her thought. 
As ne'er, till then, had let their light 
Escape on any mortal's sight ! 
In the deep earth — beneath the sea — 

Through caves of fire— through wilds 
Wherever sleeping Mystery [of air — 

* Called by the Mussulmans Al Araf— a sort 
of wall or partition -nhich, according to the 7th 
chapter of the Koran, separates liell from para- 
dise, and where they, who have not merits 
sullicient to gain them immediate admittance 
into heaven, arc supposed to stand for a certain 
period, alternately tantalized and tormented 
by the sights that are on either side presented 
to them. 

Manes, who borrowed in many instances 
from the Plat«nists, placed his purgatories, or 
places of purification, in the Sun and Moon. — 
Beausobre, liv. iii. chap. 8. 

t "Quelques gnomes dt'sireuxde devenir im- 
mortels, avoient voulu gagner les bonnes graces 
de nos fillcs, et Icur avoient opport6 des pier- 
reries dout ils Bont gardieaa natureta et ces au- 



Had spread her curtain, we were 
there- 
Love still beside us, as we went, 
At home in each new element. 

And sure of worship everywhere ! 

Then first was Nature taught to lay 

The wealth of all her kingdoms down 
At woman's worshipp'd feet, and say, 
'Bright creature, this is all thine 
own !' [nightt 

Then first were diamonds, from the 
Of earth's deep centre, brought to light, 
And made to grace the conquering way 
Of proud young beauty with their ray. 

Then, too, the pearl from out its shell 

Unsightly, in the sunless sea, 
(As 'twere a spirit, forced to dwell 

In form unlovely,) was set free. 
And round the neck of woman threw 
A light it lent and borrow'd too. 
For never did this maid— whate'er 

Th' ambition of the hour— forget 
Her sex's pride in being fair ; 
ISTor that adornment, tasteful, rare, 
Which makes the mighty magnet, set 
In Woman's form, more mighty yet. 
N'or was there aught within the range 

Of my swift wing in sea or air, 
Of beautiful, or gi-and, or strange. 
That, quickly as her wish coi;ld change, 

I did not seek, with such fond care, 
That when I've seen her look above 

At some bright star admiringly, 
I've said, ' Nay, look not there, my love, 

'Alas, I cannot give it thee VX 

But not alone the wonders found 
Through Nature's realm— th'junveil'd, 

Visible glories, that abound, [material. 

Through all hervast, enchanted ground — 
But whatsoe'er unseen, ethereal, 

DweUs far away from human sense, 

tours ont era, s'appuyant sur le livre d'Enoch 
mal eutendu, que c'etoient des pi6ges que les 
nngcs amoureus," &c. &c.—Comte de Gabalis. 

As the fiction of the loves of angels with 
women gave birth to the fanciful word of sylphs 
and gnomes, so we owe to it also the invention 
of those beautiful Genii and Peris, which em- 
bellish so much the mj^thology of the East ; 
for in the fabulous histories of Caionmarath. of 
Thamurath, &c., these spirituai creatures are 
always represented as the descendants of Seth, 
and called theBani Alginn, or children of Giann. 

+ I am aware that this happy saying of Lord 
Alliemarle's loses much of its grace and play- 
fulness, by being -ut into the mouth of any but 
a human loTer. 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 



"Wrapp'd in its own intelligence— 
The mystery of that fountain-head, 

From which all vital spirit runs, 
All breath of Life, where'er 'tis spread, 

Through men or angels, flowers or 
suns — 
The workings of th' Almighty Mind, 
When first o'er Chaos he design'd 
The outlines of this world ; and through 

That depth of darkness,— like the 
bow. 
Call' d out of rain-clouds, hue by hue* — 

Saw the grand, gradual picture 
grow ; — 
The covenant with human kind 

By Alla madef — the chains of Pate 
He round himself and them hath twined, 

Till his high task he consummate ; — 

Till good from evil, love fi'om hate, 
Shall he work'd out through sin and pain, 
And Pate shall lose her iron chain, 
And all be free, be bright again ! 

Such were the deep-drawn mysteries, 

And some ev'n more obscure, pro- 
found, 
And wildering to the mind than these, 

Which — far as woman's thought could 
sound, 
Or a fall'n, outlaw'd spirit reach- 
She dared to learn, and 1 to teach, 
TOl— fill'd with such unearthly lore, 

And mingling the pure light it brings 
With much that fancy had, before, 

Shed in false, tinted glimmerings — 
Th' enthusiast girl spoke out, as one 

Inspired, among her own dark race, 
Who from their ancient ehiines would 
Leaving their holy rites undone [run, 

To gaze upon her holier face, [spoke. 
And, though but wild the things she 
Yet, 'mid that play of en-or's smoke 

Into fair shapes by fancy curl'd, 
Some gleams of pure reUgion broke — 
jhmpses that have not yet awoke, 

But startled the stiU dreaming world ! 
[)h, many a truth, remote, sublime, 

Which Heav'n would from the minds 
of men 
Have kept conceal'd, till its own time. 

Stole out in these revealments then — 

* According to Whitehurst's theory, the 
mention of rainbows by an antediluviim angel 
is an anaehronisin; as he says, "There was no 
rain before the flood, and consequently no rain- 
bow, w hich accounts for the novelty of this 
sijrht after the Delnge." 

t For the terms ofthis compact, of which the 
ttogete were supposed to be witnesees, see the 



Revealments dim, that have forerun. 
By ages, the great, Sealing One !| 
Like that imperfect dawn, or lights 

Escaping from the Zodiac's signs, 
Which makes the doubtful east hall 
bright 

Before "the real morning shines ! 

Thus did some moons of bliss go by — 

Of bliss to her, who saw but love 
And knowledge throughout earth and 
To whose enamor'd soul and eye, [sky ; 
I seem'd — as is the sun on high — 

The light of all below, above, 
The spirit of sea, and laud, and air, 
Whose influence, felt everywhere, 
Spread from its centre, her own heart, 
Ev'n to the world's estremest part; 
While through that world her reinless 
mind 

Had now career'd so fast and far, 
That earth itself seem'd left behind, 
And her proud fancy, unconfined, 

Already saw Heaven's gates ajar ! 

Happy enthusiast I still, oh still. 
Spite of my own heart's mortal chiU, 
Spite of that double-fronted sorrow. 

Which looks at once before and back. 
Beholds the yesterday, the morrow, 

And sees both comfortless, both 
black — 
Spite of all this, I could have still 
In her delight forgot all ill ; 
Or, if pain would not be forgot. 
At least have borne and mm-mur'd not. 
When thoughts of an offended Heaven, 

Of sinfulness, which I— ev'n I, 
While down its steep most headlong 

driven — 
Well knew could never be forgiven, 

Came o'er me with an agony 
Beyond all reach of mortal wo — 
A torture kept for those who know. 
Know every thing, and — worst of all — 
Know and love Virtue while they fall ! 
Even then, her presence had the power 

To soothe, to warm — nay, even to 
bless — 
If ever bliss could graft its flower 

On stem so fuU of bitterness — 

chapter of the Koran, entitled Al Araf, and the 
article " Adam " in D'Herbelot. 

I In acknowledging the anthority of the 
great Prophets who had preceded him, Ma- 
homet represented his own mission as the final 
" IScnl," or consummation of tltom all. 

§ The Zodiacal Light. 




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THE LOYES OF THE ANGELS. 



Eyen then her glorions smile to me [balm ; 

Brought warmth and radiance, if not 
Like moonlight o'er a troubled sea, 

Brightening the storm it cannot calm. 

Oft, too, Avhen that disheartening fear, 

Which aU wlio love, beneath yon sky, 
Feel, when tbey gaze on what is der.r — 

The dreadful thought that it must die ! 
That deso'lating thought, which comes 
Into men's happiest hom-s and homes ; 
Whose melancholy boding flings 
Death's shadow o'er the brightest things, 
Sickhes the infant's bloom, and spreads 
The grave beneath young lovers' heads ! 
This fear, so sad to all— to me 

Most fuU of sadness, fi-om the thought 
That I must still live on,* when she 
"Would, like the snow that on the sea 

Fell yesterday, in vain be sought ; 
That heaven to me this final seal 

Of all earth's sorrow would deny. 
And I eternally must feel [die ! 

The death-pang, without power to 
Ev'n this, her fond endearments — fond 
As ever cherish'd the sweet bond [away ; 
'Twixt heart and heart— could charm 
Before her look no clouds could stay. 
Or, if they did, their gloom was gone, 
Their darkness put a glory on ! 
But 'tis not, 'tis not for the wrong, 
The guilty, to be happy long ; 
And she, too, now, had sunk within 
The shadow of her tempter's sin. 
Too deep for ev'n Omnipotence 
To snatch the fated victim thence ! 

Listen, and, if a tear there be 
Left in yomr hearts, weep it for me. 

'Twas on the evening of a day. 
Which we in love had dreamt away ; 
In that same garden, where — the pride 
Of seraph splendor laid aside, 
And those wings fui-l'd, whose open light 
For mortal gaze were else too bright — 
I first had stood before her sight. 
And found myself— oh, ecstasy, 

Which even in pain I ne'er forget — 
Worshipp'd as only God should be. 

And loved as never man was yet ! 
In that same garden were we now, 

Thoughtfully side by side reclining, 
Her eyes tum'd upward, and her brow 

With its own silent fancies shining, 

* Pococke, however, p-ivos it as the opinion 
of the Mahometan doctors, that all souls, not 
only of men and of animals, living either on 



It was an evening bright and still 

As ever blush'd on wave or bower. 
Smiling from heaven, as if naught ill 

Could happen in so sweet an hour. 
Tet, I remember, both grew sad 

In looking at that light — even she. 
Of heart so fresh, and brow so glad. 

Felt the still hour's solemnity, 
An d thought she saw, in that repose, 

The death-horn- not alone of light. 
But of this whole fair -world — the close 

Of all things beautiful and bright — 
The last grand sunset, in whose ray 
l^atm-e herself died calm away ! 

Atlength, asthoughsomehvelierthought 
Had suddenly her fancy caught, 
She tum'd upon me her dark eyes, 

Dilated into that full shape 
They took in joy, reproach, surprise, 

As 'twere to let more soul escape. 
And, i)layfully as on my head [said : — 
Her white hand rested, smiled and 

' I had, last night, a dream of thee, 
' Eesembling those divine ones, given, 

' Like preludes to sweet minstrelsy, 
'Before thou cam'st, thyself from 



' The same rich wreath was on thy brow, 
' Dazzling as if of starlight made ; 

' And these wings, lying darkly now, 
' Like meteors roimd thee flash'd and 
play'd. 

' Thou stood'st all bright, as in those 
dreams, 

' As if just wafted from above ; 
' Mingling earth's warmth with heaven's 

'A creature to adore and love, [beams, 

' Sudden I felt thee draw me near 
'To thy pure heart, where, fondly 

' I seem'd within the atmosphere [placed, 
' Of that exhaling hght embraced ; 

' And felt, methought, th' ethereal flame 

' Pass from thy purer soul to mine ; 
' TiU— oh, too blissful— I became, 

' Like thee, all spirit, all divine ! 
' Say, why did dream so bless'd come 
o'er me, 

' If, now I wake, 'tis faded, gone ' 
' When will my Cherub shine before me 

'Thus radiant as in heav'n he shone 1 

land or in the sea, but of the angels also, musf 
ne««8snTilj taste death. 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 




« "WTien shall I, waking, be allow'd 
' To gaze upon those perfect charms, 

' And clasp thee once, without a cloud, 
' A chUl of earth, within these arms V 

'Oh what a pride to say, this, this 
' Is my own Angel — all divine, 

' And pure, and dazzling as he is, 

' And fresh from heaven— he's mine, 
he's mine ! 

' Think' st thou, were LiLis in thy place, 

' A creatm-e of yon lofty skies, 
' She would have "hid one single grace, 

• One glory from her lover's eyes ? 

• No, no — then, if thou lov'st like me, 

' Shine out, young Spirit, in the blaze 

' Of thy most proud divinity, [gaze. 

' Nor think thou'lt wound this mortal 

' Too long and oft I've look'd upon 
'Those ardent eyes, intense ev'n 
thus— [gone, 

' Too near the stars themselves have 
' To fear aught grand or luminous. 

' Then doubt me not— oh, who can say, 
' But that this dream may yet come 
true, 

' And my bless'd spirit diink thy ray 
' Till it becomes all heavenly too 1 

• Let me this once but feel the flame 

' Of those spread wings, the very pride 
' "Will change my natui-e, and this Game 
' By the mere touch, be deified !' 

Thus spoke the maid, as one not used 
To be by earth or heaven refused— 
As one who knew her influence o'er 

All creatures, whatsoe'er they were, 
And, though to heaven she could not soar. 

At least wo aid bring down heaven to 
Little did she, alas, or I — [her. 

Ev'n I, whose soul, but half-way yet 
Immerged in sin's obscurity. 
Was as the earth whereon we lie. 

O'er half whose dislf the sun is set- 
Little did we foresee the fate. 

The di-eadful— how can it be told ? 
Such pain, such anguish to relate 

la o'er again to feel, behold ! 

* The Dove, or j)igeon which attended Ma- 
homet as liis Familiar, and was frecLuently seen 
to whisper in his ear, was, if I recollect riiiht, 
one of that select number of animals (incliuling 
also the ant of Solomon, the dog of the Seven 
Sleepers, &c.) which were thought by the 
Prophet worthy of admission into Paradise. 

'• The Moslems have a tradition that Ma- 
homet was saved (when ho hid himself in a 



But, charged as 'tis, my heart must 
Its sorrow out, or it will break ! [speak 
Some dark misgivings had, I own, 

Pass'd for a moment through my 
breast — 
Fears of some danger, vague, unknown. 

To one, or both— something uubless'd 

To happen from this proud request. 
But soon these boding fancies fled ; 

N"or saw I aught that could forbid 
My fuU revealment, save the dread 

Of that first dazzle, when, unhid, 

Such light should burst upon a lid 
Ne'er tried in heaven ;— and even thia 

glare 
She might, by love's own nursing care, 
Bo, like young eagles, taught to bear. 
For well I knew, the lustre shed [spread, 
Prom Cherub wings, when proudliest 
Was, in its nature, lambent, pm-e, 

And innocent as is the light 
The glow-worm hangs out to aUure 

Her mate to her green bower at night. 
Oft had I, in the mid-air, swept [slept, 
Through clouds in which the lightning 
As in its lair, ready to spring, [wing 
Yet waked it no't— though from my 
A thousand sparks fell glittering ! 
Oft too when round me from above 

The feather'd snow, in all its white- 
ness, [Dove, — * 
Fell, like the moultings of heaven's 

So harmless, though so fuU of bright- 
ness, _ [shake 
Was my brow's wreath, that it would 
Prom ofi"its flowers each downy flake 
As delicate, unmelted, fair. 
And cool as they had lighted there. 
Nay ev'n with LiLis— had I not 

Ai-ound her sleep all radiant beam'd, 
Hung o'er her slumbers, nor forgot 

To kiss her eyelids, as she dream'd ? 
And yet, at morn, from that repose, 

Had she not waked, unscathed and 
bright. 
As doth the pure, unconscious rose. 

Though by the fire-fly kiss'd all night? 

Thus having— as, alas, deceived 
By my sin's blindness, I believed— 
cave in Mount Shur) by his pui-suers finding 
the mouth of the cave covered by a spider's 
web, and a nest built by two pigeons at tho 
entrance, with two eggs unbroken in it, which 
made them think no one could have entered it. 
In consequence of this, they say, Mahomet 
enjoined his followers to look upon pigeons as 
sacred, and never to kill a spider.' —Modem 
TJniverisal History, vol. i. 




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THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



575 



No cause for dread, and those dark eyes 

Now fix'd upon me, eagerly 
As though th' unlocking of the sMes 

Then waited but a sign from me — 
How could I pause? how ev'n let fall 

A word, a whisper that could stir 
In her proud heart a doubt, that all 

I brought from heaven beloug'd to her. 
Slow from her side I rose, while she 
Arose, too, mutely, tremblingly, 
But not with fear — all hope, aud pride, 
• She waited for the awful boon, 
Like priestesses, at eventide, 

Watching the rise of the full moon, 
Whose light, when once its orb hath 

shone, 
'Twill madden them to look upon ! 

Of all my glories, the bright crown, 
Which, when I last from heaven came 
down, 

Was left behind me in yon star 
That shines from out those clouds afar,— 
Where, relic sad, 'tis treasured yet. 
The downfaUen angel's coronet ! — 
Of all my glories, this alone [brow. 

Was wanting : — but th' illumined 

The sun -bright locks, the eyes that now 
Had love's spell added to their own, 
Aud pour'd a light till then imknown; — 

Th' unfolded wings, that, in their play, 
Shed sparkles bright as Alla's thi-oue ; 

All I could bring of heaven's array, 

Of that rich panoply of charms 
A Cherub moves iu, on the day 
Of his best pomp, I now put on ; 
And, proud that in her eyes I shone 

Thus glorious, glided to her arms ; 
Which still (though, at a sight so splen- 
did. 

Her dazzled brow had, instantly, 
Sunk on her breast) were wide extended 

To clasp the fonn she diurst not see !* 
Great Heaven ! how could thy venge- 
ance light 
So bitterly on one so bright? [charms. 
How could the hand, that gave such 
Blast them again, in love's own arms? 
Scarce had I touch'd her shrinking frame 

When — oh most hoiiible ! — I felt 
That every spark of that pure flame — 

Pure, while among the stars I dwelt— 
Was now, by my transgression, tum'd 
Into gross, earthly fire, which burn d, 
Bum'd all it touch'd, as fast as eye 

* " Mohntnincd, (s.its Sale,)tl)ough a prophet, 
vraa not able to bear the sight of Gubriel, when 



Could follow the fierce, ravening 
hashes ; 
Till there — oh God, I still ask why 
Such doom was hers ?— I saw her Ue 

Blackening withiu my arms to ashes ! 
That brow, a glory butto see— [first 

Those lips, whose touch was what the 
Fresh cup of immortality 

Is to a new-made angel's thirst ! 
Those clasping arms, within whose 

round— 
My heart's horizon — the whole bound 
Of its hope, prospect, heaven was found ! 
Which, even in this dread moment, fond 

As when they first were roimd me 
cast. 
Loosed not in death the fatal bond. 

But, burning, held me to the last ! 
All, all, that, but that mom, had seem'd 
As if Love's self there breathed and 

beam'd 
N"ow, parch'd and black, before me lay, 
Withering in agony away ; 
And mine , oh misery ! mine the flame. 
From which this desolation came ; — 
I, the cursed spirit, whose caress 
Had blasted all that loveliness ! 

'Twas maddening ! — but now hear even 

worse — 
Had death, death only, been the curse 
I brought upon her— had the doom 
But ended here, when her young bloom 
Lay in the dust — and did the spirit 
N"o part of that fell curse inherit, 
'Twere not so dreadful— but, come near — 
Too shocking 'tis for earth to hear — 
Just when her eyes, in fading, took 

Their last, keen, agonized farewell, 
And look'd in mine with — oh, that look ! 

Great vengeful Power, whate'er the 
hell 
Thou mayst to human souls assign, 
The memory of that look is mine !— 

In her last struggle, on my brow 

Her ashy lips a kiss impress'd, 
So withering !— I feel it now— [bless'd 

'Twas fij-e- but fu'e, ev'n more un- 
Than was my own, and like that flame. 
The angels shudder but to name. 
Hell's everlasting element ! 

Deep, deep it pierced into my brain, 
Madd'uing and tortiuing as it went ; 

And here — mark here, the brand, the 
stain 
he appeared in his proper form, much less 
woulu others be able to support it." 




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576 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



It left upon my front — burnt in 
By that last kiss of love and sin — 
A brand, which all the pomp and pride 
Of a fallen Spirit cannot hide ! 

But is it thus, dread Providence — 

Can it, indeed, be thus, that she, 
Who, (but for one proud, fond offence,) 

Had houor'd heaven itself, should be 
]S"ow doom'd— I cannot speak it— no 
Merciful Alla ! 'tis not so — 
Never could lips divine have said 
The fiat of a fate so dread. 
And yet, that look — so deeply fraught 

With more than anguish, vrith de- 
spair- 
That new, fierce fire, resembKng naught 

In heaven or earth — this scorch I 
bear ! — 
Oh — for the first time that these knees 

Have bent before thee since my fall, 
Great Power, if ever thy decrees [call. 

Thou coiildst for prayer like mine re- 
Pardon that spirit, and on me, 

On me, who taught her pride to err, 
Shed out each drop of agony 

Thy burning viaJ keeps for her ! 
See, too, where low beside me kneel 

Two other outcasts, who, though gone 
And lost themselves, yet dare to feel 

And pray for that poor mortal one. 
Alas, too well, too weU they know 
The pain, the penitence, the wo 
That Passion brings upon the best, 
The wisest, and the lovehest. — 
Oh, who is to be saved, if such 

Blight, erring souls are not forgiven ; 
So loath they wander, and so much 

Their very wand'rings lean towards 
heaven ! 
Again, I cry, Just Power, transfer 

That creature's sufierings all to me — 

Mine, mine the guUt, the torment be. 
To save one minute's pain to her, 

Let mine last all eternity !" 

He paused, and to the earth bent down 
His throbbing head ; while they, who 
That agony as 'twere their own, [felt 
Those angel youths, beside him knelt. 
And, in the night's still silence there, 
While mournfully each wand'ring air 
Play'd in those plumes, that nevermore 
To then- lost home in heaven must soar, 
Breathed inwardly the voiceless prayer, 
Unheard by all but Mercy's ear — 
And which if Mercy did not hear, 
Oh, God would not be what this bright 



And glorious universe of His, 
This world of beauty, goodness, light. 
And endless love, proclaims He is ! 

ISTot long they knelt, when, from a wood 
That crown'd that any solitude. 
They heard a low, uncertain sound. 
As from a lute, that just had found 
Some happy theme, and murmur'd round 
The new-born fancy, with fond tone, 
Scarce thinking aught so sweet its o-^vn ! 
Till soon a voice, that match'd as well 

That gentle instrument, as suits 
The sea-air to an ocean-shell, 

(So kin its spirit to the lute's,) 
Tremblingly follow'd the soft strain, 
Interpreting its joy, its pain, 

And lending the light wings of words 
To many a thought, that else had lain 

Unfledged and mute among the chords. 

All started at the sound — but chief 

The third young Angel, in whose face, 
Though faded like the others, grief 

Had left a gentler, holier trace ; 
As if, even yet, through pain and ill, 
Hope had not fled him — as if stiU 
Her precious pearl, in son-ow's cup, 

Unmelted at the bottom lay. 
To shine again, when, all drunk up. 

The bitterness should pass away. 
Chiefly did he, though in his eyes 
There shone more pleasure than surprise, 
Turn to the wood, fi-om whence that 

Of solitary sweetness broke ; [sound 
Then, listening, look delighted round 

To his bright peers, while thus it 
spoke : — 
" Come, pray with me, my seraph love, 

" My angel-lord, come pray with me ; 
" In vaiu to-night my lip hath strove 
" To send one holy prayer above — 
" The knee may bend, the lip may move, 

" But pray I cannot, without thee ! 
'' I've fed the altar in my bower [tre»; 

"With droppings from the incense 
" I've shelter'd it from wind and shower, 
" But dim it bums the livelong horn-, 
"As if, like me, it had no power 

" Of life or lustre without thee ! 

" A boat at midnight sent alone 

" To diift upon the moonless sea, 
" A lute, whose leading chord is gone, 
" A woimded bird, that hath but one 
"Imperfect wing to soar upon, 

" Are like what I am, without thee .' 



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THE LOYES OF THE A17GELS. 



577 



'' Then ne'er, my spirit-love, divide, 
" In life or death, thyself from me ; 

" But when again, in sunny pride, 

"Thou walk'st through Eden, let me 
glide, 

" A prostrate shadow, by thy side — 
" Oh happier thus than without thee !'' 

The song had ceased, when, from the 
wood [height. 

Which, sweeping down that airy 

Eeach'd the lone spot whereon they 

stood — • 

There suddenly shone out a light 
Prom a clear lamp, which, as it blazed. 
Across the brow of one, who raised 
Its flame aloft, (as if to throw 
The light upon that group below, ) 
Display'd two eyes, sparkling between 
The dusky leaves, such as are seen 
By fancy only, in those faces, 

That haunt a poet's walk at even, 
Looldng fi-om out their leafy places 

Upon his dreams of love and heaven. 
'T was but a moment — the blush, brought 
O'er all her features at the thought 

Of being seen thus, late, alone, 
By any but the eyes she sought. 

Had scarcely for an instant shone 

Through the dark leaves, when she 
was gone- 
Gone, like a meteor that o'erhead 
Suddenly shines, and, ere we've said, 
" Behold, how beautiful !"— 'tis lied. 
Yet, ere she went, the words, "I come, 

" I come, my Nama,'' reach'dher ear. 

In that kind voice, familiar, dear, 
"Which tells of confidence, of home, — 

* Seth is a favorite personage among the 
Orientals, and acts a conspicuous pnrt iu many 
of their most extravagant romances. The 
Syrians pretended to have a Testament of this 
Patriarch in their possession, in which was ex- 
plained the whole theology of angels, their 
different orders, &c , &c. The Curcls, too, (as 
Hyde mentions in his Appendix,) have a book, 
which contains all the rites of their religion, 
and which they call Sohuph Sheit, or the Book 
of Seth. 

In tlic same manner that Seth and Cham are 
suiipu.sed to have preserved these memorials of 
antc<iiluviaii knowledge, Xixuthrus is said in 
Chalchean fable to have deposited in Siparis, 
the city of the Sun, those monuments of science 
which he had saved out of the waters of a 
deluge.— See Jablonski's learned remarks upon 
tlicse columns or tablet.s of Seth, which he sup- 
poses to be tho same with the pillai-s of Jiler- 
eury, or the Egyptian Thoth.—Pantheun. 
Erjijpt. lib. v., cap. 5. 

t The Mussulmans, says D'Herbelot, apply 
the general name, ilocarrebouu, to all tLiosQ 



Of habit, that hath drawn hearts near, 
Till they grow one, — of faith siucere. 
And all that Love most loves to hear ; 
A music, breathing of the past. 

The present, and the time to be, 
Where Hope and Memory, to the last, 

Lengthen out life's true harmony ! 
x^or long did he, whom call so kind 
Summou'd away, remain behind; 
^oT did there need much time to tell 

What they — alas, more fall'n than h» 
From happiuess and heaven — knew well. 

His gentler love's short history ! 

Thus did it run — not as he told 

The tale himself, but as 'tis graved 
Upon the tablets that, of old, 

Qj Seth* were from the deluge saved, 
AU written over with sublime 

And sadd'ning legends of th' uubless'd, 
But glorious Spirits of the time. 

And this young Angel's 'mong the rest. 



THIRD ANGEL'S STORY. 

Among the Spirits, of pure flame. 

That in th' eternal heavens abide — 
Circles of light, that from the same 
Unclouded centre sweeping wide. 
Carry its beams on every side — 
Like spheres of air that waft around 
The undulations of rich sound. 
Till the far-circHng radiance be 
Difl'used into infinity ! 
First and immediate near the Throne 
Of ALLA.t as if most his own, 
The Seraphs standj — this burniag sign 
Si)irits "qui approchent lo plus prds lo Tronc." 
Of this number are Mikail and Gebrail. 
X The Seraphim, or Spirits of Divine Love. 
There appears to be, among writers on the 
E.ast, as well as among the Orientals them- 
selves, considerable indecision with regard to 
the respective claims of Seraphim and Cheru- 
bim to the highest rank in the celestial hierar- 
chy. The derivation which Hyde assigns to 
the word Cherub seems to determine the pre- 
cedence in favor of that order of spirits : — 
'Cherubim, i. e. Propinqui Angeli, qui sc. 
Deo proprius quam alii accedunt; nam Cliarab 
est i. g. Karab, appropinquare." (P. 263.) Al 
Beidawl, too, one of the commentators of tho 
Koran, on that nassage, "the angels, who bear 
the throne, ana those who stand about it." 
(chap, xl.) says. " These are the Clicrubim. the 
highest order of angels." On the other hand, 
we have seen, in a preceding note, that the 
Syrians place the sphere in which tho Scraplis 
dwell at tue very summit of all tlie celesiiid 
systems; and even, umoiig Mahometans, the 
words Aaazil and Mocarreboim (which meaa 




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573 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Traced on their banner, " Love divine I" 

Their rank, their honors, far above 

Ev'n those to high-brow'd Cherubs 

given, [love 

Though knowing all; — so much doth 

Transcend all Knowledge, ev'n in 

heaven ! 

'Moug these was Zaraph once— and 

E'er felt aifection's holy fire, [none 
Or yearu'd toward th' Eternal One, 

With half such longing, deep desu-e. 
Love was to his impassiou'd soul 

Xot as with others, a mere part 
Of its existence, but the whole^ 

The very Ihe-breath of his heart ! 
Oft, when from Alla's lifted brow 

A lustre came, too bright to bear. 
And all the seraph ranks would bow, 

To shade their dazzled sight, nor dare 

To look upon th' eQ'ulgence there — 
This Spirit's eyes would court the blaze, 

(Such pride he in adoring took,) 
And rather lose, in that one gaze. 

The power of looking, than not look ! 
Then, too, when angel voices simg 
The mercy of their God, and strung 
Their harps to hail, with welcome sweet. 

That moment, watch'd for by all eyes, 
"When some repentant sinner's feet 

First touch'd the threshold of the 
skies, 
Oh then how clearly did the voice 
Of Zaraph above all rejoice ! 
Love was in ev'ry buoyant tone — 

Such love, as only could belong 
To the blest angels, and alone [song ! 

Could, ev'n from angels, bring such 
Alas, that it should e'er have been 

In heav'u as 'tis too often here, 
Where nothing fond or bright is seen. 

But it hath pain and peril near ; — 
"Where right and wrong so close resem- 
ble, 

That what we take for virtue's thrill 
Is often the first downward tremble 

Of the heait's balance unto ill ; 
"Where Love hath not a shrine so pui'e, 

So holy, but the serpent. Sin, 
In moments, ev'n the most secure. 

Beneath his altai- may glide in ! 

So was it with that Angel— such 

The chaiTQ, that sloped his fall along. 
From good to ill, firom loving much, 
the Bpirits tliat stand nearest to the throne of 
Alia) are indiscriminately applied to both Sera- 
phim and Cherubim. 



Too easy lapse, to loving wrong. — 
Ev'n so that amorous Spirit, bound 
By beauty's spell, where'er 'twas found, 
From the bright things above the moon 

Down to earth's beaming ej-es de- 
scended, 
Till love for the Creator soon 

In passion for the creature ended. 

'Twas first at twilight, on the shore 

Of the smooth sea, he heard the lut-j 
Ajid voice of her he loved steal o'er 

The silver waters, that lay mute. 
As loath, by ev'n a breath, to stay 
The pilgrimage of that sweet lay, 
Whose echoes still went on and on, 
TUl lost among the light that shone 
Par ofi', beyond the ocean's brim — 

There, where the rich cascade of day 
Had o'er th' horizon's golden rim, 

Into Elysium roll'd away! 
Of God she sung, and of the mild 

Attendant Mercy, that beside 
His awi'ul throne forever smiled, 

Ready, with her white hand, to guido 
nis bolts of vengeance to their prey — 
That she might quench them on the 
Of Peace, of that Atoning Love, [way ! 
Upon whose star, shining above 
This twilight world of hope and fear, 

The weeping eyes of Faith are fi:s;'d 
So fond, that with her every tear 

The light of that love-star is mix'd !— 
All this she sung, and such a soul 

Of piety was hi that song, 
That the chanu'd Angel, as it stole 

Tenderly to his ear, along 
Those lulling waters where he lay, 
"Watching the daylight's dying ray, 
Thought 'twas a voice from out the wave 
An echo, that some sea nymph gave 
To Eden's distant harmony, 
Heard faint and sweet beneath the sea ! 

Quickly, however, to its source. 
Tracing that music's melting course, 
He saw, upon the golden sand 
Of the sea-shore, a maiden stand. 
Before whose feet th' expiring waves 

Flung their last offering with a sigh- 
As, in the East, exhausted slaves [die — 

Lay down the far-brought gift, and 
And. while her lute hung by her, hush'd, 

As if im equal to the tide 
Of song, that from her lips still gush'd, 

She raised, like one beatified, [given 
Those eyes, whose light seem'd rather 

To be adored than to adore — 



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THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



579 



Such eyes, as may have look'd from 
heav'o, 
But ne'er were raised to it before ! 

Oh Love, Eeligion, Music*— all 

That's left of Edeu upon earth— 
The only blessings, since the fall 
Of our weak souls, that still recall 

A trace of their high, glorious birth- 
How kindred are the dreams you bring ! 

How Love, though unto earth so 
Delights to take religion's wing, [prone, 

When time or grief hath stain'd his 
own! 
How near to Love's beguiling brink, 

Too oft, entranced Religion lies ! 
While Music, Music is the link 

They both still hold by to the skies, 
The language of their native sphere, 
Which they had else forgotten here. 

How then could Zaraph fail to feel 
That moment's witcheries? — one, so 
fair, 
Breathing out music, that might steal 
Heaven from itself, and rapt in prayer 
That seraphs might be proud to share ! 
Oh, he did feel it; all too well — [cost— 
With warmth, that far too dearly 
K'or knew he, wheu at last he fell. 
To which attraction, to which spell. 
Love, Music, or Devotion, most 
His soul in that sweet hour was lost. 

Sweet was the hour, though dearly won. 

And pm-e, as aught of earth could be. 
For then first did the glorious sun 

Before religion's altar see 
Two hearts in wedlock's golden tie 
Self-pledged, in love to live and die. 
Blest union ! by that Angel wove. 

And worthy from such hands to come ; 
Safe, sole asylum, in which Love, 
When fall'n or exiled from above, 

In this dark world can find a home. 

And, though the Spirit had transgress'd, 
Had, from his station 'mongst the bless'd 
Won down by woman's smile, allow'd 

Ten-estrial passion to breathe o'er 
The mirror of his heart, and cloud 

God's image, there so bright before — 
Yet never did that Power look down 

On en-or with a brow so mild ,: 
iiTever did Justice wear a frown, 

* " Les Egyptiens disent quo la Mnsiquo est 
Sceur de la Keligimi."— Voyages d* Pythagore, 
torn, i., p. 422. 

t Sara. 



Through which so gently Mercy 
smiled. 
For humble was their love— with awe 
And trembling like some treasure 
kept. 
That was not theirs by holy law — 
Whose beauty with remorse they saw^ 
And o'er whose preciousness they 
wept. 
Humility, that low, sweet root. 
From which all heavenly virtues shoot, 
Was in the hearts of both — but most 
In ISTama's heart, by whom alone 
Those charms for which a heaven was 
lost, 
Seem'd all unvalued and unknown ; 
And when her seraph's eyes she caught, 

And hid hers glowing on his breast, 
Even bliss was humbled by the thought— 
_" What claim have I to be so bless'd ?" 
StiU less could maid so meek, have 

nursed 
Desire of knowledge — that vain thirst, 
With which the sex hath all been cursed, 
From luckless Eve to her, who near 
The Tabernacle stole to hear 
The secrets of the angels ;t no — 

To love as her own Seraph loved. 
With Faith, the same through bliss and 
wo — 
Faith, that, were even its light re- 
moved, 
Could, like the dial, fix'd remain, 
And wait tiU it shone out again ; 
With Patience that, though often bow'd 

By the rude storm, can rise anew ; 
And Hope that, even from Evil's cloud. 
Sees sunny Good half breaking 
through ! 
This deep, relying Love, worth more 
In heaven than all the Cherub's lore — 
This Faith, more sm-e than aught beside, 
Was the sole joy, ambition, pride 
Of her fond heart — th' unreasoning scope 

Of all its views, above, below — 
So true she felt it that to hojw, 

To trust, is happier than to know. 
And thus in humbleness the 5' trod : 
Abash'd, but pure before their God ; 
iiov e'er did earth behold a sight 

So meekly beautiful as they. 
When, with the altar's holy light 

Full on their brows, they knelt to pray 
Hand within hand, and side by side. 
Two links of love, awhile imtied 
Fi'om the great chain above, but fast 
Holding together to the last !— 



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580 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Two fallen Splendors,* from that tree, 
Which buds with such eternally,t 
Shaken to earth, yet keeping all 
Their light and fi-eshness in the fall. 

Their only punishment, (as wrong, 

However sweet, must bear its brand,) 
Their only doom was this— that, long 

As the gi-een earth and ocean stand, 
They both shall wander here— the 

same, 
Throughout all time, in heart andframe— 
Still looking to that goal sublime, 

WTaose light remote, but sm-e, they 
see ; 
Pilgrims of Love, whose way is Time, 

Whose home is in Eternity ! 
Subject, the while, to aU the strife, 
True Love encounters in this life — 
The wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain ; 

The chill, that turns his warmest sighs 

To earthly vapor, ere they rise ; 
The doubt he feeds on, and the pain 

That in his very sweetness hes : — 
Still worse, th' illusions that betray 

His footsteps to their shining brink ; 
That tempt him, on his desert way 

Through the bleak world, to bend and 
drink. 
Where nothing meets his Ups, alas, — 
But he again must sighing pass 
On to that far-off home of peace. 
In which alone his thii-st will cease. 

All this they bear, but, not the less, 
Have moments rich in happiness — 
Bless'd meetings, after many a day 
Of widowhood pass'd far away, 
When the loved face again is seen 
Close, close, with not a tear between — 
Confidings frank, without control, 
Poui-'d mutually from soul to soul ; 
As free from any fear or doubt 

As is that light from chill or stain, 
The Sim into the stars shed out, 

To be by them shed back again !— 
That happy minglement of hearts, [are. 

Where, changed as chymic compounds 

* An allusion to the Sephiroths or Splendors 
of the Jewish Cabljiila. ropresetited as a tree, 
of which God is the crown or summit. 

Tho Sephiroths are the higher orders of 
emanative beings in the strange and incompre- 
lionsible system of the Jewish Cabbala. They 
are called by various names, I'ity, Beauty, 
&c., &c.; and their influences are supposed to 
act tlirough certain canids, which communicate 
■with each other. 

t The reader may judge of the rationality of 
tkis Jewish system by the following explanation 



Each with its own existence parts. 

To find a new one, happier tar ! 
Such are their joys— and, crowning all. 

That blessed hope of the bright hour, 
When, happy and no more to fall, 

Their spirits shall, with freshen'd 
Rise up rewarded for their trust [power, 

In Him, from whom aU goodness 
springs, 
And, shaking off earth's soiling dust 

From their emancipated wings. 
Wander forever through those skies 
Of radiance, where Love never dies ! 

In what lone region of the earth 

These Pilgrims now may ream or 
dwell, 
God and the Angels, who look forth 

To watch their steps, alone can teU. 
But should we, in our wanderings. 

Meet a young pair, whose beauty wants 
But the adornment of bright wings, 

To look like heaven's inhabitants — 
Who shine where'er they tread, and yet 

Are humble in their earthly lot. 
As is the wayside violet, 

That shines unseen, and were it not 

For its sweet breath would be forgot — 
Whose hearts, in every thought, are one, 

Whose voices utter the same wills — 
Answering, as Echo doth some tone 

Of fairy music 'mong the hills. 
So like itself, we seek in vain 
Which is the echo, which the strcin — 
Whose piety is love, whose love, 

Though close as 'twere their souls' em- 
brace. 
Is not of earth, but from above — 

Like two fair mirrors face to face, 
Whose light from one to th' other thrown. 
Is heaven's reflection, not their own — 
Should we e'er meet with aught so pure. 
So perfect here, we may be sure 

"Tis ZARAPn and his bride we see ; 
And call young lovers round, to view 
The pilgrim pair, as they pursue 

Their pathway towards eternity, 

of part of the machinery: — "Les canaiix (jiii 
sorteut de la Misericorde et de la Force, et qui 
Tont aljoutir ala Beauts, sont charg6sd'uu grano 
nombre dAnges. II y en a trente-cinq sur lo 
canal de la Misericorde, qui recompensent et (lui 
couronnent la vertu des Saints," &c., &c.— For 
a concise account of the Cabalistic Philosophy, 
see Enfield's very useful compendium of " (in 
les repr^sente quelquefois sons la figure d'un 
nrbre . . . I'Ensoph qu'on met au-dessus de 
I'arbre Sophirotique on des Splendenrs divins, 
est rinfini."— Z/'ifistoire des Jui/s, liv. is. 11. 




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SATIKICAL A2^D HUMOEOUS POEMS. 



581 



SATmiCAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



The follovring tiifles, having enjoyed, 
fn their chculation through the newspa- 
pers, all the celebrity and length of life 
to which they were entitled, would have 
been suffered to pass quietly into obliv- 
ion without pretending to any further 
distinction, had they not already been 
pubhshed, in a collective form, both in 
London and' Paris, and, in each case, 
been mixed up with a number of other 
productions, to which, whatever may 
be their merit, the author of the follow- 
ing pages has no claim. A. natural de- 
sire to separate his own property, worth- 
less as it is, from that of others, is, he 
begs to say, the chief motive of the pub- 
lication of this volume. 



TO SIR HUDSOIf LOWE. 

Effare causam nominis, 
Utrumne mores hoc tui 
Nomen dedere, an nomen hoc 
Secuta moruni regula. Ausonius. 

1816. 
t3iR Hudson Lowe, Sir Hudson Low, 
(By name, and ah! by nature so,) 
As thou art fond of persecutions, 
Perhaps thou'st read, or heard repeated, 
How Captain Gulliver was treated, 
"When thrown among the LUhputians. 

They tied him down — these little men 
And having valiantly ascended [did— 

Upon the Mighty Man's protuberance, 
They did so strut !— upon my soul. 
It must have been extremely droll 

To see their pigmy pride's exuberance ! 

And how the dougb<-y mannikins 
Amused themselves with sticking pins 
And needles irv the great man's 
breeches : 
And how seme vxy little things, 
That pass'd for Lords, on scailbldings 
Got up, and worried him with speeches. 

* "An hour 

Of lovp, of worldly matter and direction." 
t It appeai-s, however, tliat Ovid was a friend 
to the i-tisuinptiou of payment iu sjieciu : — 



Alas, alas I that it should happen 

To mighty men to be caught napping !— 

Thouijh different, too, these persecu- 
For Gulliver, there, took the nap[tions; 
■Wbile, here the ifap, oh sad mishap. 

Is taken by the Lilliputians ! 



AMATOET COLLOQUY BETWEEN" 
BANK KET) GOVERNMENT. 

1826. 

Bank. 

Is all then forgotten ? those amorSus 

pranks [cmment, play'd ; 

You and 1, in our youth, my dear Gov- 

"When you caU'd me the fondest, the 

truest of Banks, [I made ! 

And enjoy'd the endearing advances 

Wlien left to ourselves, unmolested and 
free, [pie should do, 

To do all that a dashing young cou- 
A law against paying was laid upon me, 
But none against owing, dear help- 
mate, on you. 

And is it then vanish'd ?— that ''hour 

(as Othello \^rcctioH?"* 

So happily calls it) of Love and Di- 

And must we, lilie other fond doves, my 

dear fellow, [connection ? 

Grow good in our old age, and cut the 

GOVEUNIIENT. 

Even so, my beloved Mrs. Bank, it must 

be; [with wooing :t 

This paying in cash plays the devil 

We've both had our swing, but I plainly 

foresee [ing and cooiug. 

There must soon be a stop to our Ull- 

Propagation in reason — a small child or 

two — [friend to; 

Even Reverend Malthus himself is a 

The issue of some folks is moderate and 

few — [there's no end to ! 

But ours, my dear corporate Bank, 



" finem, specie caelesto resumtd, 

Lnctibos imposuit, venitquc salutifer urbi." 
Met 1. XV. V. 743. 




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MOOEE'S TTOEKS. 



So — hard thougli it be on a pair, -who've 

already [aud pence ; 

Disposed of so many pounds, shillings. 

And, in spite of that pink of prosperity, 

Freddy,* [sense^ 

So lavish of cash and so sparing of 

The day is at hand, my Papyriaf Yenus, 

"WTieu — high as we once nsed to carry 

our capers — [between us. 

Those soft billet-doux we're now passing 

"Will serve but to keep Mrs. Coutts in 

curl papers : 

And when — if we still must continue 

our love, [it is clear, 

(After all that has pass'd, ) — our amour, 

Like that which Miss Daniie managed 

with Jove, [dear ! 

Must all be transacted in bullion, my 

■ February, 1826. 



DIALOGUE BETWEEN" A SOVER- 
EIGN" AXD A ON^E POUND IfOTE. 

" O ego non felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavet acres 
Agna lupos, capreaeque luoues." Hon, 

Said a Sov'reign to a N"ote, 

In the pocket of my coat, [leather, 

Where they met in a neat purse of 
" How happens it, I prithee, 
"That, though I'm wedded with 
thee, [gether ? 

"Fair Pound, wo can never live to- 

" Like your sex, fond of change, 
""With sQver you can range, 
"And of lots of young sixpences be 
mother ; 
" "While with me — upon my word, 
" Not my Lady and my Lord 
"Of "W— stm— th see so little of each 
other!" 

The indignant N"ote replied, 
(Lying crumpled by his side,) 

" Shame, shame, it is jyoMrse?/ that roam, 
" One cannot look askance, [Su* — 
"But, whip! you're otf to France, 

(f Leaving nothing but old rags at home. 
Sir. 

"Your scampering began 
" From the moment Parson Van, 
" Poor man, made us one in Love's fet- 
" ' For better or for worse' [ter ; 

* Honorable Frederick E. — b — ns — n. 
t So called, lo distinguish Ler from the 
" Aurea " or Golden Veuus. 
} See the proceedings of the Lords, "Wednes- 



" Is the usual marriage cur^c, 
" But ours is aU ' worse' and no ' better. 

" In vain are laws pass'd, 

" There's nothing holds you fast, 

" Tho' you know, sweet Sovereign, 1 
adore you— 
"At the smallest hint in life, 
" You forsake your lawful wife, 

" As other Sovereigns did before you. 

" I flirt with Silver, true — 

"But what can ladies do, [tcctors? 

" "When disown'd by their natm-al pro- 
" And as to falsehood, stuiT I 
" I shall soon he false enough, 

" "When I get among those wicked Bank 
Directors." 

The Sovereign, smihng on her, 
Now swore, upon his honor, 

To be henceforth domestic and loyal ; 
But, within an hour or two, 
"Why — I sold him to a Je w, 

And he's now at No. 10 Palais Royal. 

AN" EXPOSTULATION TO LORD 

XING. 

" Quern das finem, Hex magne, laborum ?" 
Virgil. 



How can you, my Lord, thus delight to 

torment all [ ening their coru,t 

The Peers of the realm about cheap- 

"When you know, if one hasn't a very 

high rental, [high born ? 

'Tis hardly worth while being very 

"Why bore them so rudely, each night of 

your life, [much to abhor m i 

On a question, my Lord, there's so 

A question— like asking one, " How is 

your wife ?"— [ foreign. 

At once so confounded domestic and 

As to weavers, no matter how poorly 

they feast ; [for show, 

But Peers, and such animals, fed up 

(Like the weU-physick'd elephant, lately 

deceased, ) [miug, you know. 

Take a wonderful quantum of cram- 

You might see, my dear Baron, how 
bored and distress'd 
"Were their high noble hearts by your 
merciless tale, 

day, March 1, 1826, when Lord King was 
severely reproved by several of the noble Peers, 
for making so many speeches against the Corn 
Laws. 




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SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



583 



When the force of the agony wrung even 
a jest 
From the frugal Scotch wit of my 
Lord L-d-d-le !* 

Bright peer ! to whom Ifature and Ber- 
wickshire gave [yoking, 
A humor, endow'd with effects so pro- 
That, when the whole House looks un- 
usually grave, 
You may alwayf conclude that Lord 
L-d-d-le's joking. 

And then, those unfortunate weavers of 

Perth — [dence dooms 

Not to know the vast difference Provl- 

Between weavers of Perth and Peers of 

high birth, 

'Twixt those who have ^eir-looms, and 

those who've but looms ! 

" To talk now of starving !" — as great 

Ath — 1 saidt — 

(And the nobles all eheer'd, and the 

bishops all wonder'd,) [had fed 

" "When, some years ago, he and others 

"Of these same hungry devils about 

fifteen hundred I" 

It follows from hence— and the Duke's 
very words 
Should be publish'd wherever poor 
rogues of this craft are — 
That weavers, otice rescued fi-om starv- 
ing by Lords, [ever after. 
Are bound to be starved by said Lords 

"WTien Rome was uproarious, her know- 
ing patricians 
Made "Bread and the Circus" a cure 
for each row ; 
But not so the plan of owr noble physi- 
cians, 
" No Bread and the Tread-miU's" the 
regimen now. 

So cease, my dear Baron of Ockham, 

your prose, [vinces ; 

As i shall my poetry— neither con- 

And all we have spoken and written but 

shows, 

When you tread on a nobleman's 

corn,t how he winces. 
* This noble Earl said, that "when he heard 
the petition came from ladies' boot and shoe- 
makers, he tliought it must be apainst the 
•corns ' which they inflicted on the fair sex." 

t The Duke of Athol said, that " at a former 
period, when these wearers were in prcat dis- 
tress, the landed interest of Perth lind sup- 
ported 1500 of them. It was a poor return for 



THE SINKING FUND CRIED. 

" Now what, we ask, is become of this Sink 
ing Fund — these eight millions of surplus above 
expenditure, which were to reduce the interest 
of the national debt by the amount of four hun- 
dred thousand pounds annually ? Where, in- 
deed, is the Sinking Fund itself V'—The limes. 

Take your bell, take your bell, 

Good Crier, and teU 
To the Bulls and the Bears, till their 
ears are stunn'd. 

That, lost or stolen, 

Or fall'n through a hole in 
The Treasury floor, is the SinMng Fund 

yes ! yes ! 

Can anybody guess 

What the deuce has become of this 

Treasury wonder ? 

It has Pitt's name on't. 

All brass, in the front. 

And R — b— ns— n's scrawl'd with a 

goose-quill, under. 

Folks well knew what 
Would soon be its lot, 
When Frederick and Jenky set hob- 
nobbing, § 
And said to each other, 
" Suppose, dear brother, 
"We make this funny old Fund worth 
robbing." 

We are come, alas ! 

To a very pretty pass- 
Eight Hundred MUIious of score to pay, 

With but Five in the till, 

To discharge the biU, 
And even that Five, too, whipp'd away ! 

Stop thief! stop thief!— 
From the Sub to the Chief, 

These Gemmen of Finance are plunder- 
ing cattle — 
Call the watch— call Brougham, 
TeU Joseph Hume, [tie. 

That best of Charleys, to spring his rat- 

Whoever will bring 
This aforesaid thing 
To the weU-known house of Robinsen 
and Jenkin, 
Shall be paid, with thanks, 

these very men now to petition against the 
persons who had fed them." 

X An improvement, we flatter ourselves, on 
Lord L.'sjoke. 

§ In 1824, when the Sinking Fund was raised 
by the imposition of new taxes to the sum of 
five millions. 




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584 



MOOEE'S IVOEKS. 



Tn the notes of banks, 
Whose funds have all leam'd " the Art 
of Sinking." 

yes ! yes ! 
Can anybody guess 
What the devil has become of this 
Treasury wonder ? 

It has Pitt's name on't, 

All brass, in the front, 

And B — b— ns— n's scrawl'd with a 

goose -quiU, under. 



ODE TO THE GODDESS CERES. 

BY SIR TH— M— 8 L— THBIl— E. 

" Legiferse Cereri Phoeboque. Viugil. 
Dear Goddess of Corn, whom the an- 
cients, we know, [ical bodies,) 
(Among other odd whims of those com- 
Adorn'd with somniferous poppies, to 
show [Gentleman's Goddess. 

Thou wert always a true Country- 
Behold, in his best shooting-jacket, be- 
fore thee, [bly beseeches, 
An eloquent 'Squire, who most hum- 
Great Queen of Mark-Lane, (if the 
thing doesn't bore thee,) 
Thou'lt read o'er the last of his — 
«e«;er-last speeches. 

Ah ! Ceres, thou know'st not the slan- 
der and scorn [arehy, so boasted ; 
Now heap'd upon England's 'Squire- 
Improving on Hunt,* 'tis no longer the 
Com, [alas ! roasted. 

'Tis the growers of Corn that are now. 

In speeches, in books, in all shapes they 

attack us — [doubt, 

Reviewers, economists — fellows, no 

That you, my dear Ceres, and Venus, 

and Bacchus, [about. 

And Gods of high fashion know little 

There's B — nth— m, whose English is 
all his own making, — 
Who thinks just as little of settling 
a nation [taking 

As he would of smoking his pipe, or of 
(What he, himself, calls) his "post- 
prandial vibration."t 



* A sort of "breakfast-powder," composed of 
roasted corn, was about this time introduced 
by Mr. Hunt, as a substitute for coffee. 

t The venerable Jeremy's phrase for his after- 
dinner walk. 



There are two Mr. M lis, too, whom 

those that love reading 
Through aU that's unreadable call 
very clever — 

And, whereas M U Senior makes 

war on good breeding, 

M 11 Junior makes war on all 

breeding whatever ! 

In short, my dear Goddess, Old Eng- 
land's divided [fine sages ; 
Between ultra blockheads and super- 
With which of these classes we, laud- 
lords, have sided 
Thou'lt find in my Speech, if thou'lt 
read a few pages. 

For therein I've proved, to my own 
satisfaction, [honor of meeting, 
And that of aU 'Squires I've the 
That 'tis the most senseless and foul- 
mouthed detraction 
To say that poor people are fond of 
cheap eating. 

On the contrary, such the " chaste no- 
tions "t of food [turer's heart, 
That dwell in each pale manufac- 
They would scorn any law, be it ever 
so good, 
That would make thee, dear God- 
dess, less dear than thou art ! 

And, oh! for Monopoly what a blest 

day, [in fond combination. 

When the Land and the Silk§ shall, 

(Like Sulky and Silky, that pair in the 

play, II ) [and Starvation ! 

Cry out, with one voice, for High Rents 

Long life to the Minister!— no matter 
who, [nified si>irit, he 

Or how dull he may be, if, with dig- 
Keeps the ports shut — and the people's 
mouths too, — [dy's prosperity. 
We shall all have a long rim of Fred- 

And, as for myself, who've, hke Hanni- 
bal, sworn 
To hate the whole crew who would 
take our rents from us, 
Had England but One to stand by thee. 
Dear Corn, [be Sir Th— m— s ! 
That last, honest Uni-Comlf would 

JA phrase in one of Sir T— m— s's last 
speeches. 

§ Great efforts were, at that time, making 
for tlie exclusion of foreign silk. 

II "RoadtoKuin." 

11 Thii is meant not so much for a pun, as in 




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SATIRICAL AfTD HUMOROUS POEMS. 



585 



A HYMX OF ^VELCOMB AFTER 

THE RECESS. 

" Animas sapientiores fieri quiescendo." 

And now — cross-buns and pancakes 

o'er— 
Hail, Lords and Gentlemen, once more ! 

Thrice hail and welcome, Houses 
The short eclipse of April-Day [Twaui ! 
Having (God grant it!) pass'd away, 

Collective Wisdom, shine again ! 

Come, Ayes and IS'oes, through thick 

and thin, — 
With Paddy H— Imes for whipper-in, — 

Whate'erthe job, prepared to back it; 
Come, voters of Supplies— bestowers 
Of jackets upon trumpet-blowers. 

At eighty mortal pounds the jacket !* 

Come— free, at length, from Joint-Stock 

cares — 
Ye Senators of many Shares, 

Whose dreams of premium knew no 
boundary 
So fond of aught like Company, 
That you would even have taken tea 
(Had you been ask'd) with Mr. 
Goimdry.t 

Come, matchless country-gentlemen ; 
Come, wise Sir Thomas — wisest then, 

When creeds and corn-laws are de- 
bated ; 
Come, rival even the Harlot Red, 
And show how wholly into bread 

A 'Squire is transuhstantiated. 

Come, L— derd— e, and tell the world. 
That— surely as thy scratch is curl'd, 

As never scratch was curl'd before- 
Cheap eating does more harm than good. 
And working-people, spoil'd by food, 

The less they eat, will work the more. 

Come, G — lb— m, with thy glib defence 
(Which tbou'dst have made for Peter's 
Pence) 

Of Church- Rates, worthy of a halter; 
Two pipes of port {old port, 'twas said 
allusion to the natural history of the Unicorn, 
which is supposed to be something between the 
Bos and tiie A sinus, and, as Rees's Cyclopedia 
assures us, has a particular liking for every 
thing "chaste." 

* An item of expense which Mr. Hume in 
vain endeavored to get rid of :— trumpeters, it 
appears, like the men of All-Souls, must be 
"bencvestitV 

The gentleman, lately before the public. 



•who kept his Joi/ii^Stock Tea Company all to 
himsclC singing 



Tesoloadoro.' 



By honest Neio])OxiX) bought and paid 
"By Papists for the Orange Altar !§ 

Come, H — rt — n, with thy plan, so 

merry, 
For peopling Canada from Kerry — 

Not so much rendering Ireland quiet 
As grafting on the dull Canadians 
That liveliest of earth's contagions, 

The fctti^pock of Hibernian riot! 

Come all, in short, ye wondrous men 
Of wit and wisdom, come again ; 

Though short your absence, all de- 
plore it — 
Oh, come and show, what'er men say, 
That you can, after April-Day, 

Be just as— sapient as before it. 

MEMORABILIA OF LAST WEEK. 

MONDAY, MARCH 13, 1826. 

The Budget— quite chamiing and witty 

—no hearing, 

For plaudits and laughs, the good 

things that were in it ; — 

Great comfort to find, though the Speech 

isn't cheering, [minute. 

That all its gay auditors were, every 

What, still more prosperity !— mercy 

upon us, [as, already, 

"This boy'll be the death of me "—oft 

Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly 

undone us, [like Freddy. 

For Buin made easy there's no one 

TUESDAY. 

Much grave apprehension express'd by 
the Peers, 
Lest — calling to life the old Peachums 
and Lockitts — [three years. 
The large stock of gold we're to have in 
Should all find its way into highway- 
men's pockets III 
« » • » • 

WEDNESDAY. 

Little doing— for sacred, oh Wednesday, 
thou art [a table- 

To the seven-o'clock joys of full many 
J Sir John Newport. 

§ This charge of two pipes of port for the 
sacramental wine is a precious specimen of the 
sort of rates levied upon their Catholic fellow- 
parishioners by the Irish Protestants. 

" The thirst that from the soul doth rise 
Doth ask a driuk divine." 
II "Another objection to a metallic currency 
was, that it produced a greater number of high- 
way' robberieg. "—i?e*ate in the Lords. 



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586 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



"WTien the Members all meet, to make 

much of that part, [in the Fable. 

"With which they so rashly feU out, 

It appear'd, though, to-night, that— as 
church-wardens, yearly. 
Eat up a small baby— those cormo- 
rant sinners, [nearly 
The Bankrupt-Commissioners, bolt very 
A moderate-sized bankrupt, tout 
chaud, for their dinners !* 

Nota bene—a, rumor to-day, in the City, 
"Mr. R—ib— us— n just has resigned"— 

what a pity ! [hing, 

The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sob- 
When they heard of the fate of poor 

Cock Bohin; [pretty, 

While thus, to the nursery tune, so 
A murmuring Stock-AoxQ breathed her 

ditty :— 

Alas, poor Bobin, he crow'd as long 
And as sweet as a prosperous Cock 
could crow ; [finch's song 

But his note was small, and the gold- 
Was, a pitch too high for Robin to go. 
Who'll make his shroud f 

" I," said the Bank, " though he play' d 

me a prank, [be roU'd in 't, 

" While I have a rag, poor Bob shall 

"With many a pound I'll paper him 

round, [gold in't.'' 

" Like a plump rouleau — without the 



ALL m THE FAMILY WAT, 

A NEVy PASTORAL BALLAD. 
(SUNG IN THE CHAUACTER OF BRIT.VNNIA.) 

"The rnblic Debt is due from ourselves, to 
ourselves, and resolves itself into a Family 
Account."— .Sir Robert Peel's Letter. 
Tune.— ilT!/ hanks are all furnish' d with bees. 
Mt banks are all furaish'd with rags. 

So thick, eveu Freddy can't thin 'em ; 
I've torn up my old money-bags. 

Having httle or naught to put in 'em. 
My tradesmen are smashing by dozens, 

But this is all nothing, they say ; 
For bankrupts, since Adam, are cou- 

So, it's aU m the family way. [sins, — 

My Debt not a penny takes firem me, 
As sages the matter explain ;— 

* Mr. Abercromby's statement of the enor- 
mous tavern bills of the Commiisiouers of 
Bankrupts. 



Bob owes it to Tom, and then Tommy 
Just owes it to Bob back again. 

Since aU have thus taken to owing, 
There's nobody left that can pay ; 

And this is the way to keep going, — 
AU quite in the family way. 

My senators vote away millions, 

To put in Prosperity's budget ; 
And though it were billions or trilUons, 

The generous rogues wouldn't grudge 
'Tis all but a family hop, [it. 

'Twas Pitt began dancing the hay; 
Hands round ! —why the deuce should 

'Tls all in the family way. [we stop ? 

My laborers used to eat mutton, 

As any great man of the State does ; 
And now the poor devils are put on 

Small rations of tea and potatoes. 
But cheer up, John, Sawney, and Paddy, 

The King is your father, they say ; 
So, ev'n if you starve for your Daddy, 

'Tis all in the family way. 

My rich manufacturers tumble. 

My poor ones have nothing to chew ; 
And, even if themselves do not grumble, 

Their stomachs undoubtedly do. 
But coolly to fast en famille. 

Is as good for the soul as to pray ; 
And famine itself is genteel. 

When one starves in a family way. 

I have found out a secret for Freddy, 

A secret for next Budget day ; 
Though, perhaps, he may know it al- 

As he, too, 's a sage in his way. [ready, 
When next for the Treasury scene he 

Announces "the Devil to pay," 
Let him write on the biUs, " Nota bene, 

"■ 'Tis all in the family way." 



BALLAD FOR THE CAMBRIDGE 
ELECTION. 

'■ I authorized my Committee to take the step 
which they did, of proposing a fair comparisou 
of strenfith, upon the understanding that which- 
ever of the two should prove to be the weakest, 
should give way to the other." — Extract from 
Mr. W. J. B—kes's Letter to 2Ir. G—lb—n. 

B — KES is weak, and G — lb— n too, 
No one e'er the fact denied ; — 

Which is the " weakest" of the two 
Cambridge can alone decide. 

Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 

Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 

G — lb— n of the Pope afraid is, 
B— kes, as much afraid as he ; 




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SATIRICAL Ain) HUMOROITS POEMS. 



587 



Never yet did two old ladies 
On this point so well agree. 
Choose between them, Cambridge, pray. 
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 

Each a different mode pursues, 
Each the same conclusion reaches ; 

B — lies is foolish in Reviews, 
G— lb — n, foolish in his speeches. 

Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 

"Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 

Each a different foe doth damn, 
When his own affairs have gone ill ; 

B — kes he damneth Buckingham, 
G— lb— n damneth Dan O'ConneU. 

Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 

Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 

Once, we know, a horse's neigh 
Fix'd th' election to a throne, 

So, whichever first shall brw/, 
Choose him, Cambridge, for thy own. 

Choose him, choose him by his bray, 

Thus elect him, Cambridge, pray. 
June, 1826. 



MR. ROGER DODSWORTH. 

1826. 
TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES. 

Sir— Having just heard of the wonderful res- 
Tirrection of Mr. Koger Dodsworth from under 
an avalanche, where ho had remained, bien 
/rappe. it seems, for the last 166 years, I hasten 
to impart to you a few reflections on tlie suu- 
ject. 
Yours, &c. Laudator Tempori8 Acti. 

What a lucky turn up !— just as El- 

d — n's withdrawing, [year 

To find thus a gentleman, fi-oz'n in the 

Sixteen hundred and sixty, who only 

wants thawing, [as the Peer ;— 

To serve for our times quite as well 

To bring thus to light, not the Wisdom 

alone [on our shelves, 

Of our Ancestors, such as 'tis found 

But, in perfect condition, full-wigg'd and 

full-grown, [themselves! 

To shovel up one of those wise bucks 

Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth, and send him 

safe home — [on the way ; 

Let him learn nothing useful or new 

With his wisdom kept snug from the light 

let him come. 

And our Tories wiU hail him with 

" Hear I" and " Hurra !" 



What a God-send to them /—a good, ob- 
solete man, [been a reader ; — 
Who has never of Locke or Voltaire 
Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth as fast as you 
can, [shall choose him for leader. 
And the L — nsd— les and H — rtf— rds 

Yes, sleeper of ages, thou shalt be their 

chosen ; [row, good men. 

And deeply with thee will they sor- 

To think that all Europe has, since thou 

wert frozen, [ again. 

So alter'd, thou hardly wilt know it 

And Eld— n will weep o'er each sad in- 
novation [that he 
Such oceans of tears, thou wilt fancy 
Has been also laid up in a long congela- 
tion, [er, like thee. 
And is only now thawing, dear Rog- 

COPY OF AN INTERCEPTED DIS- 
PATCH. 

from his excellency don strepitoso diabo- 

LO, ENVOY extraordinary TO HIS SATANIC 
MAJESTY. 

St. James's Street, July 1, 1826. 

Great Sir, having just had the good 
luck to catch [to go. 

An official young Demon, preparing 
Ready booted "and spiu-r'd, with a black- 
leg dispatch, [to our Hell, below — 
From the HeU here, at Cr— ckf— rd's, 

I write these few lines to your Highness 

Satanic, [directions. 

To say that, first having obey'd your 

And done all the mischief I could in 

" the Panic," [Elections. 

My next special care was to help tne 

Well knowing how dear were those times 

to thy soul, [his brother. 

When every good Christian tormented 

And caused, in thy realm, such a saving 

of coal, [by each other ; 

From all coming down, ready grill'd 

Rememb'ring, besides, how itpain'd thee 

to part [d'oeuvre of Law, 

With the Old Penal Code— that chef- 

In which (though to own it too modest 

thou art) [touch of thy claw ; 

We could plainly perceive the fine 

I thought, as we ne'er can those good 
times revive, 
(Though Eld— n, with help from your 
Highness, would try,) 



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588 




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'Twould still keep a taste for Hell's music 
alive, 
Could we get up a thund'ring No-Po- 
pery cry ;— 
That yell which, when chorus'd by laics 
and clerics, 
So hke is to ours, in its spmt and tone, 
That I often nigh laugh myself into 
hysterics, [it her own. 

To think that Keligion should make 

So, having sent down for th' origiual 

notes [ty's choir, 

Of a chorus, as sung by your Majes- 

With a few pints of lava, to gargle the 

throats [it " with fire,"* 

Of myself and some others, who sing 

Thought I, "if the Marseillais Hymn 

could command 

"Such audience, though yell'd by a 

Sans-culotte crew, [in our band, 

"What wonders shall we do, who've men 

"That not only wear breeches, but 

petticoats too." 

Such then were my hopes ; but, with 

sorrow, your 'Highness, 

I'm forced to confess— be the cause 

what it will, [ness, or shyness, — 

"WTiether fewness of voices, or hoarse- 

Our Beelzebub chorus has gone off 

but ill. 

The truth is, no placeman now knows 

his right key, [various ; 

The Treasury pitch-pipe of late is so 

And certain base voices, that look'd for 

a fee [it precarious. 

At the TorA; music-meeting, now think 

Even some of our Reverends mighthsiYe 
been warmer, — [we've had; 
Though one or two capital roarers 
"^octor Wiset is, for instance, a charm- 
ing performer, [not bad ! 
And Huntingdon Maberly's yell was 

Altogether, however, the thing was not 

hearty; — [so so; 

Even Eld— n allows we got on but 

And when next we attempt a ifo-Pope- 

ry party, [emit from below. 

"We must, please your Highness, re- 

• Confuoco—a. music-book direction. 

t This reverend gentleman distinguished him- 
self at tlie Reading election. 

J"A measure of wheat for a penny, and 
threo measures of barley for a penny."— iiet). vi. 



But hark, the young Black-leg is crack- 
ing his whip — [to be civil ;^ 
Excuse me, Great Sir — there's no time 
The next opportunity shan't be let sUp, 
But, till then, 
I'm, in haste, your most dutiful 

Devil. 

July, 1826. 



THE MILLEI^IUM. 



A Millennium at hand!— I'm delighted 

to hear it — [now go. 

As matters, both public and private, 

"With multitudes round us all starving, 

or near it, [ « propos. 

A good rich Millennium will come 

Only think. Master Fred, what delight 

to behold, [of Eags, 

Instead of thy bankrupt old City 

A bran-new Jerusalem, built all of gold, 

Sound buUion throughout, from the 

roof to the flags — 

A City, where wine and cheap com} 

shall abound — [tery shelves 

A celestial Cocaigne, on whoso but- 

"We may swear the best things of this 

world will be found. 

As your Saints seldom fail to take 

care of themselves ! 

ThanliS, reverend expounder of raptures 

Elysian, § [in reach 

Divine Squintifobus, who, placed with- 

Of two opposite worlds, by a twist of 

your vision, [look at each ; — 

Can cast, at the same time, a sly 

Thanks, thanks for the hopes thou af- 

fordest, that we [lee share. 

May, ev'n in our own times, a Jubi- 

"Which so long has been promised by 

prophets like thee, [despair. 

And so often postponed, we began to 

There was "Whiston,!! who learnedly 
took Prince Eugene 
For the man who must bring the 
Millennium about ; 

§ See the oration of this reverend gentleman, 
where ho describes the connubial joys of Para, 
disc, and paints the angels hovering round 
"each happv pair." 

n When \Vhi8ton preaented to Prince Eu' 



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SATIEICAL A.WD HUMOROUS POEMS. 



There's Faber, -whose pious productions 
have been 
All belied, ere his book's first edition 
was out ; — 

There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an 

Irish M. P., [signaHcte^, 

"Who discoursed on the subject with 

And, each day of his life, sat expecting 

to see [of Armagh!* 

A Millennium break out in the town 

There was also — but why should I bur- 
den my lay 
With your Brotherses, Southcotes, 
and names less deserving, 
"WTien all past Millenniums henceforth 
must give way [Irv — ng. 

To the last new Millennium of Orator 

Go on, mighty man, — doom them aU to 

the shelf,— 

And when next thou with Prophecy 

troublest thy sconce, [thyself 

Oh forget not, I pray thee, to prove that 

Art the Beast (Chapter iv.) that sees 

nine ways at once. 

THE THREE DOCTORS. 

Dootoribns Isetamur tribus. 

1826. 

Though many great Doctors there be. 
There are three that all Doctors out- 
top, 
Doctor Eady, that famous M. D., 
Doctor S— th— y, and dear Doctor 
Slop.t 
The purger— the proser— the bard — 

All quacks in a different style ; 
Doctor S— th— y writes books by the 
yard, 
Doctor Eady writes puffs by the mile !{ 

Doctor Slop, in no merit outdone 
By his scribbling or physicking brother, 

peue the Essay ia which he nttempted to 
counect his victories overthe Turks with Keve- 
lation, the Prince is said to hare replictl, that 
" lie was not aware he hart ever had tlie honor 
of being known to St. John." 

* Mr. Dobbs was a member of the Irish Par- 
liament, and, on all other subjects but the Mil- 
lennium, a very sensible person : he chose 
Armagh as the scene of his Millennium, on ac- 
couut of the name Armageddon, mentioned in 
Revelation. 

t The editor of the Morning Herald, so nick- 
named. 

{ Alluding to the display of this doctor's 
name, ia chalk, on all the walla round th« me- 
tropolis. 



Can dose us with stuff like the one. 
Ay, and doze us with stuff like the 
other. 

Doctor Eady good company keeps 
With "No Popery" scribes on the 
waUs ; 
Doctor S— th— y as gloriously sleeps 
"With "No Popery" scribes, on the 
stalls. 

Doctor Slop, upon subjects divine, 
Such bedlamite slaver lets drop, 

That, if Eady should take the mad line, 
He'll be sure of a patient in Slop. 

Seven millions of Papists, no less, 
Doctor S— th— y attacks, like a Turk;§ 

Doctor Eady, less bold, I confess. 
Attacks but his maid-of-aII-work.|| 

Doctor S— th— y, for his grand attack, 
Both a laureate and pensioner is ; 

"While poor Doctor Eady, alaclc, 
Has been had up t© Bow-street for his 

And truly, the law does eo blunder. 
That, though httle blood has been 
spiU'd, he 

May probably suffer, as . jader 
The Chalking Act, known to be giulty. 

So much for the merit? ublime [stop) 
(With whose catalogue ne'er should I 

Of the three greatest lights of our time. 
Doctor Eady, and S— th — y, and Slop ! 

Should you ask me t( ■ which of the three 
Great Doctors the preference should 

As a matter of course, I agree [fall, 
Doctor Eady must go to the wall. 

But as S— th— y with laurels is crown'd, 
And Slop with a wig and a tail is. 

Let Eady's bright temples be bound 
With a swingeing "Corona Afitrafe. "'I 

§ This seraphic doctor, in the preface to his 
last work, (Vindicice Ecclesice Anglicance,) is 
pleased to anathematize not only all Catholics, 
but all advocates of Catholics:— "They have 
for their immediate allies (ho says) every fac- 
tion that is banded against the State, every 
demagogue, every irreligious and seditious 
journalist, every open and every insidious 
enemy to Monarchy and to Christianity." 

II See the late accounts in the newspapers of 
the appearance of this gentleman at one of the 
Policeofflccs, in consequence of an alleged 
assault on his " maid-of-all-work." 

t A crown granted as a reward among the 
Romans to persons who performed any extra, 
ordinurj exploits upon waUs, such as scaling 



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MOORE'S WORKS. 



EPITAPH ON" A TUFT-HUNTER. 

Lament, lament, Sir Isaac Heard, 
Put mourning round thy page,Debrett, 

For here lies one, who ne'er prefeiT'd 
A Yiscount to a Marquis jet. 

Beside him place the God of Wit, 
Before him beauty's rosiest girls, 

Apollo for a star he'd quit. 
And Love's Cvvn sister for an Earl's. 



Did niggard fate no peers afford, 
He took, of course, to peers' relations ; 

And, rather than not sport a Lord, 
Put up with ev'n the last creations. 

Even Irish names, could he but tag 'em 
"With "Lord" and "Duke," were 
sweet to call ; 

And, at a pinch, Lord BaUyraggum 
Was better than no Lord at all. 

Heaven grant him now some noble nook, 
For, rest his soul ! he'd rather be 

Genteelly damn'd beside a Duke, 
Than saved in vulgar company. 



ODE TO A HAT. 

"altum 

^dificat caput." 



Juvenal. 

1826. 



Hail, reverend Hat ! — sublime 'mid all 
The minor felts that round thee gro- 
vel ; — 
Thou, that the Gods ''a Delta" call. 
While meaner mortals call thee 
" shovel." 

When on thy shape (like pyramid, 

Cut horizontally in two),* 
I raptured gaze, what dreams, unhid, 

Of stalls and mitres bless my view ! 
That brim of brims, so sleekly good— 

Not flapp'd, like dull Wesleyans', 
down. 
But looking (as all churchmen's should) 

Devoutly upward— towards the crown. 

Gods ! when I gaze upon that brim, 

So redolent of Church all over, 
What swarms of Tithes, in vision dim, — 
Some pig-taii'd, some hke Cherubim, 
With ducklings' wings— around it 
hover! 

them, battering th&m, &c.— No doubt, writing 
npi.n them, to the extent Dr. Eady does, would 
equally cstal)lish a claim to the honor. 

* So described by a Reverend Historian of 
the Church :— " A Delta hat, like the horizontal 



Tenths of aU dead and living things. 
That Nature into being brings. 
From calves and com to chitterlings. 

Say, holy Hat, that hast, of cocks. 
The very cock most orthodox, 
To which, of all the well-fed throng 
Of Zion,t joy'st thou to belong? 
Thou'rt not Sir Harcourt Lee's — no- 

For hats grow like the heads that 
wear 'em ; 
And hats, on heads like his, would grow 

Particularly harum-scarum. [pate 
WTio knows but thou may'st deck the 
Of that famed Doctor Ad— mth— te, 
(The reverend rat, whom we saw stand 
On his hind-legs in Westmoreland, ) 
Who changed so quick from blue to yel- 
low, 

And would from yellow back to blue, 
And back again, convenient fellow. 

If 'twere his interest so to do. 

Or, haply, smartest of triangles. 

Thou art the hat of Doctor Ow—n ; 
The hat that, to his vestry wrangles, 

That venerable priest doth go in,- 
And, then and there, amid the stare 
Of all St. Olave's, takes the chair, 
And quotes, with phiz right orthodox, 

Th' example of his reverend brothers, 
To prove that priests all fleece their 
flocks. 

And he must fleece as weU as others. 

Bless'd Hat ! (whoe'er thy lord may be) 
Thus low I take off mine to thee. 
The homage of a layman's castor, 
To the spruce delta of his pastor. 
Oh may'st thou be, as thou proceedest, 

Still smarter cock'd, still brush'd the 
brighter, 
Till, bowing all the way, thou leadest 

Thy sleek possessor to a mitre ! 

NEWS FOR COUNTRY COUSINS. 

1826. 

Dear Coz, as I know neither you nor 
Miss Draper, [paper. 

When Parliament's up, ever take in a 

But trust for your news to such stray 
odds and ends [friends— 

As you chame to pick up from political 

section of a pyramid."— Grant's History oj 

the English Church. 
f Archbishop Magee affectionately calls the 

Church Establishment of Ireland "the little 

Ziou.' 




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SATIRICAL AXD HUMOROUS POEMS. 



591 



Being one of this well-inform'd class, I 

sit down [ that's in town. 

To transmit you the last newest news 

As to Greece and Lord Cochrane, things 

couldn't look better — 
His Lordship (who promises now to 

fight faster) [off a letter 

Has just taken Rhodes, and dispatch'd 

To Daniel O'Connell, to make him 

Grand Master ; [can, 

Engaging to change the old name, if he 
From the Knights of St. John to the 

Knights of St. Dan ;— [whim) 
Or, if Dan should prefer (as a still better 
Being made the Colossus, 'tis aU one to 

him. 

From Russia the last accounts are that 

the Czar — [reigns are, 

Most generous and kind, as all sove- 
And whose first princely act (as you 

know, I suppose) [old clothes* — 
Was to give away all his late brother's 
Is now busy collectmg, with brotherly 

care, [t hink s of bestowing 

The late Emperor's night-caps, and 

One nightcap apiece (if he has them to 

spare) [going. 

On all the distinguish'd old ladies now 

(While I write, an arrival from Riga — 

the "Brothers" — 
Having nightcaps on board for Lord 

Eld — n and others.) 
Last advices from India — Sir Archy, 'tis 

thought, [ever caught 

Was near catching a Tartar, (the first 
In N. Lat. 21.)— and His Highness Bur- 
mese, 
Being very hard press'd to shell out the 

rupees, [say, meant 

And not having rhino sufficient, they 
To pawn his august Golden Foott for 

the payment, [when they choose, 
(How lucky for monarchs, that thus, 
Can establish a runnmg account with 

the Jews !) [calls "goot," 

The security being what Rothschild 
A loan will be shortly, of com'se, set on 

foot; " [and Co. 

The parties are Rothschild, A. Baring 
With three other great pawnbrokers: 

each takes a toe. 
And engages (lest Gold-foot should give 

us leg-haW, [the nail. 

As he did once before) to pay down on 

* A distribution was made of the Emperor 

Alexander's military wardrobe hj bis successor. 



This is all for the present — what vile pens 
and paper J Mies Draper. 

Tom-s truly, dear Cousin — best love to 
September, 1826. 

A YISIOK 

BY THE AUTHOR OF CHRISTaBEL. 

"Up !" said the Spirit, and, ere I could 
One hasty orison, whirl'd me away [pray 
To n Limbo, lying — I wist not where — 
Above or below, in earth or an ; [light. 
For it glimmer'd o'er with a doubtful 
One couldn't say whether 'twas day or 

night ; 
And 'twas cross'd by many a mazy track. 
One didn't know how to get on or back ; 
And I felt lika a needle that's going 

astray [of hay ; 

(With its one eye out) through a bundle 
When the Spirit he grinn'd, and whis- 

per'd mo, [eery !" 

"Thou'rt now in the Court of Chan- 

Around me flitted unnumber'd swarms 
Of shapeless, bodiless, tailless forms ; 
(Like bottled-up babes, that grace the 
room [Home)— 

Of that worthy knight, Sir Everard 
AU of them, things half-kiU'd inrearing; 
Some were lame — some wanted heariny; 
Some had through half a century run, 
Though they hadn't a, Ic j to stand upon. 
Others, more meny, as ju:t beginning, 
Around on ajwintoflaw were rpinning ; 
Or balanced aloft, 'tvv'ist Billsmd Answer, 
Lead at each end, like a tight-ropo dan- 
cer, [please 'cm ; — 
Some were so cross, that nothing could 
Some gulp'd down affidavits to ease 

'em ; — 
All were in motion, yet never a one, [on. 
Let it move as it might, could ever move 
"These," said the Spirit, "you plainly 

" Are what they call Suits in Chancery !" 

I heard a loud screaming of old and 

young, 
Like a choras by fifty VeUutis sung ; 
Or an Irish Dump ("the words by 

Moore" ■> [score ; 

At an amateur concert Rcream'd in 
So harsh on my ear that wailing fell 
Of the wretches who in this Limbo 

dweU! 
t This potentate styles himself the Monarch 
of the Golden Toot. 



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5I» 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



It seem'd like the dismal symphony 
Of the shapes ^neas in hell did see; [cook 
Or those frogs, whose legs a barbarous 
Cut off, and left the frogs in the brook, 
To cry all night, till life's last dregs, 
"Give us our legs ! — give us our legs !" 
Touch'd with the sad and son'owful 

scene, 
I ask'd what all this yell might mean, 
When the Spirit replied, with the grin 

of glee, [eery !" 

'"Tis the cry of the Suitors in Chan- 

I look'd, and I saw a wizard rise,* 
"With a wig like a cloud before men's eyes. 
In his agud hand he hold a wand, 
Wherewith he beckon'd his embryo band, 
j^nd they moved and moved, as he 
waved it o'er, [more. 

But they never got on one inch the 
And still they kept lirnping to and fro. 
Like Ariels round old Prospero — 
Saying, " Dear Master, let us go," 
But stiU old Prospero answefd "l^o." 
And I heard, the while, that wizard elf 
Muttering, muttering spells to himself. 
While o'er as many old papers he tum'd. 
As Hume e'er moved for, or Omar burn'd. 
He talk'd of his virtue—" though some, 
less nice, [Vice,"— 

(He own'd with a sigh) preferr'd his 
And he said, " I think" — " I doubt" — 
"I hope,'' [Pope; 

Call'd God to witness, and damn'd the 
"With many more sleights of tongue and 
hand [stand. 

I couldn't, for the soul of me, under- 
Amazed and posed, I wasjust about [out, 
To ask Lis name, when the screams with- 
The merciless clack of the imps within, 
And that conjuror's mutterings, made 
such a din, [bed — 

That, startled, I woke— leap d up in my 
Found the Spirit, the imps, and the con- 
juror fled, [see, 
And bless'd my stars, right pleased to 
That I wasn't, rs yet, in Chancery. 

THE PETITION OF THE ORANGE- 
MEN OF IRELAND. 

1826. 

To the people of England, the humble 
Petition [showing — 

Of Ireland's disconsolate Orangemen, 

* The Lord Chancellor Eld— n. 

i To such important discussions as these the 
greater part of Dr. Soutliey's Vindicice Eccle- 
tide Anglicance is devoted. 



That sad, very sad, is our present con- 
dition ; — [selves going ; — 
Our jobbing all gone, and om* noble 

That, fonning one seventh, within a few 
fractions, [heads and hearts, 

Of Ireland's seven millions of hot 
"We hold it the basest of all base trans- 
actions [six parts ; — 
To keep us from murd'ring the other 

That, as to laws made for the good of 

the many, [less true ; 

"We humbly suggest there is nothing 

As all human laws (and our own more 

than any) [few ; — 

Are made by and for a particular 

That much it delights every true 
Orange brother, [evince, 

To see you, in England, such ardor 
In discussing wMcli sect most torment- 
ed the other 
And burn'd with most 
hundred years since. 

That we love to behold, while Old En- 
gland grows faint, [ing to blows, 
Messrs. Southey and Butler nigh com- 
To decide whether Dunstan, that 
strong-bodied Saint, [il's nose; 
Ever truly and really puil'd the Dev- 

"Whether t'other Saint, Dominic, burnt 

the Devil's paw— 

■Whether Edwy intrigued with Elgi- 

va's old mother— t 

And many such points, from which 

Southey can draw [each other. 

Conclusions most apt for our hating 

That 'tis very weU known this devout 

Irish nation [ly on, 

Has now, for some ages, gone happi- 

Believing in two kinds of Substantia 

tion, [in Con.] 

One party in Trans and the other in 

That we, your petitioimig Cons, have, 

in right [lands, 

Of the monosyllable, ravaged the 

And embezzled the goods,, and annoy' d, 

day and night. 

Both the bodies anu -ouls of the 

sticklers for Trans;— 

\ Consubstantiation— the true Kefouned be- 
lief; at least, the belief of Luther, and, as 
Mosheim asserts, of Melancthon also. 




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SATIRICAL AlfD HUMOROUS POEMS. 



593 



That we trust to Peel, Eldon, and 
other such sages, [state of mind ; 
For keeping us still in the same 
Pretty mueh as the world used to be in 
those ages, [den'd mankind ;— 
"When stiU smaller syllables mad- 
When the words ex and per* served as 
well, to annoy 
One's neighbors and Mends with, as 
con and trans now ; 
And Christians, like S— th— y, who 
stickled for oi. 
Cut the throats of all Christians who 
stickled for ou,\ 

That, relying on England, whose kind- 
ness already [game o'er, 
So often has help'd us to play this 
We have got our red coats and our 
carabines ready, [as before. 
And wait but the word to show sport, 

That, as to the expense — the few mil- 
lions or so, [Bull has to pay— 
Which for all such diversions John 
'Tis, at least, a great comfort to John 
Bull to know, [all find its way. 
That to Orangemen's pockets 'twill 
For which your petitioners ever will 
pray, 

&c., <fec., &c., &c., (fee. 



COTTON AND CORN. 

A DIALOGUE. 

Sa'-^ Cotton to Cora, f other day, 
As they met and exchanged a sa- 
lute — 

(Squu'o Com in his carriage so gay. 
Poor Cotton, half famish'd, on foot:) 

■' Great Squh-e, if it isn't uncivil 
" To hint at starvation before you, 

" Look down on a poor hungry devil, 
"And give him some bread, I im- 
plore you !" 

Quoth Corn then, in answer to Cotton, 
Perceiving he meant to make free— 

" Low fellow, you've surely forgotten 
" The distance between you and me ! 

" To expect tlirot we, Peers of high birth, 
" Should waste our ihustrious acres, 
* When John of Rngiija went to Constanti- 
nople, (iit the time this dispute between "ex" 
ami " per " was going on,) he found the Turks, 
we are told, "laughing at the Christians for 
being divided by two such iasignilicant pani- 
cleg.^' 



" For no other purpose on earth 
"Than to fatten cursed caUco-ma- 
kers ! — 

"That Bishops to bobbins should 
bend — [sublimity, 

" Should stoop from their Bench's 
" Great dealers in lawn, to befriend 
" Such contemptible dealers in dim- 
ity ! 

" No— vile Manufacturer ! ne'er harbor 
"A hope to be fed at our boards ; — 

"Base offspring of Arkwright the bar- 
ber, [Lords ? 
" What claim canst thou have upon 

No— thanks to the taxes and debt, 
" And the triumph of paper o'er 
guineas, 
" Our race of Lord Jemmy s, as yet, 
"May defy your whole rabble of 
Jennys J" 

So saying — whip, crack, and away 
Went Com in his chaise through the 
throng. 
So headlong, I heard them all say, 
" Squire Com would be down before 
long." 



THE CANONIZATION OP SAINT 
B-TT— RW— RTH. 

"A Christian of the best edition."— Rabelais. 
Canonize him !— yea. verily, we'll can- 
onize him ; [dling his bliss. 
Though Cant is his hobby, and med 
Though sages may pity, and -nits may 
despise him, f Saint for all this. 
He'U ne'er make a bit the worse 

Descend, all ye Spirits, that ever yet 
spread [and o'er sea, 

The Dominion of Humbug o'er laud 
Descend on our B— tt— rw— rth's bibli- 
cal head, [M. P. 
Thrice-Great Bibliopolist, Saint, and 

Come, shade of Joa::na, come down 

from thy sphere, [far— - 

And bring little Shiloh— if 'tisn't too 

Such a sight wiU to B — tt— rw — rth's 

bosom be dear, [on a par. 

His conceptions and thine being much 



T The Arian controversy.— Before that time, 
says Hooker, " in i-rder to be a sound believing 
istian, men were not curious what sjllablea 
or particles of speech they used." 




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594 



MOOEE'S WOKKS. 



If or blush, Saint Joanna, once more to 
behold [iug so many; 

A world thou hast honoi-'d by cheat- 
Thou'lt find still among us one Person- 
age old, 
Who also by tricks and the Seals* 
a penny. 



Thou, too, of the Shakers, divine Mother 

Lee!t 

Thy smiles to beatified B— tt— r- 

w— rth deign; 

Two "lights of the Gentiles" arc thou, 

Anne, and he, [Toad Lane IJ 

One hallowing Fleet Street, and f other 

The Heathen, we know, made their 

Gods out of wood. 

And Saints may be framed of as 

handy materials ; — 

Old women and B — tt — rw — rths make 

just as good [Ethereals. 

is any the Pope ever book'd as 

Stand forth, Man of Bibles !— not Ma- 
homet's pigeon, 
"WTien, perch 'd on the Koran, he 
dropp'd there, they say, 
Strong marks of his faith, ever shed 
o'er religion [every day. 

Such glory as B--tt--rw— rth sheds 

Great Galen of souls, with what vigor 

he crams [they crack again, 

Down Erin's idolatrous throats, till 

Bolus on bolus, good man ! — and then 

damns 

Both their stomachs and souls, if they 

dare cast them back again. 

How weU might his shop — as a type re- 
presenting [fied clan, 
The creed of himself and his sancti- 
on its counter exhibit "the Art of Tor- 
menting," [Duty of Man !" 
Bound neatly, and letter'd " Whole 

Canonize him ! — by Judas, we will can- 
onize him ; [his bliss ; 

For Cant is his hobby and twaddling 

* A great partof tlie income of Joanna South- 
cott arose from the Seals of the Lord's protec- 
tion which she sold to her followers. 

t Mi-s. Anne Lee. the " chosen vessel " of the 
Shakers, and "Mother of all the children of 
regeneration." 

J Toad Lane, in Manchester, where Mother 
Lee was born. In her "Address to Young 
Believers," she says, that " it is a matter of no 
importance with them from whence the means 
of their deliverance come, whether from a 



And, though wise men may pity and 
wits may despise him. 
He'll make but the better shop-aaxat 
for all this. 

Call quickly together the whole tribe of 
Canters, [the nation ; 

Convoke aU the serious Tag-rag ©f 
Bring Shakers and Snufflers and Jump- 
ers and Ranters, [onization ! 
Towitness their B—tt — rw — th's Can- 
Yea, humbly I've ventured his merits 
to pamt, [portray. 
Tea, feebly have tried all his gifts to 
And they form a sum-total for making 
a Saint, [not gainsay. 
That the Devil's own Advocate could 

Jump high, all ye Jumpers, ye Eanters 
all roar, [raised from your eyes, 
While B—tt — rw — rth's spirit, up- 
Like a kite made of foolscap, in glory 
shall soar, [the skies ! 

With a long tail of rubbish behind, to 



AS INCANTATION". 

SONG BY THE BUBBLE SPIRIT. 

Air. — Come with me, and we will go 
Where the rocks of coral grow. 

Come with me, and we will blow 
Lots of bubbles, as we go ; 
Bubbles, bright as ever Hope 
Drew fi-om fancy — or from soap ; 
Bright as e'er the South Sea sent 
Prom its frothy element ! 
Come with me, and we will blow 
Lots of bubbles as we go. 
Mis the lather, Johnny W — Iks, 
Thou, who rhym'st so well to bilks ;^ 
Mix the lather— who can be 
Fitter for such task than thee, 
Great M. P. for Sudshmj ! 

Now the frothy charm is ripe, 
Pufling Peter,|| bring thy pipe, — 
Thou, whom ancient Coventry 
Once so dearly loved, that she 

stable in Bethlehem, or from Toad Lane, Man 
Chester." 

5 Strong indications of character may be 
sometimes traced in the rhymes to names. 
Marvell thought so, when he wrote 

" Sir Edward Sutton, 
The foolish Knight who rhymes to mutton." 

II The member, during a long period, for Cot> 
entry. 




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SATIRICAL AlfD HUMOROUS POEMS. 



595 



Knew not which to her was sweeter, 
Peeping Tom or Puffing Peter ; — 
Pufl* the bubbles high in air, 
PuiF thy best to keep them there. 

Bravo, bravo, Peter M — re ! 
Now the rainbow humbugs* soar, 
Glitt'ring all with golden hues, 
Suchas haunt the dreams of Jews; — 
Some, reflecting mines that lie 
Under Chili's glowing sky, 
Some, those virgin pearls that sleep 
Cloister'd in the southern deep ; 
Others, as if lent a ray 
From the streaming Milky TVay, 
Glist'ning o'er with curds and whey 
From the cows of Aldemey. 

N"ow's the moment — who shall first 
Catch the bubbles, ere they burst? 
Run, ye Squires, ye Viscounts, run, 
Br— g'd— n, T— ynh— m, P— Im — 

t— n; — 
John "W" — Iks junior runs beside ye ! 
Take the good the knaves provide 

ye!t 
See, with uptum'd eyes and hands. 
Where the Shareman,t Br — gd — n. 
Gaping for the froth to fall [ stands, 
Down his gullet— lye and all. 
See ! [out- 

put, hark, my time is 
Ifow, like some great water-spout, 
Scatter'd by the cannon's thunder. 
Burst, ye bubbles, all asunder ! 

[Here the stage darkens — a discordant crash 
is heard from the orchestra — the broken bubbles 
descend in a saponaceous but uncleanly mist 
over the heads of the Dramatic Personce. and the 
scene drops, leaving the bubble-hunters — all in 
the suds.'\ 



A DREAM OF TURTLE. 

BY SIS. W. CUKTIS. 

1826. 

'TwAS evening time, in the twilight 

sweet [meet 

I sail'd along, when — whom should I 

* An humble imitation of one of our modern 
poets, who, in a poem agiiinst war, after de- 
scribing the splendid habiliments of the soldier, 
thus apostrophizes him— "thou rainbow ruffian!" 

t " Lovely Thais sits beside thee : 

Take the good the Gods provide thee." 

{ So called by a sort of Tuscan dulcification 
of the ch, m the word " Chairnmn." 

§ We are told that the passport of this grand 
diplomatic Turtle (sent by the Secretary for 



But a Turtle journeying o'er the sea, 
" On the service of his Majesty."^ 

When spying him first through twilight 

dim, 
I didn't know what to make of him ; 
But said to myself, as slow he phed 
His fins, and roll'd from side to side 
Conceitedly o'er the watery path — 
" 'Tis my Lord of St— w— 11 taking a 

bath, 
" And I hear him now, amongthe fishes, 
" Quoting Yatel and Burgersdicius !" 

But, no — 'twas, indeed, a Turtle, wide 
And plump as ever these eyes descried ; 
A Turtle, juicy as ever yet 
Glued up the lips of a Baronet ! 
And much did it grieve my soul to see 
That an animal of such dignity 
Like an absentee abroad should roam, 
When he ought to stay and be ate at 
home. 

But now " a change came o'er my 
dream," [der ;— 

Like the magic lantern's shifting sli- 
I look'd, and saw, by the evening beam, 
On the back of that Tm-tle sat a ri- 
der — 
A goodly man, with an eye so merry 
I knew 'twas our Foreign Secretary, \i 
Who there, at his ease, did sit auA 



Like Waterton on his crocodile ;1[ 
Cracking such jokes, at ev'ry motion, 

As made the Turtle speak with glee. 
And own they gave him a lively notion 

Of what his /orced-meat balls would 
be. 

So, on the Sec. in his glory went. 
Over that briny element. 
Waving his hand, as he took farewell, 
With graceful air, and bidding me tell 
Inquiring friends that the Turtle and he 
Were gone on a foreign embassy — 
To soften the head of a Dijylomate, 
Who is known to doat upon verdant fat, 
And to let admu-ing Europe see. 

Foreign Affairs to a certain noble envoy) do- 
scribed him as •' on his majesty's service/' 

dapibns supremi 

Grata testudo Jovis. 

II Mr. Canning. 

If Wanderi.ngs in South America. "It was 
the first and last time (says Mr. Watetton) I 
s ever on a crocodile's back." 



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596 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



That calipash and calipee 

Are the English forms of Diplomacy. 

THE DONKEY AND HIS PAN- 
NIERS. 



" fessus jiim sudat asellns, 

"Parceilli; vestrum delicium est asiiius." 
ViUGiL, Copa. 

A Donkey, whose talent for burdens 

was wondrous, [in a load, 

So much that you'd swear he rejoiced 

One day had to jog under panniers so 

pond'rous, [smack ou the road ! 

That— down the poor Donkey fell 

His owners and drivers stood round in 

amaze — [perous Neddy, 

What ! Neddy, the patient, the pros- 

So easy to drive, through the duticst 

ways, [ready ! 

Tor every description of job-work so 

One driver (whom Ned might have 
" hail'd as a brother"*) 
Had just been proclaiming his Don- 
key's renown [other— 
For vigor, for spirit, for one thing or 
"When, lo, 'mid his praises, the Donkey 
came down ! 

But, how to upraise him — one shouts, 

f other whistles, [all, 

While Jenky the Conjuror, wisest of 

Declared that an " over-production of 

thistles,"t— [cause of his fall.'' 

(Here Ned gave a stare) " was the 

Another wise Solomon cries, as he 

passes — [wUl soon cease ; 

"There, let him alone, and the fit 

"The beast has been fighting with 

other jack-asses, [ to peace. ' " 

" And this is his mode of ' transition 

Some look'd at his hoofs, and, with 

learned grimaces, > 

Pronounced that too long without 

shoes he had gone— 

•*Let the blacksmith provide him a 

sound metal basis, [tc jog on." 

(The wise-acres said,) and he's sure 

* Alluding: to an early poem of Mr. Cole- 
rid^o's, addressed to an A.ss, and beginning, 
" 1 hail thee, lirotlier!" 

1 A certain country gentleman having said 
in the House "tliat we must return at last to the 
food of our ancestors." somebody asked Mr. T. 
" what food the gentleman meant ?" — " Thistles, 
I suppose," answered Mr. T. 



Meanwhile, the poor Neddy, in torture 
and fear, [to gi-oan ; 

Lay under his panniers, scarce able 
And— what was still dolefuUer— lend- 
ing an ear [match for his own. 
To advisers, whose ears were a 
At length, a plain rustic, whose wit 
went so far [as he pass'd — 

As tx) see others'" folly, roar'd out 
" Quick, oflFwith the panniers, all dolts 
as ye are, kick his last !" 

" Or your prosperous Neddy will soon 
October, 1826. 

ODE TO THE SUBLIME PORTE. 



Great Sultan, how wise are thy state 

compositions ! [Decree, 

And oh, above all, I admire that 

In which thou command'st, that all she 

politicians [in the sea. 

Shall forthwith be strangled and cast 

'Tis my fortune to know a lean Ben- 
thamite spinster— [puts ; 
A maid, who her faith in old Jeremy 
Who talks with a lisp, of " the last new 
Westminster." [upon Gluts ;" 
And hopes you're delighted with "Mill 

Who tells you how clever one Mr. Fun- 
blank is, [Nobility ; — 
How charming his Articles 'gainst the 
And assures you that even a gentleman's 
rank is, [ity. 
In Jeremy's school, of no sort of util- 

To see her, ye Gods, a new Number pe- 
rusing— [by PI— e ;} 
Art. 1. — " On the Needle's variations, 
Art. 2. — By her fav'rite Fun-blank§— 
so amusing ! [a Law case." 
"Dear man! he makes Poetry quite 

Art. 3. — "Upon Fallacies," Jeremy's 
own — [readers ;) — 
(Chief Fallacy being, his hope to find 
Art. 4. — " Upon Honesty," author un- 
known ; — [" Hints to Breeders." 
Art. 5.— (by the yoimg Mr. M ) 

J A celebrated political tailor. 

§ This pains-taking gentleman has been nt 
the trouble of counting, with the assistance of 
Cocker, the number of metaphors in Moore's 
" Life of Sheridan," and has found them to 
amount, as nearly as possible, to 2235— and 
some fractions. 




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SATIEICAL AND HUMOEOTTS POEMS. 



597 



Oh, Sultan, oh, Sultan, though oft for 
the bag [tempted to call- 

Anil the bowstring, like thee, I am 
Though drowning's too good for each 
blue-stocking hag, [of them all ! 
I would bag this she Benthamite first 

And, lest she should ever again lift her 

head [to renew — 

From the watery bottom, her clack 

As a clog, as a sinker, far better than 

lead, [darling Review. 

I would hang round her neck her own 



CORN AND CATHOLICS. 

'Otrum horum 

Dirius horum / Incerti Auctoris. 

"What! still those two infernal ques- 
tions, [mix — 

That with our meals, our slumbers 
That spoil om- tempers and digestions — 

Eternal Com and Catholics ! 

Gods ! were there ever two such bores? 

Nothing else talk'd of night or mom- 
Nothing in doors, or out of doors. 

But endless Catholics and Com ! 

Never was such a brace of pests- 
While Ministers, still worse than either, 

Skill'd but in feathering their nests. 
Plague us with both, and settle neither. 

So addled ia my cranium meet 
Popery and Cora, that oft I doubt, 

Whether, this year, 'twas bonded Wheat, 
Or bonded Papists, they let out. 

Here, landlords, here, polemics naQ you, 
Arm'd with all rabbish they can rake 
up; 
Prices and Texts at once assail you — 
From Daniel these, and ^/jose from Ja- 
cob.* 

And when you sleep, with head stiU 
torn [mix. 

Between the two, their shapes you 
Till sometimes Catholics seem Com — 

Then Com again seems Catholics. 

Now, Dantzic wheat before you floats — 
Now, Jesuits from Cahfomia — 

Now Ceres, link'd with Titus Oats, 
Comes dancing through the "Porta 
Cornea," j 

* Author of the late Report on Foreign Corn, 
t The Horn Gate, through which the ancienta 



Oft, too, the Com grows animate, 
And a whole crop of heads appears, 

Like Papists, bearding Church and 
State — 
Themselves, together ly the ears ! 

In short, these torments never cease ; 

And oft I wish myself transferred off 
To some far, lonely land of peace, 

Where Com or Papists ne'er were 
heard of. 

Yes, waft me. Parry, to the Pole; 

For- if my fate is to be chosen 
'Twixt bores and icebergs — on my soul, 

I'd rather, of the two, be frozen ! 



A CASE OF LIBEL. 
"The greater the truth, the worse the libe\. 
A CERTAIN Sprite, who dwells below, 
('Twere a hbel, perhaps, to mention 
where, ) 
Came up incog., some years ago, 
To try, for a change, the London air. 

So well he look'd, and dress'd, and 

talk"d, 

And bid his taU and homs so handy. 

You'd hardly havo known him as he 

walk'd. 

From C e, or any other Dandy. 

(His homs, it seems, are made t' un- 
screw ; [the socket. 
So, he has but to take them out of 
And— -just as some fine husbands do — 
Conveniently clap them into his pock- 
et.) 

In short, he look'd extremely natty. 
And even contrived — to his own great 
wonder — 

By dint of sundry scents from Gattie, 
To keep the sulphm'ous hogo under. 

And so my gentleman hoof d about, 
Unknown to all but a chosen few 

At White's and Crockford's, where, no 
doubt, 
He had m&ny post-obits falling due. 

Alike a gamester and a wit, [crew. 

At night he was seen with Crockford's 

At mora with learned dames would 

sit — [^bluc. 

Sopass'd his time 'twixt Uack and 

supposed all true dreams (such as those of the 
Popish Plot, &,c.) to pajis. 




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598 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Some ■wish'd to mako him an M. P., 
But, finding W — Iks was also one, he 

Swore in a rage, " he'd be d — d, if he 
""Would ever sit in one house with 
Johnny !'' 

At length, as secrets travel fast, 
And devils, whether he or she, 

Are sure to be found out at last. 
The affair got wind most rapidly. 

The Press, the impartial Press, that 
snubs 
Alike a fiend's or an angel's capers — 
Miss Paton's soon as Beelzebub's— 
Fired off a squib in the morning pa- 
pers: 

" "We warn good men to keep aloof 
" From a grim old Dandy, seen about, 

""With a fire-proof wig and a cloven 

hoof [out." 

" Through a neat-cut Hoby smoking 

N"ow — the Devil being a gentleman, 

"Who piques himself on well-bred 

dealings, — [he ran, 

You may guess, when o'er these lines 

How much they hurt and shock'd his 

feeUngs. 

Away he posts to a Man of Law, 

And 'twould make you laugh could 

you have seen 'em, [paw. 

As paw shook hand, and hand shook 

And 'twas " had, good fellow, weU 

met," between 'em. 

Straight au indictment was preferr'd — 
And much the Devil enjoy'd the jest, 

"When, asking about the Bench, he heard 
That, of all the Judges, his own was 
Best* 

In vain the Defendant proffer'd proof 

That PlaintiflTs self was the Father of 

Evil— [hoof, 

Brought Hoby forth, to swear to the 

And Stultz to speak to the tail of the 

Devil. 

The Jury (saints, all snug and rich, 
And readers of virtuous Sunday pa- 
pers) [which 
Found for the plaintiff — on hearing 
The Devil gave one of his loftiest ca- 
pers. 

* A celebrated Jud^, bo named, 
t This lady also favors us, iu her Memoirs, 
vritb. the address of those apotbooories, who 



For oh, 'twas nuts to the Father of Lies 
(As this wUy fiend is named in the 
Bible) 
To find it settled by laws so wise, 
That the greater the truth, the worse 
the libel ! 



LITERARY ADYERTISEMENT. 

"Wanted — Authors of all-work, to job 

for the season, [neither ; 

'So matter which party, so faithful to 

Good hacks, who, if posed for a rhjTue 
or a reason, [out either. 

Can manage, like ******, to do with- 

If in jail, aU the better for out-o'-door 

topics ; [retreat ; 

Yom* jail is for Travellers a charming 

They can take a day's rule for a trip to 

the Tropics, 

And sail round the world at their 

ease, in the Fleet. 

For a Dramatist, too, the most useful of 

schools — [Bench community, 

He can study high fife in the King's 

Aristotle could scarce keep him more 

within rules, [to the tmity. 

And oi place he, at least, must adhere 

Any lady or gentleman, come to an age 
To have good " Reminiscences," 
(three-score or higher.) 
"Will meet with encouragement— so 
( much, joer page, 
And the spelling and grammar both 
found by the buyer. 

E"o matter with what their remem- 
brance is stock'd, [turn desired;^ 
So they'll only remember the quan- 
Enough to fill handsomely Two Yol- 
umes, Oct., [that's required. 

Price twenty-four shillings, is all 

They may treat us, like Kelly, with old 

jeu-d'esprits, [cal frolic; 

Like Dibdia, may tell of each farci- 

Or kindly inform us, like Madame Gen- 

lis,t [them the colic. 

That gingerbread-cakes always give 

"Wanted, also, a new stock of Pamphlets 

on Com, [(worthies whose lands 

By " Farmers" and " Landholders," — 

hare, from time to time, given her pills that 
agreed with her; always desiring that th» 
pilla should be ordered " conttae pour elle.' 



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SATIRICAL AND HUMOEOUS POEMS. 



Enclosed all in bow-pots, their attics 

adorn, [seen on their hands. ) 

Or, whose share of the soil may be 

No-Popery Sermons, in ever so dnU a 

vein, [who pen 'em. 

Sure of a market ; should they, too, 

Be renegade Papists, like Murtagh 

O'S— 11 — V— n,* [tional venom. 

Something extra allow'd for th' addi- 

Funds, Physic, Com, Poetry, Boxing, 

Romance, [penny ;— 

All excellent subjects for turning a 

To write upon all is an author's sole 

chance [edge of any. 

For attaining, at last, the least knowl- 

Nine times out of ten, if his title is good, 
The material withi7i of small conse- 
quence is ; — [derstood. 
Let him only write fine, and, if not un- 
"Why — that's the concern of the rea- 
der, not his. 

Nota Bene— an Essay, now printing, to 

show, [express it) 

That Horace (as clearly as words could 

"Was for taxing the Fund-holders, ages 

ago, [in Fund is, assess it."\ 

When he wrote thus — " Quodcunque 



THE IRISH SLAYE.t 

1827. 

I HEARD, as I lay, a waiUng soimd, 
" He is dead — he iS dead," the rumor 
flew ; [round. 

And I raised my chain, and turn'd me 
And ask'd, through the dungeon- win- 
dow, "Who?" 

I saw my livid tormentors pass ; 

Their grief 'twas bliss to hear and see ! 
For, never came joy to them, alas, 

That didn't bring deadly bane to me. 

Eager I look'd through the mist of night, 

And ask'd, "What foe of my race 

hath died ? 

" Is it he— that Doubter of law and right, 

" Whom nothing but wrong could e'er 

decide— 

" Who, long as he sees but wealth to win, 
" Hath never yet felt a qualm or doubt, 

* A gentleman who distinguished himself by 
his evidence before the Irish Committees. 

t According to the common reading. " quod- 
cunque in fundis, aoescit." 

: Written on the death of the Duke of York. 



" What suitors for justice he'd keep in, 
' ' Or what suitors for freedom he'd 
shut out — 

" Who, a clog forever on Truth's advance, 

" Hangs rouud her, (Mke the Old Man 

of the Sea [chance 

"Round Sinbad's neck,§) nor leaves a 
" Of shaking him ofl"— is't he ? is't he f 

Ghastly my grim tormentors smiled. 

And thrusting me back to my den of 

wo, [wild 

With a laughter even more fierce and 

Than their funeral howling, answer'd 

":So." 

But the cry stUl pierced my prison-gate, 
And again I ask'd, "What scourge is 
gone? 
" Is it he— that Chief, so coldly great, 
"Whom Fame unwillingly shines 
upon — 

" Whose name is one of th' ill-omen'd 

words [plains ; 

" They link with hate, on his native 

" And why ? — they lent him hearts and 

swords, [chains ! 

" And he, in return, gave scoflfs and 

" Is it he ? is it he ?" I loud inquired, 
When, hark ! — there sounded a Royal 
knell; 

And I knew what spirit had just expired, 
And, slave as I was, my triumph fell. 

He had pledged a hate unto me and 

mine, [choice. 

He had left to the future nor hope nor 

But seal'd that hate with a Name Divine, 

And he now was dead, and — I couldn't 

rejoice ! 

He had fann'd afresh the burning brands 
Of a bigotry waxing cold and dim ; 

He had arm'd anew my torturer's hands. 
And them did I curse — but sigh'd for 
him. 

For, Ms was the error of head, notheart; 
And— oh, how beyond the ambush'd 
foe, 
Who to enmity adds the traitor's part, 
And carries a smile, with a curse be* 
low ! 



§ "Tou fell, said they, into the hands of the 
Old Man of the Sea, and are t':e first w'lo evet 
escaped strangling by his ir.ali';ious liicks."- 
atory uf Hiubad. 





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MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



If ever a heart made bright amends 
For the fatal fault of an erring head — 

Go, leani his fame from the lips of 
friends, 
In the orphan's tear be his glory read. 

A Prince -without pride, a man without 

guile, 

To the last unchanging, warm, sincere, 

For Worth he had ever a hand and a 

smile, [tear. 

And for Misery ever his purse and a 

Touch'd to the heart by that solemn toll, 
I calmly sunk in my chains again ; 

While, still as I said, " Heaven rest his 

soul!" "Amen!" 

My mates of the dungeon sigh'd. 

January, 1827. 



ODE TO FEEDINAND. 

1827. 

Quit the sword, thou King of men. 
Grasp the needle once again ; 
Making petticoats is far 
Safer sport than making war ; 
Trimming is a better thing. 
Than the ieing trimm'd, oh King ! 
Grasp the needle bright with which 
Thou didst for the Virgin stitch 
Garment, such as ne'er before 
Monarch stiteh'd or Vu-gin wore. 
Not for her, oh semster nimble ! 
Do I now invoke thy thimble; 
Not for her thy wanted aid is. 
But for certain grave old ladies, 
Who now sit in England's cabinet, 
Waiting to be clothed in tabinet, 
Or whatever choice Hoffe is 
Fit for Dowagers in office. 
Fii-st, thy care, oh King, devote 
To Dame Eld— n's petticoat. 
Make it of that silk, whose dye 
Shifts forever to the eye, 
Just as if it hardly knew 
Whether to be pink or blue. 
Or— material fitter yet — 
If thou couldst a remnant get 
Of that stuff", with which, of old, 
Sage Penelope, we're told. 
Still by doing and undoing, 
Kept her suitors always wooing— 
That's the stuff' which I pronounce, is 
Fittest for Dame Eld— n's flounces. 

After this, we'll try thy hand, 
Mantua-making Ferdinand, 
For old Goody W— stm— 1— d; 



One who loves, like Mother Cole, 
Church and State with all her soul ; 
And has pass'd her life in frolics 
Worthy of your Apostolics. 
Choose, in dressing this old flirt. 
Something that won't show the dirt. 
As, from habit, every minute 
Goody W — stm — 1 — d is in it. 

This is all I now shall ask. 
Hie thee, monarch, to thy task ; 
Finish Eld — n's frills and borders, 
Then return for further orders. 
Oh what progress for our sake. 
Kings in millinery make ! 
Ribands, garters, and such things. 
Are supplied by other Kings,— 
Ferdinand his rank denotes 
By providing petticoats. 



HAT VERSUS WIG. 



1627. 



"At the interment of the Duke of York, Lord 
Eld — n, in order to guard against the eifects of 
tlie damp, stood upon his hat during- the whole 
of the ceremony." 

metus omnes et inexorabile fatum 

Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis 
avari. 

TwiXT Eld— n's Hat and Eld— n's Wig 
There lately rose an altercation, — 

Each with his own importance big, 
Disputing which most serves the na- 
tion. ' 

Quoth Wig, with consequential air, 
''Pooh! pooh! you surely can't design^ 

"My worthy beaver, to compare 
" Tour station in the state with mine. 

" Who meets the learned legal crew ? 

"Who fronts the lordly Senate's pride ? 
"The Wig, the Wig, my friend, while you 

" Hang dangling on some peg outside. 

" Oh, 'tis the Wig, that niles. slike Love, 
" Senate and Court, with like eclat— 

"And wards below, and lords above, 
" For Law is Wig and Wig is Law !* 

"Who tried the long W— ll— sly 

suit, 
" Which tried one's patience in return ? 

* "Love rules fhe court, the camp, the grove, 
And men below and gods above, 
ITor Love is Heaven and Heaven is Love/ 

—Scott. 



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SATIEICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



601 



"Fot thou, oh Hat!— though, comM's* 

thou do't, [learn. 

" Of other brims* than thine thou'dst 

'"Twas mme our master's toil to share; 

"When, like 'Traepenny/ in the 
play, t 
" He, every minute, cried out ' Swear,' 

" And merrily to swear went they ; — t 

"When, loath poor W— ll— SL — y to 
condemn, he 
" With nice discrimination weigh'd, 
" Whether' twas only ' HeU and Jem- 
my,' [play'd. 
"Or ' Hell and Tommy, that he 

"ITo, no, my worthy beaver, no — 
"Though cheapen' d at the cheapest 
hatter's, 
" And smart enough, as beavers go, 
" Thou ne'er wert made for public 
matters." 

Here Wig concluded his oration. 
Looking, as wigs do, wondrous wise; 

While thus, full cock'd for declamation. 
The veteran Hat enraged replies : — 

'• Ha ! dost thou then so soon forget 
"What thou, what England owes to 
me? 

"Ungrateful Wig!— when will a debt 
" So deep, so vast, be owed to thee ? 

"Think of that night, that fearful night, 
"When, through the steaming vault 
below, 

"Our master dared, in gout's despite, 
" To venture his podagric toe ! 

"Who was it then, thou boaster, say, 
"When thou hadst to thy box 
sneak'd off, 

" Beneath his feet protecting lay, 
"And saved him from a mortal cough ? 

"Think, if Catarrh had quenched that 
sun, [thee ! 

" How blank this world had been to 
" Without that head to shine upon, 

" Oh Wig, where would thy glory be ? 

" You, too, ye Britons, — had this hope 
" Of Church and state been ravish'd 
from ye, 

* " BriTTv—a nauffhty woman."— GROSK. 
t " G?ios« [beneath].— Swear! 
" Hamlet— ha, lia ! say'st thou 80? Art thou 
there. Truepenny ? Come on.'' 



" Oh think, how Canning and the Pope 
"Would then have play'd up 'HeU 
and Tommy !' 

"At sea, there's but a plank, they say, 
"Twixt seamen and annihilation; 

"A hat, that awful moment, lay 
" 'Twixt England and Emancipation ! 

" Oh ! ! ! " 

At this " Oh 1 ! !" TJie Times' 
Reporter 
Was taken poorly, and retired ; 
Which made him cut Hat's rhetoric 
shorter 
Than justice to the case required. 

On his return, he found these shocks 
Of eloquence all ended quite ; 

And Wig lay snoring in his box, 
And Hat was— hung up for the night. 



THE PEEIWINKLES AND THE 
LOCUSTS. 

A 8ALMAGUNDIAN HYSIN. 

" To Panurge was assigned the Lnirdship of 
Salmagundi, which was yearly worth 6,789,- 
106,789 ryals, besides the revenue of the Locusts 
and PeHwinklcs, amounting one year ■nith an- 
other to the value of 2,4a5,768," &c., &c.— Ra- 
belais. 

" Hurra ! hurra !" I heard them say. 
And they cheer'd and shouted all the 
As the Laird of Salmagundi went, [way, 
To open in state his Parliament. 

The Salmagundians once were rich. 
Or thought they were— no matter 

which— 
For, every year the Revenue $ 
From their Periwinkles larger grew ; 
And their rulers, skUl'd in all the trick 
And legerdemain of arithmetic, 
Knew how to place 1, 2, 3, 4, 

5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 and 10, 
Such various ways, behind, before, 
That they made a unit seem a score. 

And proved themselves most wealthy 
men! 
So, on they went, a prosperous crew. 

The people wise, the rulers clever— 
And God help those, like me and you. 
Who dared to doubt (as some now do) 
That the Periwinkle Revenue 

Would thus go flourishing on forever- 

t His Lordship's demand for fresh affidanU 
wns incessant. 

§ Accented as In Swift's line — 
" Not 80 a nation's revenues are paid." 



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MOORE'S WORKS. 



''Hurra ! hurra !" I heard them say, 
And they cheer'd and shouted all the 

way, 
As the Great Panurge in glory went 
To open his own dear Parliament, 

But folks at length began to doubt 
What all this conjuring was about ; 
For, every day, more deep in debt 
They saw their wealthy rulers get :^— 
"Let's look (said they) the items 

through, 
" And see if what we're told be true 
" Of our Periwinkle Revenue." [tittle 
But, Lord ! they found there wasn't a 

Of truth in aught they heard before; 
For, they gain'd by Periwinkles little. 

And lost by Locusts ten times more ! 
These Locusts are a lordly breed 
Some Salmagundiaus love to feed. 
Of all the beasts that ever were bom, 
Tour Locust most delights in corn ; 
And, though his body be but small, 
To fatten him takes the devil and all ! 
" Oh fie ! oh fie !" was now the cry, 
As they saw the gaudy show go by, 
And the Laird of Salmagundi went 
To open his Locust Parliament ! 



NEW CREATION" OF PEERS. 

BATCH THE FIRST. 

" His 'prentice han' 
He tried on man, 
And then he made the lasses.' 



1827. 



"And now," quoth the Minister, 

of his panics, [ aflbrds, ) 

And ripe for each pastime the summer 
'-' Having had our full swing of destroy- 
ing mechanics, [Lords. 
" By way of set-off, let us make a few 

" 'Tis pleasant— while nothing but mer- 
cantile fractures, 
"Some simple, some compound, is 
dinn'd in our ears— 
" To think that, though robb'd of all 
■ coarse manufactures, [ of Peers ;— 

r " We still have our fine manufacture 
** Those Gobelin productions, which 
Kings take a pride 
" In engrossing the whole fabrication 
and trade of; [on o?ie side, 

•'Choice tapestry things, very grand 
"But showing, on t'other, what rags 
they are made of." 



The plan being fix'd, raw material was 

sought, — [the creed be : 

No matter how middling, if Tory 

And first, to begin with. Squire 

W , 'twas thought. 

For a Lord was as raw a material as 
need be. 

Next came, with his j?ewc/»awi for paint- 

iag and pelf. 

The tasteful Sir Charles,* so re- 

nown'd, far and near, [himself— 

For purchasing pictures, and seUing 

And both (as the public weU. knows) 

very dear. 

Beside him Sir John comes, with equal 

^clat, in ; — 

Stand forth, chosen pair, while for 

titles we measure ye ; 

Both connoisseur baronets, both fond o; 

drawing, [t^e Treasury. 

Sir John after nature, Sir Charles, on 

But, bless us ! — behold anew candidate 

come — [tion, new written; 

In his hand he upholds a prescrip- 

He poiseth a pill-box 'twixt finger and 

thumb, [Peers of Great Britaiu ! ! 

And he asketh a seat 'mong the 

"Forbid it," cries Jenky— "ye Vis- 
counts, ye Earls !— 
•' Oh Rank, how thy glories would 
fall disenchanted, [of pearis, 

"If coronets glisten'd with pills 'stead 
" And the strawberry -leaves were by 
rhubarb supplanted ! 

" No— ask it not, ask it not, dear Doc- 
tor H— If— rd— [thy life, 
" If naught but a Peerage can gladden 
" And young Master H — If— rd as yet 
is too small for't, 
"Sweet Doctor, we'll make a she 
Peer of thy wife. 

" Next to bearing a coronet on our oicn 

brows, [of another; 

" Is to bask in its light from the brows 

"And grandeur o'er thee shall reflect 

from thy spouse, 

" As o'er Y—J F — tz— d 'twill shine 

through his mother."! 

Thus ended the i^irs* Batch— and Jenky, 

much tired, [heap,) 

(It being no joke to make Lords by the 

* Created Lord F— mb — gh. 

t Among tlie persons mentioned as likely to 



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SATIRICAL AKD HUMOROUS POEMS. 



603 



Took a large dram of ether — the same 

that inspired [prosed oflf to sleep. 

His speech 'gamst the Papists— and 



SPEECH O'S THE UMBRELLA* 
QUESTION". 

BY LORD ELD — N. 

" Yos inwnbrelles video."f — Ex. Juvenil. 

GEORGII CANNINOn. 

1827. 

My Lords, I'm accused of a trick that, 

God knows, is [could fall — 

The last into which, at my age, I 

Of leading this grave House of Peers, by 

their noses, [and all. 

Whenever I choose, princes, bishops. 

My Lords, on the question before us at 

present, [cursed old fellow, 

No doubt I shall hear, "'Tis that 

•' That bugbear of all that is lib'ral and 

pleasant, [man his umbrella !" 

" Who won't let the Lords give the 

6rod forbid that your Lordships should 

knuckle to me ; [King Priam, 

I am ancient— but were I as old as 

fTot much, I confess, to your credit 

'twould be, [as I am. 

To mind such a twaddling old Trojan 

J own, of our Protestant laws I am jeal- 
ous, [ways maintain. 
And, long as God spares me, will al- 
That, once having taken men's rights, 
or umbrellas, [them again. 
We ne'er should consent to restore 

What security have you, ye Bishops and 
Peers, [pkiie, 

If thus you give back Mr. Bell's para- 
That he mayn't, with its stick, come 
about all your ears. 
And th&n— where would your Protes- 
tant periwigs be ? 

N"©, heaven be my judge, were I dying 

to-day, [lar that's mellow. 

Ere I dropp'd in the grave, like a med- 

be raised to the Peerage, are the mother of Mr. 
V— y F— tz— d, <fcc. 

* A case -nhich interested the public very 
much at this period. A gentleman, of the 
name of Bell, having left his umbrella behind 
him in the House of Lords, the doorkeepers 
(standing, no doubt, on the privileges of that 



" For God's sake" — at that awful mo- 
ment I'd say — [his umbrella." 
" For God's sake, don't give Mr. Bell 

["This address," says a ministerial journal, 
"delivered with amazing emphasis and earnest- 
ness, occasioned an extraordinary sensation in 
the House. Nothing since the memorablo ad- 
dress of the Duke of York has produced so re- 
markable an impression."] 

A PASTORAL BALLAD. 

BY JOHN BULL. 

' Dublin, March 12, 1827.— Friday, after the 
arrival of the packet bringing the account of 
the defeat of the Catholic Question, in the 
Houseof Commons, orders were sent to the 
Pigeon House to forward 5,000,000 rounds of 
musket-ball cartridge to the different garri- 
sons round the country." — Frcema7i's Jour- 
nal. 

I HAVE found out a gift for my Erin, 
A gift that win surely content her ; — 

Sweet pledge of a love so endearing ! 
Five millions of bullets I've sent her. 

She ask'd me for Freedom and Right, 
But ill she her wants understood ; — 

Ball cartridges, morning and night. 
Is a dose that will do her more good, 

There is hardly a day of our lives 
But we read, in some amiable trials, 

How husbands make love to their wives 
Through the medium of hemp and of 
vials. 

One thinks, with his mistress or mate 
A good halter is sure to agree — 

That love-knot which, early and late, 
I have tried, my dear Erin, on thee. 

While another,-whom Hymen has bless'd 
With a wife that is not over placid, 

Consigns the dear charmer to rest, 
With a dose of the best Prussic acid. 

Thus, Erin ! my love do I show — 
Thus quiet thee, mate of my bed ! 

And, as poison and hemp are too slow. 
Do thy business with bullets instead. 

Should thy faith in my medicine be 
shaken, 
Ask R— d — n, that mildest of saints ; 

noble body) refused to restore it to him ; and 

the above speech, which may be considered aa 

a pendant to that of the I.cnrncd Earl on the 

Catholic Question, arose out of tlie transaction. 

t From Mr. Canning's translation of Jekyl's- 

" I say, my good fellows. 

As you've no umbrellae." 




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604 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



He'll tell thee, lead, inwardly taken, 
Alone can remove thy complaints ; — 

That, blest as thou art in thy lot, 
Nothing's wanted to make it more 
pleasant 

But being hang'd. tortured, and shot, 
Much oftener than thou art at present. 

Even W— U— t — n's self hath averHd 
Thou art yet but halfsabred and hung. 

And I loved him the more -when I heard 
Such tenderness fall from his tongue. 

So take the five millions of pills. 
Dear partner, I herewith enclose ; 

'Tis the cure that all quacks for thy ills, 
From Cromwell to Eld — n, propose. 

And you, ye brave bullets that go. 
How I wish that, before you set out, 

The Devil of the Freischutz could know 
The good work you are going about. 

For he'd charm ye, in spite of your lead, 

Into such supematiiral wit, 
That you'd all of you know, as you sped, 

"Where a bullet of sense ought to hit. 



A LATE SOEN"E AT SWANAGE.* 

Eegnia Es-sul ademtis. Viro. 

1827. 

To Swanage— that neat little town, m 

whose bay [slippers — 

Fair Thetis shows off, in her best silver 

Lord Bagst took his annual trip t'other 

day, [with the dippers. 

To taste the sea breezes, and chat 

There — leam'd as he is in conundrums 
and laws — [plays the wag on,) 
Quoth he to his dame, (whom he oft 
" "W"hy are chancery suitors like bath- 
ers?" — " Because 
" Their suits are put off, tUl— they 
haven't a rag on." 

!hu8 on he went chatting— but, lo, 

while he chats, [him he looks ; 

With a face fall of wonder around 

For be misses his parsons, his dear shovel 

hats, [age like rooks. 

Who used to flock round him at Swan- 

* A small bathinfj-place on the coast of Dor- 
setshire, long a favorite summer resort of tlie 
ei-nobleman in question, and, till this season, 
much frequented also by gentlemen of the 
Church. 

t The Lord Chancellor Eld— n. 



•' How is this, Lady Bags?— to this re- 
gion aquatic 
"Last year, they came swarming, to 
make me their bow, 
"As thick as Burke's cloud o'er the 
vales of Carnatic, 
"Deans, Rectors, D. D.'s— where the 
devil are they now ?" 

"My dearest Lord Bags!" saith the 
dame, "caji you doubt? 
" I'm loath to remind you of things so 
unpleasant ; 
" But don't you perceive, dear, the 
Church have found out 
" That you're one of the people called 
JSar^s, at present ?" 

" Ah, true — you have hit it — I am, in- 
deed, one [replies,) 
' ' Of those ill-fated Ex's, (his Lordship 
" And with tears, I confess — God for- 
give me the pun 1 — [to be T's.'' 
"We X'a have proved ourselves not 

WO ! WO \t 

Wo, wo unto him who would check or 

disturb it — [on its way ; 

That beautiful Light, which is now 

Which, beaming, at first, o'er the bogs 

of Belturbet, [its ray ! 

Ifow brightens sweet Ballinafad with 

Oh F— mh— m, Saint F— mh— m, how 
much do we owe thee ! 
How form'd to all tastes are thy var- 
ious employs I [thee, 
The old, as a catcher of Catholics, kno^v- 
The young, as an amateur scourger of 
boys. 

Wo, wo to the man, who such doings 

would smother ! — [KUgroggy ! 

On, Luther of Cavan ! On, Saint of 

With whip in one hand, and with Bible 

in t'other, [ee and floggee." 

Like Mungo's tormentor, both "preach- 

Come, Saints from aU quarters, and mar- 
shal his way ; [fane erudition. 
Come, L— rt— n, who, scorning pro- 
Popp'd Shakspeare, they say, in the riv- 
er, one day, [luti edition. 
Though 'twas only old Bowdler's Vel- 

J Suggested by a speech of the Bishop of 
Ch— 8t— V on the subjeci; of the New Reforma- 
tion in Ireland, in which his Lordship de- 
nounced "Wo! Wo! Wo !" pretty abundantly 
on all those who dared to interiere with its 
progress. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



605 



Come, R— den, who doubtest— so mild 
are thy views — 
■Whether Bibles or bullets are best for 
the nation ; 
Who leav'st to poor Paddy no medium 
to choose, 
'Twixt good old Rebellion and new 
Reformation. 

■What more from her Saints can Hiber- 

nia require ? [daughter, 

St. Bridget, of yore, like a dutiful 

Supplied her, 'tis said, with perpetual 

fire,* [hot water. 

And Saints keep her, now, in eternal 

Wo, wo to the man, who would check 

their career, [await us, 

Or stop the Millennium, that's sure to 

Wben, bless' d w^th an orthodox crop 

every yea.. 

We shall learn to raise Protestants, 

fast as potatoes. 

In kidnapping Papists, our rulers, we 

know, [ a day ; 

Had been trying their talent for many 

Till F — mh — m, when all had been tried, 

came to show, 

liike the German flea-catcher, " anoder 

goot way." 

And nothing's more simple than F — m- 

h — m's receipt;— 

" Catch your Catholic, first— soak him 

well in po teen f — [complete. 

"Add salary sauce, t and the thing is 

"Tou may serve up your Protestant, 

smoking and clean." 

" Wo, wo to the wag, who would laugh 

at such cookery !" [black crow$ 

Thus, from his perch, did I hear a 

Caw angrily out, while the rest of the 

rookery [wo !'' 

Open'd their bills, and re-echoed "Wo ! 

* The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at 
Kildare. 

t "Whiskey. 

♦ *■ We understand that several applications 
have lately been madetothe Protestant clergy- 
men of this town by fellows, inquiring. 'What 
are they giving a head for converts?'^''— TTex- 
ford Pout. 

!} Of tlie rook species — Corvus frugilegus, 
i. e., a great consmner of corn. 

II Vishnu was (as Sir W. Jones calls him) " a 
pisciform god,"— his first Avatar being in the 
shape of a fish. 



TOUT POCR LA TRIPE. 

"If, in China or among the natives of India, 
we claimed civil advantages which -were con- 
nected with religious usages, little as we 
might value those forms in onr nearts, we 
should think common decency required us to 
abstain from treating them" with ofiFensive 
contumely ; and, though unable to consider 
them SRcred, we would not sneer at the name 
or Fot, or laugh at the imputed divinity of 
Tisthnou." — Courier, Tuesday, Jan 16. 

1827. 

Come, take my advice, never trouble 

your cranium, [gain'd. 

When "civil advantages" are to be 

What god or what goddess may help to 

obtain you 'em, [tain'd. 

Hindoo or Chinese, so they're only ob- 

In this world (let me hint in your organ 

auricular) [fall ; 

All the good things to good hypocrites 

And he, who in swallowing creeds is 

particular, [all. 

Soon will have nothing to swallow at 

Oh place me where Fo (or, as some call 

him, Fot) [tages" flow, 

Is the god, from whom "civil advan- 

And you'll find, if there's any thing snug 

to be got, [ with old Fo. 

I shall soon be on excellent terms 

Or were I where Vishnu, that four-hand- 
ed god, [places, 
Is the quadruple giver of pensions and 
I own I should feel it uncliristian and 
odd [good graces. 
Not to find myself also in Vishnu's 

For, among all the gods that humanely 

attend [to my wishes 

To our wants in this planet, the gods 

Are those that, like Vishnu and others, 

descend [and of fishes 111 

In the form, so attractive, of loaves 

So take my advice— for, if even the devil 
Should tempt men again as an idol to 
try him, [be civil, 

'Twere best for us Tories, even then, to 
As nobody doubts we should get some- 
thing by him. 



ENIGMA. 

Monstmm nulla virtute redemptum. 

Come, riddle- me-ree, come, riddle-me- 

ree. 
And tell me what my name may be. 





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MOORE'S WORKS. 



I am nearly one hundred and thirty years 
old, [suppose; — 

And therefore no chicken, as you may 
Though a dwarf in my youth, (as my 
nurses have told, ) 
I have, ev'ry year since, been outgrow- 
ing my clothes ; [stand, 
fill, at last, such a corpulent giant I 
That, if folks were to furnish me now 
with a suit, [the land 
It would take ev'ry morsel of scrip in 
But to measm-e my bulk from the head 
to the foot, [sick of my stature, 
Hence, they who maintain me, grown 
To cover me nothing but rags will 
supply ; [course of nature, 
And the doctors declare that, in due 
About the year 30 m rags 1 shall die. 
Meanwhile, I stalk hungry and bloated 
around, [all ; 
An object oiint'rest, most painful, to 
In the warehouse, the cottage, the pal- 
ace I'm found, [in my thrall. 
Holding citizen, peasant, and king 
Then riddle-me-ree, oh nddle-me- 
ree, [be. 
Come, tell me what my name may 
"WTien the lord of the counting-house 
bends o'er his book, [ draw. 
Bright pictures of profit delighting to 
O'er his shoiUders with large cipher eye- 
balls I look, [alyzed paw ! 
And down drops the pen from his par- 
When the Premier lies dreaming of dear 
Waterloo, [and prank it. 
And expects through another to caper 
Tou'd laugh did you see, when I bellow 
out '• Boo !" [head in the blanket. 
How he hides his brave "Waterloo 
WTien mighty Belshazzar brims high in 
the hall [overthrow, 
His cup, fuU of gout, to the Gaul's 
[iO, ''Eight Hundred Million^' I write 
on the wall, [gout to his toe ! 
And the cup falls to earth and— the 
But the joy of my heart is when largely 
I cram [archy's acres. 
My maw with the fruits of the Squire- 
Aud, knowing who made me the thing 
that I am, [v.-'orry my makers. 
Like the monster of Frankenstein, 
Then riddle-me-ree, come, riddle- 
me-ree, [ may be. 
And tell, if thou know'st, who / 
* One of the shovrs of London, 
t More particularly his Grace's celebrated 
amendment to the Corn Bill ; for which, and 



DOG-DAT REFLECTIONS. 

BY A UAXUY KEPT IN TOWN. 

" Vox clamantis in deserto.'' 

1827. 
Said Malthus, one day, to a clown 
Lying stretch'd on the beach, in the 
sun, — [town?"— 

" WTiat's the number of souls in this 
" The number ? Lord bless you, there's 
none. 
""We have nothing but dais in this 
place, 
" Of them a great plenty there are ; 
"But the soles, please your rev'renco 
and grace, 
" Are all t'other side of the bar." 
And so 'tis in London just now. 

Is' ot a soul to be seen, up or down ;— . 
Of dahs a great glut, I allow. 

But joMX soles, everyone, out of town. 

East or west, nothing wondrous or new; 

No courtship or scandal, worth know- 

Mrs. B , and a Mermaid* or two. 

Are the only loose fish that are going. 

Ah, where is that dear house of Peers, 

That, some weeks ago, kept us merry ? 
Where, Eld — n, art thou, with thy tears? 

And thou, with thy sense, L-d-d-y ? 
Wise Marquis, how much the Lord May'r, 

In the dog-days, with thee must be 
puzzled ! — 
It being his task to take care [zled. 

That such animals shan't go unmuz- 

Thou, too, whose political toils 
Are so worthy a captam of horse— 

Whose amendmentst (like honest Sir 

Boyle's) [worse;" I 

Are "amendments, that make matters 

Great Chieftain, who takest such pains 
To prove — what is granted, nem. con.—' 

With how mod'rate a portion of brains 
Some heroes contrive to get on. 

And thou, too, my R — d — sd — e, ah, 
where 

Is the peer, with a star at his button, 
"Whose quarters could ever compare 

With R— d— sd— e's five quarters of 
mutton !$ 
the circumstances connected with it, see An- 
nual Register for A. D. ] 827. 1 

J From a speech of Sir Boyle Roche's, iu the' 
Irish House of Commons. ' 

§ The learning his Lordship displayed, on th» 



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C*T^ ^ 




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SATIEICAL AiTD HUMOROUS POEMS. 



007 



Why, vrhy have ye taken your flight, 
Ye diverting and dignified crew ? 

How ill do three farces a night, 
At the Haymarliet, pay us for you ! 

For what is Bombastes to thee, 
My Ell — nbro', when thou look'st big 1 

Or, Where's the burletta can be 
Like L— d — rd— le's wit, and his wig ? 

I doubt if ev'n Griffinhoof* could 
(Though Griffin's a comical lad) 

Invent any joke half so good [bad !'' 
As that precious one, " This is too 

Then come again, come again, Spring ! 

Oh haste thee, with Fun in thy train ; 
And— of all things the funniest— bring 

These exalted Grimaldis again ! 



THE 



LIVING DOG " AND THE 
"DEAD LION." 

1828. 

Next week will be publish'! (as 

"Lives " are the rage) 

The whole Remmiscences, wondrous 

and strange, [in the cage 

Of a small puppy-dog, that lived once 

Of the late noble Lion at Exter 

'Change. 

Though the dog is a dog of the kind they 

call "sad," [ing pretends, 

'Tis a puppy that much to good breed- 

And few dogs have such opportunities 

had [among friends ; 

Of knowing how Lions behave — 

How that animal eats, how he snores, 

how he drinks, [small ; 

Is all noted down by this Boswell so 

And 'tis plain, from each sentence, the 

puppy-dog thinks 

That the Lion was no such great 

things after all. 

Though he roar'd pretty well — this the 

puppy allows — [ond-hand roar; 

It was all, he says, borrow'd— a sec- 

And he vastly prefers his own little 

bow-wows [could pour. 

To the loftiest war-note the Lion 

subject of tlie butcher's "fifth quarter " of mut- 
ton, will not siieedily be forgotten. 

* The nomde querre under which Colman has 
written some of his best farces. 

t At the commencement of this year, the de- 
signs of Don MiRUol and his partisans against 
the constitution estahlislied by his brother had 
begun more openly to declare themselves. 



'Tis, indeed, as good fun as a Cynic 
could ask, [ter of rabbits 

To see how this cockney-bred set- 
Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to 
task, [habits. 

And judges of lions by puppy-dog 

Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a 

dark case) [own pan, 

"With sops every day from the Lion's 

He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's 

carcass, [can. 

And — does all a dog so diminutive 

However, the book's a good book, being 
rich in [bred. 

Examples and warnings to lions high- 
How they snSer small mongreUy curs 
in then- kitchen 
Who'll feed on them living, and foul 
them when dead. 

T. PlDCOCK. 

Exeter ' Change. 



ODE TO DON MIGUEL. 

Et tu Brute ! 

1828.^ 

"What ! Miguel, not patriotic ? oh, fle, 
After so much good teaching 'tis 
quite a take-in, Sir ; — 
First schooled, as you were, under Met- 
temich's eye. 
And then (as young misses say) " fin- 
ish'd " at "Windsor \X 

I ne'er in my life knew a case that was 
harder ; — [made us a call ! 

Such feasts as you had, when you 
Three courses each 'day from his Majes- 
ty's larder,— [after all !! 
And now, to turn absolute Don, 

Soma authors, like Bayes, to the style 

and the matter [that they dine, 

Of each thing they write suit the way 

Roast sirloin for Epic, broil'd devils for 

Satire, [rhymes such as mine. 

And hotch-potch and trifle for 

That Rulers should feed the same way, 

I've no doubt ;— [la Russe,^ 

Great Despots on bouilli served up a 

X Don Miguel had paid a visit to the English 
court, at the close of tlie year 1827. 

§ Dressed with a pint of the strongest spirits 
—a favorite dish of the Great Frederick of 
Prussia, and which he persevered in eating even 
on his death-bed, much to the horror of Lis 
physician Zimmennan. 



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608 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Your small German Princes on frogs and 

sour-krout, [on goose. 

And your Viceroy of Hanover always 

Some Dons, too, have fancied (though 

this may be fable) | blunder it,— 

A dish rather dear, if, m cooking, they 

Not content with the common hot meat 

on a table, [cold under it !* 

They're partial (eh, Mig ?) to a dish of 

No wonder a Don of such appetites found 

Even Windsor's collations plebeianly 

plain ; [Lady sends round 

Where the dishes most high that my 

Are her Maintenon cutlets and soup 

a la Beine. 

Alas ! that a youth with such charming 
beginnings, [conclusion. 

Should sink, all at once, to so sad a 
And, what is still worse, throw the los- 
ings and winnings [ confusion ! 
Of worthies on 'Change into so much 

The Bulls, in hysterics— the Bears just 
as bad — [who've not tick, 

The few men who have, and the many 
AU shock'd to find out that that promis- 
ing lad, [triotic ! 
Prince Mettemich's pupil, is — not pa- 



THOUGHTS ON" THE PRESENT 
GOVERNMENT OF IRELAND. 

1828. 

Oft have I seen, in gay, equestrian pride, 
Some weU-rouged youth round Astley's 

Circus ride [graceful straddle, 
Two stately steeds — standing, with 
Like him of Rhodes, with foot on either 

saddle, [some andantes — 

While to soft tunes— some jigs, and 
He steers around his hght-paced Rosi- 

nantes. 
So rides along, with canter smooth and 

pleasant, [present ;— 

That horseman bold, Lord Anglesea, at 
Papist and Protestant the coursers 

twain, [rein. 

That lend their necks to his impartial 
And round the ring — each honor'd, as 

they go, [toe — 

With equal pressure from his gracious 
To the old medley tune, half" Patrick's 

Day" [cant'ring way, 

And half " Boyne Water,'' take their 

* This quiet case of murder, with all its par- 
ticulars — the hiding the body under the dinner- 



While Peel, the showman in the middle, 

cracks [ful hacks. 

His loug-Iash'd whip, to cheer the doubt- 
Ah, tickhsh trial of equestrian art ! 
How bless'd, if neither steed would bolt 

or start; — [gone. 

If Protestant's old restive tricks were 
And Papist's winkers could be still kept 

on ! [ Ducrow 

But no, false hopes— not even the great 
'Twixt two such steeds could 'scape an 

overthrow : 
If solar hacks play'd Phaeton a trick, 
Whathope, alas, from ha,ckney'slunatic? 

If once my Lord his graceful balance 

loses, [horse chooses; 

Or fails to keep each foot vrhere each 

If Peel but gives one extra touch of 

whip 
To Papist's tail or Protestant's ear-tip— 
That instant ends their glorious horse- 
manship ! [free, 
OflF bolt the sever'd steeds, for mischief 
And down, between them, plumps Lord 
Anglesea ! 



THE LIMBO OF LOST REPUTA- 
TIONS. 



" Cio che si perde qui, \k si raguna." Ariosto. 

" a valley, where he sees 

Things that on earth were lost.'' Milton. 

1828. 

Know' ST thou not himt the poet sings, 

Who flew to the moon's serene domain, 
And saw that valley, where all the things, 

That vanish on earth, are found agaiu— 
The hopes of youth, the resolves of age, 
The vow of the lover, the dream of the 
The golden visions of mining cits, [sage, 

The promises great men strew about 
them ; 
And, pack'd in compass small, the wits 

Of monarchs, who rule as well with- 
out them ! — 
Like him, but diving with wing profound, 
I have been to a Liinbo under ground, 
Where characters lost on earth, (and 

cried, 
In vain, like H— rr— s's, far and wide,) 
In heaps, like yesterday's orts, are thrown, 
And there, so worthless and fly-blown, 
table, &.C., &o.— 13, no doubt, well known to the 
reader. 

t Astolpho. 




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SATIKICAL AST) HTJMOKOUS POEMS. 



That ev'n the imps would not purloin 

them, 
Lie, tUl their worthy owners join them. 

Cm-ious it was to see this mass 

Of lost and tom-np reputations ; — 
Some of them female wares, alas. 

Mislaid at innocent assignations ; 
Some, that had sigh'd their last amen 
From the canting lips of saints that 
would be ; [of men," 

And some once own'd by " the best 
Who had proved— no better than they 
should be. 
'Mong others, a poet's fame I spied, 
Once shining fair, now soak'd and 
black — [cried, ) 

"No wonder," (an imp at my elbow 
"For I nick'd it out of a butt of 
sack r 

Just then a yeU was heard o'er head. 
Like a chimney-sweeper's lofty sum- 
mons; 
And :o ! a devil ri^ht downward sped. 
Bringing, within his claws so red, [said. 
Two statesmen's characters, found, he 
Last night, on the floor of the House 
of Commons ; 
The which, with black official grin, 
He now to the Chief Imp handed in ; — 
Both these articles much the worse 
For their journey down, as you may 
suppose, [curse!" 

But one so devilish rank — "Odds 
Said the Lord Chief Imp, and held 
his nose. 

" Ho, ho !" quoth he, " I know full well 
" From whom these two stray matters 

fell ;"— 
Then, casting away, with loathful shrug, 
Th' uncleanerwaif, (as he would a drug 
Th' Invisible's own dark hand had 

mix'd, ) 
His gaze on the other* firm he fix'd, 
And trying, though mischief laugh'd in 

his eye, [imps by. 

To be moral, because of the young 
*' What a pity !" he cried — " so fresh in 

its gloss, 
■'' So long preserved — 'tis a piiblic loss ! 
" This comes of a man, the careless 

blockhead, 
" Keeping his character in his pocket ; 

* H— k— n. 

t Or LientenantGeneraJ, as it may happen 



"And there — without considering 
whether [together — 

"There's room for that and his gains 

" Cramming, and cramming, and cram- 
ming away, [day ! 

" Till — out slips character some fine 

" However "—and here he viewed it 

round — 
" This article still may pass for sound. 
" Some flaws, soon patch'd, some stains 

are all [fall. 

" The harm it has had in its luckless 
"Here, Puck !" and he call'd to one of 

his train — 
" The owner may have this back again. 
" Though damaged forever, if used with 

skill [still ; 

" It may serve, perhaps, to trade on 
" Though the gem can never, as once, be 
" It wiU do for a Tory Cabinet !" [set, 



HOW TO WRITE BY PROXY. 

Qui facit per alium facit per se. 

'MoNG our neighliors, the French, in 
the good olden time 
When Nobility fiourish'd, great Bar- 
ons and Dukes [in rhyme. 
Often set up for authors in prose and 
But ne'er took the trouble to write 
their own books. 

Poor devils were found to do this for 

their betters ; — [a Blue, 

And one day, a Bishop, addressing 

Said, " Ma'am, have you read my new 

Pastoral Letters 1" 

To which the Blue answer'd — "No, 

Bishop, have you ?" 

The same is now done by our privileged 

class ; [ cess it needs. 

And, to show you how simple the pro- 

If a great Major-Generalt wishes to pass 

For an author of History, thus ho 

proceeds : — 

First scribbling his own stock of notions 

as well [claims him as kin, 

As he can, with a goose-qmU. that 

He settles his neckcloth— takes snuff'— 

rings the bell, 

Andyawningly orders a Subaltern in. 

The Subaltern comes— sees his General 

seated, [swelling :— 

In aU the self-glory of authorship 



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610 



MOORE'S POEMS. 



"There, look," saith his lordship, " My 
work is completed,— 
"It -wants nothing now, but the 
grammar and spelling." 
"Well used to a breach, the brave Subal- 
tern dreads [dred times more; 
Awkward breaches of syntax a hun- 
And, though often condemn'd to see 
breaking of heads, 
He had ne'er seen such breaking of 
Priscian's before. 

However, the job's sure to pay —that's 

enough — [hammer, 

So, to it he sets with his tinkering 

Convinced that there never was job half 

so tough [eral's grammar. 

As the mending a great Major-Gen- 

But, lo, a fresh puzzlement starts up to 
■\aew — [new expense : 

N"ew toil for the Sub. — for the Lord 
'Tis discovered that mending his gram- 
mar won't do, [in sense ! 
As the Subaltern also must find him 

At last— even this is achieved by his 

aid ; — [and — the story ; 

Friend Subaltern pockets the cash 

Drums beat — the new Grand March of 

Intellect's play'd— [in glory ! 

And off struts my Lord, the Historian, 



IMITATIO]^" OP THE mPERE^O OP 

DANTE. 

" Cosi quel fiato ph spirit! mail 

Di qua, di la, di giii, di su pli mena." 

Inferno, canto 5. 

I TtTRN'D my steps, and lo, a shadowy 

throng [blown along. 

Of ghosts came flutt'ring tow'rds me— 

Like cockchafers in high autumnal 

storms, [forms 

By many a fitful gust that through their 

Whistled, as on they came, with wheezy 

puff, [enough. 

And puff d as — though they'd never puff 

" "Whence and what are ye ?" pitying I 

inquired [and tired 

Of these poor ghosts, who, tatter'd, toss'd, 

* The ctosOTcaZ term for money. 

t The reader may fill up this gap with any 
one of the dissyllabic publishers of London that 
occurs to him. 

; Rosa Matilda, who was for many years the 
writer of the political articles in the journal 



"With such eternal pufltog, scarce could 

stand [demand. 

On their lean legs while answering my 
"We once were authors" — thus the 

Sprite, who led 
This tag-rag regiment of spectres, said — 
Authors of every sex, male, female, 

neuter, \2baA—peivtcr* 

"Who, early smit with love of praise 

" On G — lb— n'st shelves first saw the 

light of day, [away — 

" In 's puffs exhaled our lives 

"Like summer windmills, doom'd to 

dusty peace, [motion, cease. 

" "When the brisk gales, that lent them 
" Ah, little knew we then what ills await 
"Much-lauded scribblers in their after 

state ; [can tell— 

" Bepuffd on earth— how loudly Str— t 
" And, dire reward, now doubly pufl'd 

in hell !" 

Touch'd with compassion for his 
ghastly crew, [sung through 

"Whose ribs, even now, the hollow wind 
In mournful prose, — such prose as Ro- 
sa' st ghost [toast, 
Still at th' accustom' d hour of eggs and 
Sighs through the columns of the 
M—rn — g P — t, — [ stood 
Pensive I tum'd to weep, when he, who 
Foremost of all that flatulential brood, 
Singling a s7ie-ghost from the party, 

said, 
" AUow me to present Miss X. T. Z.,§ 
" One of our lettcr'd nymphs— excuse 
the pun — [ing none ; 

" "Who gain'd a name on earth by— hav- 
" And whose initials would immortal be, 
" Had she but leam'd those plain ones, 
A. B. C. [and neat, 

" Yon smirking ghost, like mummy dry 
"Wrapp'd in his own dead rhymes- 
fit -winding-sheet — [shoiild care 
"StiU marvels much that not a soul 
" One smgle pin to know who wroto 

' May Fair ;'— 
" "While this young gentleman," (hero 

forth he drew 
A dandy spectre, puflPd qiute through 

and through. 
As though his ribs were an ^olian lyre 

alluded to, and whose spirit still seems to pre- 
side—" regnat Rosa " — over its pages. 

^ Not the csiarming L. E. L., and still less, 
Mrs. F. H., -^rhose poetry is among the most 
beautiful of the present day. 




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SATIEICAL AND HUMOEOUS POEMS. 



61, 



For the old Row's soft trade-yvmds to 
iuspire,) [alone, 

"This modest genhis breathed one wish 
" To have his volume read, himself un- 
known ; [took, 
" But difi'e rent far the course his glory 
"All knew the author, and— none read 
the book. 

' ' Behold, in yonder ancient figure of fun, 
" Who rides the blast, Sir J — n— h 
B— rr— t— n; — [spent, 

" lu tricks to raise the wind his life was 
" And now the wind returns the compli- 
ment, [ter, 

" This lady here, the Earl of 's sis- 

" Is a dead" novelist ; and this is Mister — 
" Beg T^ardon— Honorable Mister L— s- 
t -r, [came over 

" A gentleman who, some weeks since, 
"In a smart puff (wind S. S. B.) to Do- 
ver. [Grey, 
•^ Yonder behind us limps young Vivian 
•' Whose life, poor youth, was long since 
blown away, [wind 
' Like a torn paper-kite, on which the 
•' No further purchase for a puff can 
find." 

"And thou thyself" — here, anxious, I 
exclaim'd— [art named." 

" Tell us, good ghost, how thou, thyself, 
"Me, Sir!" he blushing cried — "Ah, 
there's the rub— [Club, 

" Know, then -a waiter once at Brooks's 
" A waiter stiU I might have long re- 
mained, [glasses drain'd ; 
'And long the club-room's jokes and 
" But, ah, in luckless hour, this last De- 
cember, [me ' Member' — 
" I -wrote a book,* and Colburn dubb'd 
"'Member of Brooks's!' — oh Prome- 
thean puff, [stuff"! 
" To what wilt thou exalt even kitchen- 
" With crumbs of gossip, caught from 
dining wits, [haLf-chew'd bits, 
" And half-heard jokes, bequeath'd, like 
'• To be, each night, the waiter's perqui- 
sites ; — before, 
" "With such ingredients, served up oft 
" But with fresh fudge and fiction gar- 
nish'd o'er, [the town, 
" I managed, for some weeks, to dose 

* " History of the Clubs of London," an- 
nounced as l)y " a Member of Brooks's." 

t A Dantesque allusion to the old saying, 
' ' Nine miles beyond H — 11, where Peter pitched 
his waistcoat.'' 



' ' Till fresh reserves of nonsense ran me 

down; 
" And, ready still even waiters' souls lo 

damn, [here I am ; - 

"The Devil but rang his beU, and - 
"Yes — 'Coming up, Sii',' once my la- 

vorite cry, [here am 1 !" 

"Exchanged for 'Coming down, Sir,' 

Scarce had the spectre's lips these words 

let drop, [shop 

When, lo, a breeze — such as from 's 

Blows in the vernal hour, when pufls 

prevail, [lagging sale— 

And speeds the sheets and swells the 
Took the poor waiter rudely in the poop. 
And, whirling him and all his grisly 

group 
Of literary ghosts-Miss X. Y. Z.— 
The nameless author, better known tb an 

read — 
Sir Jo. — the Honorable Mr. L — st — r. 
And, last, not least, Lord Nobod^'n 

twin-sister— [prose and rhymes 
Blew them, ye gods, with all their 
And sins about them, far into those 

climes [old times, 

' ' Where Peter pitch'd his waistcoat "t in 
Leaving me much in doubt, as on I 

press'd [realm unbless'd. 

With my great master, through this 
Whether old Nick or C — lb — n puff's the 

best. 



LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OP LORD 
B— TH— ST'S TAIL.t 

All in again— unlook'd for bliss ! 
Yet, ah, one adjunct still we miss ; — 
One tender tie, attach'dso long [wrong. 
To the same head, through right and 
Why, B— th— St, why didst thou cut off 

That memorable tail of thine? 
Why — as if one was not enough— 

Thy pig-tie with thy place resign, 
And thus, at once, both cut and run, . 
Alas, my Lord, 'twas not well done, 
'Twas not, indeed — though sad at hearty 
From office and its sweets to part. 
Yet hopes of coming in again, 
Sweet Tory hopes ! beguiled our pain ; 
But thus to miss that tail of thine. 
Through long, long years our rallying 
sign— 



t The noble Lord, it is well known, cut off 
this nuich-respected appendupn, on his retire- 
ment from office some months since. 




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612 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



As if the State and all its powers 
By tenancy in tail were ours— 
To see it thus by scissors fall, 
TJiis was " th' unkindest cut of all !'' 
It seem'd as though th' ascendant day 
Of Toryism had pass'd away, 
And, proving Samson's story true, 
She lost her vigor with her queue. 

Parties are much like fish, 'tis said— 
The tail directs them, not the head ; 
Then, how could any party faU, [tail ? 
That steer'd its course by B — th— st's 
Not Murat's plume, thirough "Wagram's 
fight. 

E'er shed such guiding glories from it. 
As erst, in all true Tories' sight. 

Blazed fi.om our old Colonial comet ! 
If you, my Lord, a Bashaw were, 

(As "W — 11 — gt— n will be anou,) 
Thou might'st have had a tail to spare ; 

But no, alas, thou hadst but one. 

And that—WkG Troy, or Babylon, 

A tale of other times — is gone ! 
Tet — weep ye not, ye Tories true— 

Fate has uot yet of all bereft us ; 
Though thus deprived of B— th— st's 
queue, 

"We've E— b — h's curls stiU left us ;— 
Sweet curls, from which young Love, so 

vicious, 
His shots, as from nine-pounders, issues; 
Grand, glorious curls, which, in debate. 
Surcharged with all a nation's fate, 
His Lordship shakes, as Homer's God 
did,* [near him; — 

And oft in thundering talk comes 
Except that, there, the speaker nodded. 

And, here, 'tis only those who hear him. 
Long, long, ye ringlets, on the soil 

Of that fat cranium may ye flourish, 
"With plenty of Macassar oil, [nourish ! 

Through many a year your growth to 
And, ah, should Time too soon unsheath 

His barbarous shears such locks to sev- 
StiU dear to Tories, even in death, [er, 
Their last, loved relics we'll bequeath, 

A hair loom to our sons forever. 

THE CHERRIES.t 

A PARABLE. 

1828. 
See those cherries, how they cover 
Yonder sunny garden wall ; — 



' Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gires the 
nod." Pope's Homer. 



Had they not that network ov^.r 
Th-ieving birds would eat then' all. 

So, !■•) guard our posts and pensions, 
Ancient sages wove a net [sions, 

Througb whtse holes, of small dimen- 
Only certiin knaves can get. 

ShaU we then this network widen ? 

Shall we stretch these sacred holes, 
Through which, even already, slide in 

Lots of small dissenting souls ? 

" God forbid ! " old Testy crieth ; 

"God forbid ! " so echo 1 ; 
Every ravenous bird that flieth 

Then would at our chenies fly. 

Ope but half an inch or so. 

And, behold, what bevies break in ;^ 
Here, some cursed old Popish crow 

Pops his long and lickerish beak in , 

Here, sly Arian's flock unnumber'd, 
And Sociniaus, sUm and spare, 

"Who, with small belief encumber'd. 
Slip in easy anywhere ;— 

Methodists, of birds the aptest 

"Where there's pecking going on ; 
And that water-fowl, the Baptist — 

All would share our fruits anon ; 
Every bird, of every city. 

That, for years, with ceaseless din, 
Hath reversed the starling's ditty, 

Singing out " I can't get in." 

" God forbid ! " old Testy snivels ; 

" God forbid ! " I echo too ; 
Rather may ten thousand d-v-ls 

Seize the whole voracious crew ! 
If less costly fruit won't suit 'em. 

Hips and haws, and such like berries. 
Curse the cormorants ! stone 'em, shoot 

Any thing — to save our cherries, ['em, 



STANZAS "WRITTEN" IN ANTICI- 
PATION OF DEFEAT.t 

1828. 

Go seek for some abler defenders of 

wrong, [blood and expense ; 

If we must run the gauntlet through 

Or, Goths as ye are, in your multitude 

strong, [not to sense. 

Be content with success, and pretend 

t Written during the late discussion on the 
Test and Corporation Acts. 

J Durinf^ the discussion of the Catholic ques- 
tion in the House of Commons last session. 




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SATIEICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



613 



If the -words of the wise and the gen- 

'rous are vain, [up her breath, 

If Truth by the bowstring must yield 

Let Mutes do the office— and spare her 

the pain [her to death. 

Ofanin— gl— sor T— nd— 1 to talk 

Chain, persecute, plunder — do all that 

you will— [ly lore 

But save us, at least, the old wonian- 

Of a F— st— r, who, dully prophetic of 

ill, [augur* and bore. 

Is, at once, the two instruments. 

Bring legions of Squires— if they'll only 
be mute — [reason and right, 
And array their thick heads against 
Like the Eoman of old, of historic re- 
pute,! [earned the fight; 
Who with droves of dumb animals 
Pour out, from each corner and hole of 
the Comt, [salaried slaves, 
Tour Bedchamber lordliugs, your 
"Who, ripe for all job-work, no matter 
what sort, [patents and staves. 
Have their consciences tack'd to their 
Catch all the smaU fry who, as Juvenal 
sings, [they svrim jt 
Are the Treasury's creatiu-es, wherever 
With all the base, time-serving toadies 
of Kings, 
Who, if Punch were the monarch, 
would worship even him; 

And while, on the 07ie side, each name 

of renown [combined; 

That illumines and blesses our age is 

While the Foxes, the Pitts, and the 

Cannings look down. 

And drop o'er the cause their rich 

mantles of Mind ; 

Let old Paddy H — Imes show his troops 

on the other, [desired, 

And, counting of noses the quantum 

Let Paddy but say, like the Gracchi's 

famed mother, [that's required. 

" Come forward, my jewels" — 'tis all 

And thus let your farce be enacted here- 
after — [chain ; 

Thus honestly persecute, outlaw and 

But spare even your victims the torture 

of laughter, [again ! 

And never, oh never, try reasoning 

* This rhyme is more for the ear than the 
eye, as the carpenter's tool is spelt auger. 

t Fabius, who sent droves ol Dullocks against 
^he enemy. 

: Kes Fisci est, ubicumque natat.— Jctn'enal. 



ODE TO THE WOODS AND FOR- 
ESTS. 

BY ONK OF THE BOARD. 

1828. 

Let other bards to groves repair, [throats. 

Where linnets strain their tuneful 
Mine be the Woods and Forests, where 

The Treasury pours its sweeter notes. 
No whispering winds have charms for 

Nor zephyrs' balmy sighs I ask ; [me, 
To raise the wind for Royalty 

Be all our Sylvan zephyr's task ! 
And, 'stead of crystal brooks and floods, 

And all such vulgar irrigation. 
Let Gallic rhino through our Woods 

Divide its "com-se of hquid-ation." 

Ah, surely, Yirgil knew full well 

What Woods and Forests ought to be. 
When, sly, he introduced in hell 

His guinea-plant, his bullion-tree :— § 
Nor see I why, some futm-e day, [ send 

When short of cash, we should not 
Our H — rr — s down — he knows the 
way — 

To see if Woods in hell will lend. 
Long may ye flourish, sylvan haimts, 

Beneath whose " branches of expense" 
Our gracious K g gets all he wants,— 

Except a little taste and sense. 
Long, in your golden shade reclined. 

Like him of fair Armida's bowers. 
May W — 11— n some woofZ-nymph find. 

To cheer his dozenth lustrum's hours ; 
To rest from toil the Great Untaught, 

And soothe the pangs his warlike brain 
Must sufi"er, when, unused to thought. 

It tries to think, and— tries in vain. 

Oh long may Woods and Forests be 
Preserved, in all their teemmg graces. 

To shelter Tory bards, like me. 
Who take delight in Sylvan places -'W 



STANZAS FROM THE BANKS OP 
THE SHANNON.U 

18:38. 
" Take back the virgin page." 

MooiiE's Irish Melodies. 

No longer, dear V— sey, feel hurt and 

imeasy [brother, 

At hearing it said by thy Treasury 

§ Called by Virgil botanically, "species auri 

frondentis.'' 

II Tu facis, nt silvas, ut amem loca 

Ovid. 
H These verses were suggested by the result 





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614 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



That thou art a sheet of blank paper, my 

V — aey, [^-Qother.* 

And he, the dear innocent placeman, 

For, lo, what a service we, Irish, have 

done thee ; — [no more ; 

Thou now art a sheet of blank paper 

By St. Patrick, we've scrawl'd such a 

lesson upon thee [before. 

As never was scrawl'd upon foolscap 

Come— on with your spectacles, noble 

Lord Duke, [would lend you,) 

(Or O'Connell has green ones he haply 

Read V — sey all o'er (as you can't read 

a book) [trotters, send you ; 

And improve by the lesson we, bog- 

A lesson, ^n large Roman characters 

traced, [and your kin 

Whose awful impressions from you 

Of blank-sheeted statesmen will ne'er be 

effaced — [asses' skin. 

Unless, 'stead of paj)er, you're mere 

Shall I help you to construe it ? ay, by 

the Gods, [have a rare one ; 

Could I risk a translation, you should 

But pen against sabre is desperate odds, 

And you, my Lord Duke, (as you 

hinted once,) wear one. 

Again and again I say, read V— sey 

o'er; — [scrolls of papyrus, 

Ton wUl find him worth all the old 

That Egypt e'er fill'd with nonsensical 

lore, [of, to tire us. 

Or the learned Champollion e'er wrote 

All blank as he was, we've retum'd him 

on hand, [ces and Dukes, 

Scribbled o'er with a warning to Prin- 

Whose plain, simple di-ift if they won't 

understand, [fit for St. Luke's. 

Though caress'd at St. James's, they're 

Talk of leaves of the Sybils !— more 

meaning convey'd is 

In one single leaf such as now we 

have spell'd on, [old ladies 

Than e'er hath been utter'd by all the 

That ever yet spoke, from the Sybils 

to Eld— n. 

of the Clare election, in tbe year 1828, when the 
Rifiht Honorable W. Vesey Fitzgerald was re- 
jected, and Mr. O'Connell returned. 
* Some expressions of this purport, in a pub- 



THE ANNUAL PILL. 

Supposed to be sung by Old Puosy, the Jew, 
in the chai'acter of Major C — utw — gut. 

ViLL nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, 
Dat's to purity every ting nashty 
avay '/ [say vat I ^ill, 

Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let me 
Not a Chrishtian or Shentlemau minds 
vat I say ! [go, 

•Tis so pretty a bolus !— just down let it 
And, at vouce, such a radical shange 
you vill see, [in de show, 

Dat I'd not be surprish'd, like de horse 
If your heads all vere found vere your 
tailsh ought to be ! 
Vill nobodies try my nice An- 
nual Pill, &c. 

'Twill cure all Electors, and purge away 
clear [den- hands — 

Dat mighty bad itching dey've got in 
'Twin cure, too, all Statesmen of dul- 
ness, ma tear, [poor Mister Yan's. 
Though the case vas as desperate as 
Dere is noting at aU vat dis Pill vill not 
reach— [tie grain. 

Give the Sinecure Shentlemau von lit- 
Pless ma heart, it vUl act hke de salt on 
de leech. 
And he'll throw de pounds, shillings, 
and pence, up again ! 
YOl nobodies try my nice An- 
nual Pill, &c. 

'Twould be tedious, ma tear, aU its 
peauties to paint — [ly wrong. 
But, among oder tings fundamental- 
It viUcure de Proad Pottom\ — a com- 
mon complaint {sitting too \oug. 
Among M. P.'s and weavers — from 
Should symptoms of speeching break 
out on a dunce, [disease, 

(Yat is often de case,) it vUl stop de 
And pring avay all de long speeches at 
vonce, [come by degi-ees ! 

Dat else vould, like tape-worms, 

Yill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, 

Dat's to purify every ting nashty avay? 

Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let me 

say vat I vill, 

Not a Chrishtian or Shentlemau 

minds vat I say ! 

lished letter of one of these gentlemen, had then 
produced a good deal of amusement. 

t Meaning, I presume, Coalition Adminis- 
trations. 



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SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



615 



"IF" AITD "PERHAPS."* 

Oh tidiugs of freedom ! oh accents of 

hope ! [Erin's blue sea, 

TVaft, waft them, ye zephyrs, to 

And refresh with their sounds e-ery son 

of the Pope [dee. 

From Dingle-a-cooch to far Donagha- 

■2/' mutely the slave wiU endure and 
obey, [ing his pains, 

" Nor clanking his fetters, nor breath- 
•' His masters, jierhaps, at some far dis- 
tant day, [loosening his chains." 
' = May think (tender tyrants!) of 

Wise "if" and "perhaps !"— precious 

salve for our wounds, 

If he, who would rule thus o'er man- 

nacled mutes, 

Could check the free spring-tide of 

Mind, that resounds, [Canute's. 

Ev'n now, at his feet, like the sea at 

But, no, 'tis in v^in— the grand impulse 

is given, — [knowing will claim ; 

Man knows hii high Charter, and 

And if n;in must follow where fetters 

are riven, [ guilt and the shame. 

Be theirs, who have forged them, the 

" If" the slave wiU be silent !— vain Sol- 
dier, beware — [may assume. 
There is a dead silence the wrong'd 
When the feeUng, sent back from the 
lips in despair. 
But clings round the heart with a 
deadlier gloom ; — 

When the blush, that long bum'd on the 

suppliant's cbeek, [lute hue ; 

Gives place to th' avenger's pale, reso- 

And the tongue that once threaten'd, 

disdaining to speak, [to do. 

Consigns to the arm the high office — 

i/"men, in that silence, should think of 

the hour, [ply stood. 

When proudly their fathers in pano- 

Presenting, ahke, a bold front-work of 

power [on the flood : 

To the despot on land and the foe 

That hour, when a Yoice had come 
forth from the west. 
To the slave bringing hopes, to the 
tyrant alarms ; 

* Written, after hearing a celebrated speech 
In the House of Lords, June ]0, 1828. when the 
motion in favor of Catholic Emancipation, 



And a lesson, long look'd for, was taught 

the oppress'd, [inarms! 

That kings are as dust before freemen 

If, awfuller still, the mute slave should 

recall [dom's sweet day 

That dream of his boyhood, when Free- 

At length seem'd to break through a 

long night of thrall, [in its ray ; — 

And Union and Hope went abroad 

If Fancy should tell him, that Day- 
spring of Good, [from his chain. 
Though swiftly its light died away 
Though darkly it set in a nation's best 
blood, [again ; — 

'So-w wants but invoking to shine out 

If— if, I say— breathings like these 

should come o'er [as they come. 

The chords of remembrance, and thrill, 

Then, perhaps — ay, perhaps — but I dare 

not say more ; 

Thou hast will'd that thy slaves 

should be mute— I am dumb. 



WRITE OlS, WRITE OK 

A BALLAD. 

Air: — "Sleep on, sleep on, my Kathleen dear. 
Salvete, fratres Asini. St. rRANClS. 

Write on, write on, ye Barons dear. 

Ye Dukes, write hard and fast ; 
The good we've sought for many a yeai 

Tour quills will bring at last. 
One letter more, N — wc — stle, pen 

To match Lord K — ny — n's two, 
And more than Ireland's host of men, 

One brace of Peers wiU do. 

Write on, write on, &c. 

Sure, never, since the precious use 

Of pen and ink began, 
Did letters, writ by fools, produce 

Such signal good to man. 
While intellect, 'mong high and low, 

Is marching on, they say. 
Give me the Dukes and Lords, who go. 

Like crabs, the other way. 

Write on, write on, &c. 

Even now I feel the coming lights- 
Even now, could FoUy lure 

My Lord M— ntc — sh— 1, too, to write, 
Emancipation's sure. 

brought forward by the Marquis of Lansdowna 
was rejected by the House of Lords. 



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616 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



By geese (we read in history) 
Old Rome was saved from ill ; 

And now, to quills of geese, we see 
Old Rome indebted stiU. 

Write on, write on, &c. 

"Write, write, ye Peers, nor stoop to 

]^or beat for sense about — [style. 
Things, little worth a Noble's while, 

You're better far without. 
Oh ne'er, since asses spoke of yore, 

Such miracles were done ; 
For, write but four such letters more, 

And Freedom's cause is won ! 



SONG OF THE DEPARTING 
SPIRIT OF TITHE. 

" The parting Genius is with sighing sent.''- 
Milton. 

It is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er ; 
I hear a Voice, from shore to shore. 
From Dunfanaghy to Baltimore, 
And it saith, in sad, parsonic tone, 
" Great Tithe and Small are dead and 
gone !'' 

Even now, I behold your vanishing 

wings, 
Ye Tenths of all conceivable things, 
Which Adam first, as Doctors deem, 
Saw, in a sort of night- mare dream,* 
After the feast of fruit abhorr'd — 
First indigestion on record !— 
Ye decimate ducks, ye chosen chicks. 
Ye pigs which, though ye be Catholics, 
Or of Calvin's most select depraved. 
In the Church must have your bacon 
saved ; — [sheaves. 

Ye fields, where Labor counts his 
And, whatsoe'er himself believes, 
Must bow to th' Establish'd Church 
belief, [sheaf;— 

That the tenth is always a Protestant 
Ye calves, of which the man of Heaven 
Takes Irish tithe, one calf in seven ;t 
Ye tenths of rape, hemp, barley, flax, 
EggSjt timber, Jmilk, fish, and bees' wax ; 

* A reverend prebendai-y of Hereford, in an 
Essay on the Revenues of ^the Church of Eng- 
hmd.has assigned the origin of Tithes to " some 
unrecorded revelation made to Adam."' 

t " The tenth calf is due to the parson of 
common right ; and if there are seven he shall 
have one."— Rees's Cyclopcedia, art. "Tithes." 

J Chaucer's Plowman complains of the parish 
rectors, that 

" For tlie tithing of a duck, 
Or an apple or an aye, (egg,) 



All things,in short,since earth's creation, 
Doom'd, by the Church's dispensation. 
To suffer eternal decimation — 
Leaving the whole Zay-world, since then, 
Reduced to nine parts out of ten ; 
Or — as we calculate thefts and arsons- 
Just ten per cent, the worse for Parsons ! 

Alas, and is all this wise device 
For the saving of souls thus gone in a 
trice ? — [^ay? 

The whole put down in the simplest 
By the souls resolving not to pay ! 
And even the Papists, thankless race, 
Whohave had so much the easiest case- 
To pay /or our sermons doom'd, 'tis true, 
But not condemn'd to hear tlicm, too — 
(Our holy business being, 'tis known, 
With the ears of their barley, not their 
Even i/te?/ object to let us pillage, [own,) 
By right divine, their tenth of tUIage, 
And, horror of horrors, even decline 
To find us in sacramental wine !§ 

It is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er. 
Ah, never shall rosy Rector more, 
Like the shepherds of Israel, idly eat. 
And make of his flock "a prey and 

meat." II 
No more shall be his the pastoral sport 
Of suing his flock in the Bishop's Court, 
Through various steps, Citation, Libel— 
Scriptures all, but not the Bible ; 
Working the Law's whole apparatus. 
To get a few pre-doom'd potatoes, 
And summoning all the powers of wig. 
To settle the fraction of a pig !— 
Till, parson and aU committed deep 
In the case of "Shepherds rersMsSheep," 
The Law usurps the Gospel's place, 
And, on Sundays, meeting face to face. 
While Plaiutifl' fills the preacher's station, 
Defendants form the congregation. 

So lives he. Mammon's priest, not Hea- 
ven's, 
For tenths thus all at sixes and sevens. 
Seeking what parsons love no less 
Than tragic poets— a good distress. 

They make him swear upon a boke ; 

Thus they foulen Christ's fay." 
§ Among the specimens laid before Parlia- 
ment of the sort of Church rates levied upon 
Catholics in Ireland, was a charge of two pipes 
of port for sacramental wine. 

IIEzekiel, xxsiv. 10.— "Neither shall the 
shepherds feed themselves any more; for I 
will deliver my flock from their mouth, that 
they may not be meat for them " 



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iiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiuRiiiimiitiiiitimiiiiniiniiiiiiMiHiiiiiniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiraiiiiiiiiiiraiHiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiniiliOiira 




SATIRICAL A^J) HUMOROUS POEMS. 



617 



Instead of studying St. Augustin, 
Gregory N"yss, or old St. Justin, 
(Books fit only to hoard dust in,) 
His reverence stints his evening readings 
To learn'd Repoi-tsof Tithe Proceedings, 
Sipping, the while, that port so ruddy, 
"Which forms his only ancient study ; — 
Port so old, you'd swear its tartar 
"Was of the age of Justin Martyr, 
And, had he sipp'd of such, no doubt 
His martyi'dom would have been — to 
gout. 

Is all then lost ?— alas, too true — 
Ye Tenths beloved, adieu, adieu ! 
My reign is o'er, my reign is o'er — 
Like old Thumb's ghost, " I can no 



THE EUTHAN"ASIA OP VAN". 

" We are told that the bigots are growing old 
and fast wearing out. If it be so, why not let 
VIS die in peace ?"— Lord Bexley's Letter to the 
Freeholders of Kent, 

Stop, Intellect, in mercy stop, 
Te cursed improvements, cease ; 

And let poor Nick Y— ns— tt— t drop 
Into his grave in peace. 

Hide, Knowledge, hide thy rising sun. 
Young Freedom, veil thy head ; 

Let nothing good be thought or done, 
Till Nick V— ns— tt— t's dead ! 

Take pity on a dotard's fears, 
"Who much doth light detest ; 

And let his last few drivelling years 
Be dark as were the rest. 

You, too, ye fleeting one-pound notes, 

Speed not so fast awaj^ — 
Ye rags on which old Nicky gloats, 

A few months longer stay.* 

Together soon, or much I err, 
"Tou both from life may go— 

The notes unto the scavenger, 
And Nick — to Nick below. 

Ye Liberals, whate'er your plan, 

Be all reforms suspended ; 
In compliment to dear old "Van, 

Let nothing bad be mended. 

Ye Papists, whom oppression wrings. 

Your cry politely cease, 

* PeritursB parcere chart£E. 

t The only way, Monsieur Ude assures us, 
to get rid of the oil so objectionable in this fish. 



And fret your hearts to fiddle-strings 
That Van may die in peace. 

So shall he win a fame sublime 
By few old rag- men gatn'd ; 

Since all shall own, in Nicky's time, 
Nor sense, nor justice reign'd. 

So shall his name through ages past, 

And dolts ungotten yet. 
Date from " the days of Nicholas," 

"With fond and sad regret ;— 

And sighing, say, "Alas, had he 
" Been spared from Pluto's bowers, 

" The blessed reign of Bigotry 
"And Rags might stdl be ours ! " 



TO THE REYEREND 



ONE OF THE SIXTEEN REQUISITIONISTS OF NOT- 
TINGHAM. 

1828. 

"What, yoti, too, my ******, in hashes 

so knowing, [fess'd .' 

Of sauces and soups Aristarchus pro- 

Are you, too, my savory Brunswick er, 

going [the rest ? 

To make an old fool of yourself with. 

Far better to stick to your kitchen re- 
ceipts ; [—for variety. 
And — if you want something to tease 
Go study how Ude, in his " Cookery," 
treats [ish'd society. 
Live eels, when he fits them for pol- 
Just snuggling them in, 'twixt the bars 
of the fire, [on the coals, t 
He leaves them to wriggle and writhe 
In a manner that H — m — r himself 
would admire, [Catholic souls. 
And wish, 'stead of eels, they were 

Ude tells us, the fish little suflFering feels; 

"While Papists, of late, have more 

sensitive grown ; [live eels, 

So, take my advice, try your hand at 

And, for once, let the other poor 

devils alone. 

I have even a still better receipt for 

your cook — [licpatitis,X 

How to make a goose die of confirm'd 

And, if you'll, for once, /eZtoic-feelings 

o'erlook, [sight is. 

A well-tortured goose a most capital 

t A liver complaint. The process by which 

the livers of geese are enlarged for the famous 

Pates de/oie aoie. 




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613 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



First, catch him, alive — make a good 

steady fire — [being tied. 

Set your victim before it, both legs 

(As, if "left to himself, hewji(7/i;f wish to 

retire,) [by his side. 

And place a large bowl of rich cream 

There roasting by inches, dry, fever'd 

and faint, [civilly laid, off, 

Having drank all the cream, you so 

He dies of as charming a liver complaint 

As ever sleek parson could wish a pie 

made of 

Besides, ouly think, my dear one of 

Sixteen, [epicure's use meant, 

What an emblem this bird, for the 

Presents of the mode in which Ireland 

has been [brethren's amusement: 

Made a tit-bit for yours and your 

Tied down to the stake, while her limbs, 

as they quiver, [grees— 

A slow fire of tyranny wastes by de- 

"So wonder disease should have swell'd 

up her liver, [love her disease. 

N'o wonder you. Gourmands, should 



IRISH A.NTIQUITIES. 

According to some leam'd opinions 
The Irish once were Carthaginians ; 
But, ti-ustmg to more late descriptions, 
Id rather say they were Egyptians. 
My reason's this : — the Priests of Isis, 

When forth they march'd in long 
array, 
Employ'd, 'mong other grave devices, 

A Sacred Ass to lead the way ;* 
And still the antiquarian traces 

'Mong Irish Lords this Pagan plan. 
For still, in all religious cases. 

They put Lord R— d— n in the van. 

A CURIOUS FACT. 

The present Lord K— ny— n (the Peer 

who writes letters. 
For which the waste-paper folks much 

are his debtors) [ing, 

Hath one little oddity, well worth rccit- 
Which puzzleth observers, even more 

than his writing : [to behold 

Whenever Lord K— ny— n doth chance 
* To this practice the ancient adage alludes, 
" Asinus portana mysteria." 

t See the anecdote, which the Duchess of 
Marlborough relates in her Memoirs, of this 
polite hero appropriatinp to himself, one day at 
dinner, a whole dish of green peas — the first of 
the season— while the poor Princess Anne, 



A cold Apple-pie — mind, the pie musi 

be cold— [know why,) 

His Lordship looks solemn, (few people 

And he makes a low bow to the said ap- 



ple-pie. 
idolat 



This idolatrous act, in so "vital" a Peer, 
Is, by most serious Protestants, thought 
rather queer — [the head 

Pie-worship, they hold, coming under 
(Tide Crustium, chap, iv.) of the Wor- 
ship of Bread. [owes 
Some think 'tis a tribute, as author, he 
For the service that pie-crust hath done 
to his prose ; — [swear, 
The only good things in his pages, they 
Being those that the pastry-cook some- 
times puts there, [crust convey'd, 
Others say, 'tis a homage, through pie- 
To our Glorious Deliverer's much-hon- 

or'd shade ; 
As that Protestant Hero (or Saint, if 

you please) 
Was as fond of cold pie as he was of 
green peas,t [that. 

And 'tis solely in loyal remembrance of 
My Lord K— ny— n to apple-pie takes 
off his hat. [tation 

While others account for this kind salu- 
By what Tony Lumpkin calls "con- 
catenation ;" — 
A certain good-will that, from sympa- 
thy's ties, 
'Twixt old Apjyle-vfomen and Orange- 
men lies. 

But 'tis needless to add, these are all 

vague surmises, [ter arises: 

For thus, we're assured, the whole mat- 
Lord K — ny — n's respected old father 

(like many [ny ; 

Respected old fathers) was fond of a pen- 
And loved so to save,t that— there's not 

the least question— [gestion. 
His death was brought on by a bad indi- 
From cold apple-pie-crust his Lordship 

toould stuff in, [muffin. 

At breakfast, to save the expense of hot 
Hence it is, and hence only, that coU 

apple-pies [ent eyes- 

Are beheld by his Heir with such rever- 

who was then in a longing condition, sat by, 
vainly entreating, with her eyes, for a share. 

J The same prudent propensity characterizes 
his descendant, who (as is well known) would 
not even go to the expense of a dijihthong 
on his father's monument, but had the inscrip- 
tion spelled, economically, thus :— " Morsjanua 
vita. 



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SATIRICAL AN"1> HUMOROUS POEMS. 



619 



Just as honest King Stephen his beaver 
might doff [off— 

To the fishes that carried his kind uncle 
And while filial piety urges so many on, 
'Tis pure oppZe-pie-ety moves my Lord 
K— ny— n. 



N-EW-FASHIONBD ECHOES. 

Sir, 

Most of your readers are, no doubt, acquaint- 
ed with the anecdote told of a certain, not over- 
wise, judjje, who, when in the act of delivering 
a charge in some country court-house, was in- 
terrupted by tlie braying of an ass at the door. 
" What noise is that ?" asked the angry judge. 
" Only an extraordinary echo there is in couit, 
my Lord," answered one of the counsel. 

As there are a number of such "extraordi- 
nary echoes" abroad just now, you will not, 
perhaps, be unwilling, Mr. Editor, to receive 
the following few lines suggested by them. 
Yours, &c., 

S. 

Hue coeamus,* ait ; nullique libentius unquam 
Responsura sono, Coeamus, retulit echo. 

Ovid. 

There are echoes, "we know, of all sorts. 
From the echo, that "dies in the dale," 

To the " airy-tongued babbler," that 
sports 
Up the tide of the torrent her "tale." 

There are echoes that bore us, like Blues, 
"With the latest smart mot they have 
heard ; 

There are echoes, extremely like shrews, 
Letting nobody have the last word. 

In the bogs of old Paddy-land, too. 
Certain "talented" echoesf there 
dwell, [do V 

"WTio, on being ask'd, "How do you 
Politely reply, " Pretty well." 

But why should I talk any more 
Of such old-fashion'd echoes as these, 

"When Britain has new ones in store. 
That transcend them by many degrees ? 

For, of all repercussions of sound, [er. 
Concerning which bards make a poth- 

There's none like that happy rebound 
"When one blockhead echoes anoth- 
er; — 

"When K — ny — n commences the bray, 
And the Borough-Duke follows his 

track ; 
* " Let us form Clubs." 
t Commonly called " Paddy Blake's Echoes." 
i Anti-Catholio associations, under the title 



And loudly from Dublin's sweet bay, 
R — thd— ne brays, with interest, 
back ;— 

And while, of most echoes the sound 
On our ear by reflection doth fall, 

These Brunswickers| pass the bray 
round. 
Without any reflection at all. 

Oh Scott, were I gifted like you, 
"Who can name all the echoes there are 

From Benvoirlich to bold Ben-venue, 
From Benledi to wild Uamvar ; 

I might track, through each hard Irish 



The rebounds of this asinine strain, 
Till from Feddy to If eddy, it came 
To the chief Neddy, K— ny— n, again; 

Might tell how it roar'd in R~thd— ne. 
How from D — ws — n it died off gen- 
teelly— 

How hollow it rung from the crown 
Of the fat-pated Marquis of E — y ; 

How, on hearing my Lord of G— e. 
Thistle-eaters, the stoutest, gave way. 

Outdone, in their own special line. 
By the forty-ass power of his bray ! 

But, no — for so humble a bard 
'Tis a subject too trying to touch on: 

Such noblemen's names are too hard. 
And their noddles too soft to dwell 
much on. 

Oh Echo, sweet nymph of the hill. 
Of the dell, and the deep -sounding 
shelves ; 
If, in spite of Narcissus, you still 
Take to fools who are charm'd with 
themselves, 

"Who knows but, some morning retiring, 
To walk by the Trent's wooded side. 

You may meet with if — wc — stle, ad- 
miring 
His own lengthen'd ears in the tide ! 

Or, on into Cambria straying, 

Find K— ny — n, that double tongued 
elf, 
In his love of a*s-cendency, braying 

A Brunswick duet with himself ! 



of Brunswick Clubs, were at this time becom- 
ing numerous both in England and Ireland. 




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MOORE'S "WORKS. 



INCANTATION. 



'THE BRUN8- 



SCENE —Penenden Plain.— In the middle, a 

caldron boiling. —Thunder. —Enter Three 

Brunswickers. 

1st Bruns. — Thrice hath scribbling 
K— ny — n scrawl'd, [tie bawl'd, 

2^ Bruns'.— Once hath fool N— wc— s- 

3d Bruns. — B— xl— y snores : — 'tis 
time, 'tis time, [go ; 

1st Brims.— Bound about the caldron 
In the poisonous nonsense throw. 
Bigot spite, that long hath grown. 
Like a toad within a stone. 
Sweltering in the heart of Sc— tt, 
Boil we in the Brunswick pot. [ble, 

^/Z.— Dribble, dribble, nonsense drib- 
Eld— n, talk, and K-— ny — n, scribble. 

2il Bruns.— Slaver from N— wc— stle's 
In the noisome mess distil, [quill 

Biimming high our Brunswick broth 
Both with venom and with froth. 
Mix the brains (though apt to hash ill, 
Being scant) of Lord M — ntc — shel, 
With that malty stuff' which Ch— nd— s 
Drivels as no other man does. 
Catch (i. e. if catch you can) 
One idea, spick and span, 
From my Lord of S — 1— sb — j, — 
One idea, though it be 
Smaller than the " happy flea," 
Which his sire, in sonnet terse, 
"Wedded to immortal verse.* 
Though to rob the son is sin, 
Put his one idea in ; 
And, to keep it company, 
Let that conjuror "W — nch — Is — a 
Drop but half another there. 
If he hath so much to spare. 
Dreams of murders and of arsons, 
Hatch'd in heads of Irish parsons. 
Bring from every hole and corner, 
"Where ferocious priests, like H — m — r, 
Purely for religious good. 
Cry aloud for Papist's blood, 
Blood for "W— lis, and such old women. 
At their ease to wade and swim in. 

All — Dribble, dribble, nonsense drib- 
ble, 
B— xl— y, talk, and K— ny— n, scribble. 

* Alluding: to a well-known lyric composition 
of the late Marquis, which, with a slight alter- 
ation, might be addressed either to a flea or a 
fly. For instance :— 

" Oh happy, happy, happy fly. 
If I were you, or you were L" 



3d Bruns. — Now the charm begins tc 
Sisters, sisters, add thereto [brew; 

Scraps of L — thbr — dge's old speeches, 
Mix'd with leather from his breeches. 
Rinsings of old B— xl— y's brains, 
Thicken'd (if you'U take the pains) 
"With that pulp which rags create, 
In their middle, nympha state, 
Ere, like insects frail and sunny, 
Forth they wing abroad as money. [ed — 
There— the Hell-broth we've enchant- 
Now but one thing more is wanted. 
Squeeze o'er all tliat Orange juice, 

C keeps cork'd for use, 

"Which, to work the better spell, is 

Color'd deep with blood of , 

Blood, of powers far more various. 
Even than that of Januarius, 
Since so great a charm hangs o'er it, 
England's parsons bow before it ! [ble, 

JZL— Dribble, dribble, nonsense drib- 
B— xl — y, talk, and K— ny— n, scribble. 

2d ^nms.— Cool it now with 's 

So the charm is firm and good, [blood, 
[Exeunt. 



HO"W TO MAKE A GOOD POLI- 
TICIAN. 

"Whene'er you're in doubt, said a Sage 
I once knew, [to pursue, 

'Twixt two lines of conduct which course 

Ask a woman's advice, and, whate'er 
she advise, [be wise. 

Do the very reverse, and you're sure to 

Of the same use as guides are the Bruns- 
wicker throng ; 

In then- thoughts, words, and deeds, so 
instinctively wrong, [or indite, 

That, whatever they counsel, act, talk, 

Take the opposite course, and you'rt 
sm-e to be right. 

So golden this rule, that, had nature de- 
nied you [guide you— 

The use of that finger-post, Reason, to 

"Were you even more dotish than any 
given man is, [dling than Van is. 

More soft than N— wc— stle, more twad- 

I'd stake my repute, on the following 
conditions, [politicians. 

To make you the soundest of sound 



' Oh, happy, happy, happy flea, 
If I were yon, or you were me; 
But since, alas ! that cannot be, 
I must remain Lord S y ." 




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SATIRICAL AND HTTMOROUS POEMS. 



621 



Place yourself near the skirts of some 

high-flying Tory- 
Some Brunswieker parson, of port-drink- 
ing glory,— 
"Watch well how he dines, during any 

great Question — [his digestion — 
What makes him feed gayly, what spoils 
And always feel sure that his joy o'er a 

stow lyou. 

Portends a clear case of dyspepsia to 
Read him backwards, like Hebrew — 

whatever he wishes, [nicious. 
Or praises, note down as absurd, or per- 
Like the folks of a weather-house, shift- 
ing about, [be an Out. 
"When he s out, be an In — when he's in, 
Keep him always reversed in your 

thoughts, night and day, [way : — 
Like an Irish barometer tmu'd the wrong 
If he's up, you may swear that foul 

weather is nigh ; [blue sky. 

If he's down, you may look for a bit of 
JSTever mind what debaters or journalists 

say, [t'other way. 

Only ask what he thinks, and then think 
Does he hate the Small-note Bill ? then 

firmly rely [you don't know why. 
The Small-note Bill's a blessing, though 
Is Brougham his aversion I then Harry's 

your man. 
Does he quake at O'Connell? take 

doubly to Dan. 
Is he aE for the Tm-ks ? then, at once, 

take the whole [to your soul. 
Russian Empire (Czar, Cossacks, and all) 
In short, whatsoever he talks, thinks, 

or is. 
Be your thoughts, words, and essence 

the contrast of his. 
Nay, as Siamese ladies — at least, the 

pohte ones — 
All paint their teeth black, 'cause the 

devil has white ones — [tide. 

If ev'n, by the chances of time or of 
Tour Tory, for once, should have sense 

on his side, [Old Nick, 

Even then stand aloof— for, be sure that 
"When a Tory talks sensibly, means you 

some trick. 

Such my recipe is- -and, in one single 
verse, [rehearse. 

I shall now, in conclusion, its substance 

Be all that a Brunswieker is not, nor 
could be, 

And then— you'U be all that tin honest 
man shoulcf be. 



EPISTLE OF CONDOLENCE. 

FROM A SLAVE-LORD TO A COTTON-LOnD. 

AiiAS ! my dear friend, what a state of 

affairs ! [our rights ! 

How unjustly we both are despoil'd of 

N"ot a pound of black flesh shall I leave 

to my heirs, [little whites. 

N"or must you any more work to death 

Both forced to submit to that general 
controller [Public Opinion, 

Of Kings, Lords, and cotton mills, 
N"o more shall you beat with a big-billy- 
roller, [dominion. 
N"or / with the cart-whip assert my 

"Whereas, were we suffer' d to do as we 

please [of yore we were let, 

"With our Blacks and our "Whites, as 

We might range them alternate, like 

harpsichord keys, [piebald duct. 

And between us thump out a good 

But this fun is aU over ; — farewell to the 

zest [cuj) we sip ; 

"Which Slavery now lends to each tea- 

"Which makes still thf cruellest cofiee 

the best, [smacks of the whip. 

And that sugar thf sweetest which 

FareweU, too, the Factory's white pica- 
ninnies— [flogg'd to their tasks, 
Small, living machines, which, 4 
Mix so weU with their namesakes, the 
"BiUies" and "Jennies," 
That which have got souls in 'em no- 
body asks; — 

Little Maids of the Mill, who, them- 
selves but ill-fed, [olent cares. 
Are obhged, 'mong their other benev- 
To "keep feeding the scribblers,"* — and 
better, 'tis said, [ever fed theirs. 
Than old Blackwood or Frazer have 

AU this is now o'er, and so dismal my 

loss is, [the thong. 

So hard 'tis to part from the smack of 

That I mean (from pure love for the old 

whippiue process) [life long. 

To take to whipp'd syllabub all my 

THE GHOST OF MILTIADES. 
Ah quoties dubius Scriptis exarsit amator! 
Ovid. 
The Ghost of Miltiades came at night. 
And he stood by the bed of the Ben- 
thamite, 
* One of the operations in cotton mills usually 
jgerformed by children. 



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g ^r-Tli 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



A-nd he said in a voice that thrill'd the 

frame, 
" If ever the sound of Marathon's name 
"Hath fired thy blood or flush'd thy 

brow, 
" Lover of Liberty, rouse thee now !" 

The Benthamite, yawning, left his bed — 
Away to the Stock Exchange he sped, 
And he found the Scrip of Greece so high. 
That it fired his blood, it flush'd his eye, 
And oh, 'twas a sight for the Ghost to 

see, [he ! 

For never was Greek more Greek than 
And still as the premium higher went. 
His ecstasy rose— so much per cent, 
(As we see in a glass, that tells the 

weather. 
The heat and the silver rise together,) 
And Liberty sung from the patriot's lip, 
While a voice from his pocket whisper'd 

"Scrip!" 
The Ghost of Miltiades came again ; — 
He smiled, as the pale moon smiles 

through rain, [strain; 

For his soul was glad at that patriot 
(And poor, dear ghost — how little he 

knew [crew !) 

The jobs and the tricks of the Philhellene 
" Blessings and thanks !" was all he said. 
Then, melting away, like a night-dream, 

fled! 

The Benthamite hears— amazed that 

ghosts 
Could be such fools,— and away he posts, 
A patriot still ? Ah no, ah no — 
Goddess of Freedom, thy Scrip is low, 
And, warm and fond as thy lovers are, 
Thou triest their passion, when under j^ar 
The Benthamite's ardor fast decays, 
By turiis he weeps, and swears, and 
prays, [Cross, 

And wishes the d— 1 had Crescent and 
Ere he had been forced to sell at a loss. 
They quote him the Stock of various na- 
tions. 
But, spite of his classic associations. 
Lord, how he loathes the Greek quota- 
tions ! 
" Who'll buy my Scrip ? Who'll buy my 

Scrip !" 
Is now the theme of the patriot's lip, 
As he runs to tell how hard his lot is 
To Messrs. Orlando and Luriottis, 
And says, " Oh Greece, for Liberty's sake, 
" Do buy my Scrip, and I vow to break 



"Those dark, unholy 'bonds of thine — 
" If you'll only consent to buy up mine!" 
The Ghost of Miltiades came once 

more;— [o'er. 

His brow, like the night, was lowering 
And he said, with a look that flash'rt 

dismay, 
" Of Liberty's foes the worst are they, 
" Who turn to a trade her cause divine, 
"And gamble for gold on Freedom's 

shrine !" [flight, 

Thus saying, the Ghost, as he took his 
Gave a Parthian kick to the Benthamite, 
Which sent him, whimpering, ofl to 

Jerry— 
And vanish'd away to the Stygian ferry ! 



ALARMING IN"TELLIGBN"CE-RE- 
VOLUTIOi?' m THE DICTION"- 
ARY— ONE GALTA.1 THE HEAD 
OF IT. 

God preserve us ! there's nothing now 
safe from assault ;— 
Thrones toppling around, churches 
brought to the hammer ; 
And accounts have just reach'd us that 
one Mr. Gait 
Has declared open war against Eng- 
lish and Grammar ! 

He had long been suspected of some 

such design, [arrive at. 

And, the better his wicked intents to 

Had lately 'mong C— lb— n's troops of 

the line [private. 

(The penny-a-line men) enUsted as 

There school'd, with a rabble of words 

at command, [cuous alliance, 

Scotch, English, and slang, in promis- 

He, at length, against Syntax has taken 

his stand, [at defiance. 

And sets all the Nine Parts of Speech 

Next advices, no doubt, further facts 

will afford; [imminent grows. 

In the mean time the danger most 

He has taken the Life of one eminent 

Lord, [only knows. 

And whom he'U next murder the Lord 

Wednesday Evening. 

Since our last, matters, luckily, look 

more serene; [his defection, 

Though the rebel, 'tis stated, to aid 

Has seized a great Powder— no, Pull 

Magazine, [every direction. 

And th explosions are dreadful in 




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SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



What his meaninj]; exactly is, nobody 
knows, [botheration) 

As he talks (in a strain of intense 
Of lyrical "ichor,"* '' gelatinons" prose,t 
And a mixture caD'd " amber immor- 
talization, "f 

Now, he raves of a bard he once hap- 

pen'd to meet, 

Seated high "among rattlings," and 

churning a sonnet ;§ [sheet, 

Now, talks of a mystery, wrapp'd in a 

With a halo (hj way of a nightcap) 

upon it !| 

We shudder in tracing these terrible 
lines ; 
Something bad they must mean, 
though we can't make it out ; 
For, whate'er may be guess'd of Gait's 
secret designs, 
That they're all ^nit-English no 
Christian can doubt. 



RESOLUTIONS 

PASSED AT A LATE MEETING OF 
REVERENDS AND RIGHT REVERENDS. 

Resolved — to stick to every particle 
Of every Creed and every Article ; 
Reforming naught, or great or little. 
We'll stauchly stand by every tittle, IT 
And scorn the swallow of that soul 
Which cannot boldly bolt the whole. 

Resolved that, though St. Athanasius 
In damning souls is rather spacious — 
Though wide and far his cm-ses fall, 
Our Church " hath stomach for them 

all ; " 
And those who're not content with such. 
May e'en be d— d ten times as much. 
Resolved— such liberal souls are we — 
Though hating Nonconformity, 
We yet boUeve the cash no worse is 

* "That dark diseased ichor which colored 
his effusions. "—Galt's Life of Byron. 

t "That gelatinous character of their effu- 
sions." — Ibid. 

{ " The poetical embalmment, or rather, 
amber immortalization."— rtirf. 

§ " Sitting amidst the shrouds and rattlings, 
ohuriiing an inarticulate melody." — Ibid. 

11 "He was a mystery in a winding sheet, 
crowned with a h:ih>.''— Ibid. 

IT One of the questions projOTunded to the 
Puritans in 1573 was—" Whether the Book of 
Service was pood and goMly, every tittle 
grounded on the Holy Scripture ?" On which 
an honest Dissenter remarks—" Surely they 
VM a wonderful Ojiinion of their Service Book 
rhat there was not a tittle amiss in it." 



That comes from Nonconformist purses. 
Indifferent whence the money reaches 
The pockets of our reverend breeches, 
To us the Jumper's jingling penny 
Chinks with atone as sweet as any; 
And even our old friends Yea and Nay 
May through the nose for ever pray, 
If also through the nose they'll pay. 

Resolved, that Hooper,** Latimer,tt 
And Cranmer.tt all extremely err. 
In taking such a low-bred view 
Of what Lords Spiritual ought to do : — 
All owing to the fact, poor men, 
Tbat Mother Church was modest then, 
Nor knew what golden eggs her goose. 
The Public, would in time produce. 
One Pisgah peep at modern Durham 
To far more lordly thoughts would stii 
'em. 

Resolved, that when we. Spiritual Lords, 
Whose income just enough affords 
To keep our Spiritual Lordships cosy. 
Are told, by Antiquarians prosy. 
How ancient Bishops cut up theirs, 
Giving the poor the largest shares — 
Our answer is, in one short word. 
We think it pious, but absurd. 
Those good men made the world their 
debtor, [ter ; 

But we, the Church reform'd, know bet- 
And, taking all that all can pay. 
Balance th' account the other way. 

Resolved, our thanks profoundly due are 
To last month's Quarterly Reviewer, 
Who proves (by arguments so clear 
One sees how much he holds ^er year) 
That England's Church, though out of 
Must still be left to lie in state, [date, 
As dead, as rotten, and as grand as 
The mummy of Eling Osymandyas, 
All pickled snug— the brains'^ drawn 
out— §§ 

**"They," the Bishops, "know that the 
primitive Church had no such Bishops. If the 
fourth part of the bishopric remained unto the 
Bishop, it were sufficient. "—0?i?/tc Command 
mcntd, p. 72. 

tt '' Since the Prelates were made Lords and 
Xobles, the plough standeth, there is no work 
done, the people starve." — Lat. Serm. 

t; " Of whom have come nil these glorious 
titles, styles, and pomps into tlio Church. But 
1 would that I, and all my brethren, the Bish- 
ops, would leave all our styles, and write the 
styles of our offices," &.o.—Lifc of Cranmer, by 
Strjipe, Appendix. 

^5 Part of the process of embalmment. 




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624 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



"With costly cerements swathed about, — 
And " Touch me not," those words ter- 
rific, 
Scrawl'd o'er her in good hieroglyphic. 

SIR A]!fDRBWS DREAM. 

"Nee tn sperne piis venientia somnia portis : 

Com pia renerunt somnia, poudus habent." 

Propert lib. iv. eleg. 7. 

As snug, on a Sunday eve, of late. 
In his easy chair Sir Andrew sate, 
Being much too pious, as every one 

knows. 
To do aught, of a Sunday eve, but doze, 
He dreamt a dream, dear holy man, 
And I'U tell you his dream as well as I 

can. 

He found himself, to his great amaze. 
In Cbarles the First's high Tory days, 
And just at the time that gi-avest of 
Com-ts [Sports.* 

Had publish'd its Book of Sunday 
Sunday Sports ! what a thing for the ear 
Of Andrew, even in sleep, to hear ! — 
It chanced to be, too, a Sabbath day. 
When the people from church were com- 
ing away ; 
And Andrew with horror heard this song. 
As the smiling sinners flock'd along : — 
" Long life to the Bishops, hurrah ! 
hurrah ! (play 

'•■ For a week of work and a Sunday of 
" Make the poor man's life run meiTy 
away. " , 

"The Bishops !" quoth Andrew, "Pop- 
ish, I guess," 
And he grinned with conscious holiness. 
But the song went on,and, to brim the cup 
Of poor Andy's grief, thefiddlesstruckup! 

" Come, take out the lasses— let's have 

a dance— [our fill, 

" For the Bishops allow us to skip 

" WeU knowing that no one's the more 

in advance [still. 

" On the road to heaven, for standing 

"Oh, it never was meant that grim 

grimaces [love ; 

" Should sour the cream of a creed of 

* The Book of Sports drawn up by Bishop 
Moi-eton. was first put forth in the reign of 
James I., 1618, and afterwards republished, 
at the advice of Laud, by Cliarlcs I., 1633, with 
an injunction that it should be " made public 
by order from the Bishops." We find it therein 
declared, that " for his pood people's recrea- 
tion, his Majesty's pleasure was, that after the 



"Or that fellows with long, disastrous 
faces, 
"Alone should sit among cherubs 
above. 
" Then hurrah for the Bishops, &c. 

" For Sunday fun we never can faO, 

" When the Church herself each sport 

points out; [ale, 

" There's May-games, archery, Whitsun- 

" And a May-pole high to dance about. 

" Or, should we be for a pole hard driven, 

"Some lengthy saint of aspect feU, 
" With his pockets on earth, and his nose 
in heaven, 
" Will do for a May-pole just as well. 
" Then hurrah for the Bishops, hurrah 1 

hurrah! 
" A week of work and a Sabbath of play 
" Make the poor man's life run merry 



To Andy, who doesn't much deal in his- 
tory, [tery ,: 
This Sunday scene was a downright mys- 
And God knows where might have end- 
ed the joke. 
But, in trying to stop the fiddles, he woke. 
And the odd thing is (as the nimor goes 
That since that dream — which, one 

would suppose. 
Should have made his godly stomach 

rise, 
Even more than ever, 'gainst Sunday 

pies — 
He has view'd things quite with differ- 
ent eyes; 
Is beginning to take, on matters divine. 
Like Charles and his Bishops, the sport- 

ing line — 
Is all for Christians jigging in pairs, 
As an interlude 'twist Sunday prayers;— 
Nay.talks of getting Archbishop H — 1 — y 
To bring in a Bill, enacting duly, [date. 
That all good Protestants, firom this 
May, freely and lawfully, recreate, 
Of a Sunday eve, their spirits moody, 
With Jack in the Straw, or Punch and 
Judy. 



end of divine service they should not be dis 
turbed, letted, or discouraged from any lawful 
recreations, such as dancing, either of meji or 
women, archery for men, leaping, vaulting, or 
any such harmless recreations, nor having of 
May-games, Wliitsun-ales, or Morris dances, 
or setting up of May-poles or other sporw chere 
with used," &c. 



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SATIEICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



625 



A BLUE LOYE-SONG. 



Air.— " Come live with me. andbe my love." 

Come wed with me, and we will write, 
My Blue of Blues, from mom till night. 
Chased from our classic souls shall be 
All thoughts of vulgar progeny ; 
And thou shalt walk through smiling 
Of chubby duodecimos, [rows 

While I, to match thy products nearly, 
Shall lie-iu of a quarto yearly. 
'Tis true, ev'u books entail some trouble; 
But live productions give one double. 
Correcting children is such bother, — 
While printers' devils correct the other. 
Just think, my own Malthusian dear, 
How much more decent 'tis to hear 
From male or female— as it may be — 
"How is your book?" than "How's 

your baby ?" 
And, whereas physic and wet nurses 
Do much exhaust paternal pm'ses, 
Our books, if rickety, may go 
And be well dry-nursed in the Row ; 
And, when God wills to take them 

hence, 
Are buried at the Bow's expense. 

Besides (as 'tis well proved by thee, 
In thy own Works, vol. 93.)* 
The march, just now, of population 
So much outstrips all moderation, 
That even prolific herring-shoals 
Keep pace not with our erring souls. 
Oh far more proper and well-bred 
To stick to writing books instead ; [ers 
And show the world how two Blue lov- 
Can coalesce, like two book-covers, [er,) 
(Sheep-skin, or calf, or such wise leath- 
Letter'd at back, and stitch'd together, 
Fondly as first the binder fix'd 'em. 
With naught but— literature betwixt 'em. 



SUNDAY ETHICS. 

A SCOTCH ODE. 

PuiR, profligate Londoners, having 

heard teU [fearing 'tis true, 

That the De'il's got amang ye, and 

We ha' sent ye a mon wha's a match 

for his spell, 

* See " Ella of Garveloch."— Garveloch be- 
in<^ a place where there was a large herriiijr- 
fishery, but where, as we are told by the author, 
" the people increase much faster tuaii the pro- 



A chiel o' our ain, that the De'il himsel' 
Will he glad to keep clear of, one An- 
di'ew Aguew. 

So, at least, ye may reckon, for ane day 

entire [eueugh, 

In ilka lang week ye'U be tranquil 

As Auld Nick, do him justice, abhors a 

Scotch squire, [kitchen fire 

An' would sooner gae roast by his ain 

Than pass a hale Sunday wi' Andi-ew 

Aguew. 

For, bless the gude mon, gin he had his 

ain way, ["mew;" 

He'd na let a cat on the Sabbath say 

Nae birdie maun whistle, nae lambie 

maun play, [day, 

An' Phoebus himsel' could na travel that 

As he'd find a new Joshua in Andie 

Agnew. 

Only hear, in your Senate, how awfu' 

he cries, [who stew ! 

' ' Wae, wae to a' sinners who boil an' 

' ' Wae, wae to a' eaters o' Sabbath-baked 

pies, [thereof rise 

"For as surely again shall the crust 

" In judgment against ye," saith An- 

di-ew Agnew ! 

Ye may think, from a' this, that our 

Audio's the lad [too; 

To ca' o'er the coals your nobeelity, 

That their drives, o' a Sunday, -^vi' 

flunkies, t a' clad [the mon mad — 

Like Shawmen, behind 'em, would mak 

But he's nae sic a noodle, our Andie 

Agnew. 

If Lairds an' fine Ladies, on Sunday, 

think right ['em do— 

To gang to the deevil — as maist o' 

To stop them our Andie would think na 

polite ; [thing by't) 

And 'tis odds (if the chiel could get ony 

But he'd follow 'em, boouig,t would 

Andrew Agnew. 



AWFUL EVENT. 

Yes, W — nch — Is — a, (I tremble while I 

pen it, ) [ ish Senate — 

W— nch— Is— a's Earl hath cut the Brit- 



t Servants in livery. 

t For the " pude effects and utility of boo- 
inij," see the Man of the World. 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 



Hath said to England's Peers, in accent 

gruff', [and exit, in a huff ! 

"That ior ye all,"[snappiug his lingers,] 
Disastrous news ! — like that, of old, 

which spread [is dead," 

From shore to shore, " our mighty Pan 
O'er the cross benches (cross from bei7ig 

cross'd) f s— a is lost !" 

Sounds the loud wail, " Our W— nch— 1- 
Which of ye, Lords, that heard him, can 

forget 
Thfe deep impression of that awful threat, 
" I quit your house ! !" — 'midst all that 

histories tell, 
1 know but one event that's parallel : — 
It chanced at Drmy Lane, one Easter 

night, [polite, 

"When the gay gods, too bless'd to be 
Gods at their ease, like those of learu'd 

Lucretius, [facetious— 

Laugh'd, whistled, groan'd, uproaiiously 
A well-di-ess'd member of the middle 

gallery, [cauaillerie, 

Whose "ears polite " disdain'd such low 
Rose in his place— so grand, you'd al- 
most swear [ering there — 
Lord W — nch — Is— a himself stood tow- 
And like that Lord of dignity and nous, 
Said, " Silence, ^'ellows, or — I'll leave 

the house ! !" 

How bi'ook'd the gods this speech ? Ah 
well-a-day, [away! 

That speech so tiie should be so thrown 
In vain did this mid-gallery grandee 
Assert his own two-shilling dignity— 
In vain he menaced to withdraw the ray 
Of hisowu full-price countenance away — 
Fun against Dignity is fearful odds, " 
Ind as the Lords laugh now, so giggled 
then the gods ! 

THE NUMBERIN^G OF THE 
CLERGY, 



" COME, CLOE, AND GIVE ME SWEET KISSES." 

" We want more Churches and more Clergy- 
meii." — Bishop of London's late Charge. 

" Rectorum numerum, terris pereuntibus, 
augeut" — Claudian in Eutrop. 

Come, give us more Livings and Rectors, 
For, richer no realm ever gave ; 

* Come, Cloe, and give me sweet kisses, 
For sweeter sure never girl gave ; 
But why, in the midst of my blisses, 
Do you ask me bow many I'd have ? 



But why, ye unchristian objectors, 
Do ye ask us how many we crave ?* 

Oh, there can't be too many rich Livings 
For souls of the Plm-alist kind. 

Who, despising old Crocker's misgivings, 
To numbers can ne'er be confined, t 

Count the cormorants hovering about, t 
At the time their fish season sets in. 

When these models of keen diners-out 
Are preparing their beaks to begin. 

Count the rooks that, in clerical dresses, 
Flock round when the harvest's in play, 

And, not minding the farmer's distresses, 
Like devils in grain peck away. 

Go, number the locusts in heaven, $ 
On then- way to some titheable shore ; 

And when so many Parsonsyou've given. 
We still shall be craving for more. 

Then, unless ye the Church would sub- 
merge, ye 
Must leave us in peace to augment. 
For the wretch who could number the 
Clergy, 
With few will be ever content. || 



A SAD CASE. 

" If it be the undergraduate season at which 
this rahieis religiosa is to be so fearful, what se- 
curity has Mr. G — lb — n against itattbis mo- 
ment, wheu his sou is actually exposed to the full 
venom of an association with Dissenters?"— 
The Times, March So. 

How sad a case !— just think of it— 
If G— lb — n junior should be bit 
By some insane Dissenter, roaming 
Thi-ough Granta's haUs, at large and 

foaming, 
And with that aspect, ultra crabbed 
Which marks Dissenters when they're 

rabid ! 
God only knows what mischiefs might 
Result from this one single bite, 
Or how the venom, once suck'd in, 
t For whilst I love thee above measure. 

To numbers I'll ne'er be confined. 
\ Count the bees that on Hybla are playing. 
Count the flowers that enamel iis fields, 
Count the flocks, &,c. 
§ Go number the stars in the heaven, 
Count how many gauds on the shore ; 
"When so many kisses you've given, 
I still shall be craving for more. 
II But the wretch who can number his 
With few will be ever content. 




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SATIEICAL AKD IIUMOROTJS POEMS. 



627 



Might spread and rage through kith and 

Ian. 
Mad folks, of all denominations, 
First turn upon their own relations : 
So that one G— lb— n, fairly bit, 
Might end in maddening the whole kit, 
Till, ah, ye gods, we'd have to rue 
Our G— lb — n senior bitten too ; 
The Hychurchphobia in those veins. 
Where Tory blood now redly reigns <— 
And that dear man, who now perceives 
Salvation only in lawn sleeves, 
Might, tainted by such coarse infection, 
Run mad in th' opposite direction, 
And think, poor man, 'tis only given 
To hnsey-woolsey to reach Heaven ! 

Just fancy what a shock 'twould be 
Our G— lb — n in his fits to see, 
Tearing into a thousand particles 
His once loved Nine and Thirty Arti- 
cles; 
(Those Articles his friend, the Duke,* 
For Gospel, t'other night mistook ;) 
Ciu-siug cathedrals, deans, and singers — 
Wishing the ropes might hang the ring- 
ers — 
Pelting the church with blasphemies. 
Even worse than Parson B — v — r- 

i-y's;- 

And ripe for seveiing Church and State, 
Liiie any creedless reprobate. 
Or like that class of Methodists 
Prince Waterloo styles " Atheists I" 

But 'tis too much— the Muse turns pale, 
And o'er the pictui-e drops a veil, 
Pra^Tug, God sa\'e the G— lb— ms all 
From mad Dissenters, great and small ! 



A DREAM OF HmDOSTAN". 

risum teneatis, amici. 

"The longer one lives, the more one 
learns," 

Said I, as off to sleep I went, 
Bemused with thinking of Tithe con- 
cerns, [FERNS,t 
And reading a book, by the Bishop oi" 

On the Irish Church Establishment. 
But, lo, in sleep, not long I lay, 

WTien Fancy her usual tricks began, 
And I found myself bewitch'd away 



To a goodly city in Hindostan — 
A city, where he, who dares to dine 

On aught but rice, is deem'd a sinner ; 
Where sheep and kine are held divine. 

And, accordingly — never dress'd for 
dinner. 

"But how is this ?" I wond'ring cried— 
As I walk'd that city, fair and wide, 
And saw, in every marble street, 

A row of beautiful butchei-'s shcps- 
" What means, for men who don't eat 
meat, 

" This grand display of loins and 
chops °l" 
In vain I ask'd — 'twas plain to see 
That nobody dared to answer me. 

So, on, from street to street I strode ; 
And you can't conceive how vastly odd 
The butchers look'd — a roseate crew 
Inshrined in stalls, with naught to do ; 
While some on a bench, half-dozing, sat, 
And the Sacred Cows were not more fat. 

Still posed to think what all this scene 
Of sinecure trade was meant to mean, 
"And, pray," asked I — "by whom ig 

paid 
" The expense of this strange masquer- 
ade?"— 
" Th' expense ! — oh, that's of course de- 
fray'd [ers) 

(Said one ofthose well-fed Hecatomb- 
" By yonder rascally rice-consumers." 
"What, they, y7ho mustn't eat meat ?" 
" No matter — 
(And, while he spoke, his cheeks grew 
fatter,) [crop, 

" The rogues may munch their Paddy 
"But the rogues must still support our 

shop. 
" And, depend upon it, the way to treat 
"Heretical stomachs that thus dissent, 
" Is to burden all that won't eat moat, 
"With a costly Meat Establish- 
ment." 

On hearing these words so gravely said, 
With a' volley of laughter loud I 
shook ; 
And my slumber fled, and my dream 

was sped, 
And I found I was lying snug in bed, 
With my nose in the Bishop of Feiins's 
book. 

The Duke of "Wellington, who styled them t An indefatigable scribbler of anti-Catholio 
the " Articles of Christianity." pamphlets. 



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MOOKE'S VOEKS. 



THE BRUNSWICK CLUB. 

A letter Laving beea addressed to a Tery 
distinguished personage, requesting him to be- 
come the Patron of this Orange Club, a polite 
answer was forthwith returned, of ■which we 
have beeu fortiuiate enough to obtain a copy. 

Brimstone-hall, September 1, 1828. 
Private. — Lord Belzebub presents 
To the Brunswick Club his compliments, 
And much regrets to say that he 
Cannot, at present, their Patron be. 
In stating this, Lord Belzebub [Club, 
Assures, on his honor, the Brunsvrick 
That 'tisn't from any lukewarm lack 
Of zeal or fire he thus holds back — 
As even Lord Coal* himself is not 
For the Orange party more red-hot: 
But the truth is, till their Club affords 
A somewhat decenter show of Lords, 
And on its list of members gets 
A few less rubbishy Baronets, 
Lord Belzebub must beg to be 
Excused from keeping such company. 

Who the devil, he humbly begs to know. 
Are Lord Gl— nd — ne, and Lord D— nlo? 
Or who, with a grain of sense, would go 
To sit and be bored by Lord M— yo ? 
What living creature — except his nurse — 
For Lord M — ntc — sh — 1 cares a curse, 
Or thinks 'twould matter if Lord M— s- 

k— rry 
Were t'other side of the Stygian feiTy? 
Breathes there a man in Dul)lin town, 
Who'd give but half of half-a-crown 
To save from drowning my Lord R — th- 

d— ne. 
Or who wouldn't also gladly hustle in 
Lords R— d— n, B— nd— n, C— le, and 

J-c-l-n? 
In short, though, from his teuderest years, 
Accustom 'd to all sorts of Peers, 
Lord Belzel)ub much questions whether 
He ever yet saw, mix'd together. 
As 'twere in one capacious tub, 
Such a mess of noble silly-bub [Club. 
As the twenty Peers of the Brunswick 
'Tis therefore impossible that Lord B. 
Could stoop to such society, [png;) 

Thinking, he owns, (though no great 
For one in his station 'twere infra dig. 
But he begs to proxwse, in the interim, 
(Till they find some prop'rer Peers for 

him,) 
His Highness of C— mb— d, as Sub, 
To take Ms place at the BranswickClub — 
* Usually written " Cole." 



Begging, meanwhile, himself to dub 
Their obedient servant, Belzebub. 

It luckily happens, the E— y— 1 Duke 
Resembles so much, in air and look, 
The head of the Belzebub family. 
That few can any difierence see ; [suit 
Which makes him, of course, the better 
To serve as Lord B.'s substitute. 



PROPOSALS FOR A GTN^COC- 
EACT. 

ADDRESSED TO A LATE RADICAL MEETING. 

" Quas ipsa decus sibi dia Camilla 

Delegit pacisque bouas bellique ministras." 

ViKGIL. 

As Whig Reform has had its range. 

And none of us ate yet content. 
Suppose, my friends, by way of change, 

We try a Female Parliament ; 
And since, of late, with he M. P.'s 
We've fared so badly, take to she's — 
Petticoat patriots, flounced John Rus- 
sells, [hustles. 

Burdetts in hlonde, and Broughams in 
The plan is startling, I confess — 
But 'tis but an aifair of dress ; 
Nor see I much there is to choose 

'Twixt Ladies (so they're thorough 
In ribands of all sorts of hues, [bred ones) 

Or Lords in only blue or red ones. 

At least, the fiddlers will be winners, 
Whatever other trade advances ; 

As then, instead of Cabinet dinners, 
We'll have, at Ahnack's, Cabinet dan- 
ces; 

Nor let this world's important questions 

Depend on Ministers' digestions. 

If Ude's receipts have done things ill. 

To Weippert's band they may go bet- 
There's Lady * *, in one quadrille, [ter ; 

Would settle Europe, if you'd let her : 
And who the deuce or asks, or cares. 

When Whigs or Tones have undone 

'em, [affairs. 

Whether they've danced through State 

Or simply, dully, dined upon 'em ? 

Hurrah then for the Petticoats ! 

To them we pledge our free-bom votes ; 

We'll have all she, and only she— [ters," 

Pert blues shall act as " best deba 
Old dowagers our Bishops be. 

And termagants om- Agitators. 

If Vestris, to oblige the nation 
' Her own Olympus will abandon. 




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SATIEICAL AND HUMOROUS i'OEMS. 



629 



And help to prop th' Administration, 

It can't have better legs to stand on. 
The famed Macaulay (Miss) shall show, 
Each evening, forth in leam'd ora- 
tion; ["Oh!") 
Shall move (midst general cries of 

For full returns of population : 
And, finally, to crown the whole, 
The Princess Olive,* Royal soul, 
Shall from her bower in Banco Regis, 
Descend, to bless her faithful lieges, 
And, 'mid our Union's loyal chorus, 
Reign joUily forever o'er us. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE * * *. 

Sir, 

Having heard some rumors respecting the 
strange and awful visitation under whicli Lord 
H— nl— y has for some time past been suffering, 
in consequence of his declared hostility to " an- 
tliems, solos, duets,' t &c., I took the liberty of 
making inquiries at his Lordship's house this 
moruiug, aud lose no time in transmitting to 
you such particulars as I could collect. It is 
said that the screams of his Lordship, under 
the operation of this nightly concert, (which is, 
no doubt, some trick of the Radicals,) may be 
heard all oyer the neighborhood. The female 
who personates St. Cecilia is supposed to be 
the same that, last year, appeared in the 
character of Isis, at the Rotunda. How the 
cherubs are managed, I have not yet ascer- 
tained. Yom-s, &c., 

P.P. 

LORD H— N"L-Y AND ST. CE- 
CILIA. 
in Metii descendat Judices aures. HOKAT. 

As snug in his bed Lord H— nl — y lay, 
Revolving much his own renown, 

And hoping to add thereto a ray, 
By putting duets and anthems down, 

Sudden a strain of choral sounds 
Melhfluous o'er his senses stole ; 

Whereat the Reformer mutter'd, 

" Zounds ! " [his souL 

For he loathed sweet music with aU 

Then, starting up, he saw a sight 
That well might shock so leam'd a 
snorer — 

Saint Cecilia, robed in light, [her. 

"With a portable organ slung before 

And rotmd were Cherubs, on rainbow 
wiugs, [of flitting, 

"Who, his Lordship fear'd, might tire 
* A personage, so styling herself, who at- 
tained considerable notoriety at that period. 

1 In a work on Ohiu'ch Reform, published by 
hir, Lordshin in 1832. 



So begg'd they'd sit — but ah ! poor 

things, [ofsittiug.t 

They'd, none of them, got the meau3 

"Having heard," said the Saint, "you're 

fond of hymns, [tray'd you, 

"And indeed, that musical snore be- 

" Myself, and my choir of cherubims, 

" Are come, for a while, to serenade 

you." 

In vain did the hon-iiied H — nl — y say 
"'Twas all a mistake" — "she was 
misdirected ; " 
And point to a concert over the way, 
"Where fiddlers and angels were ex- 
pected. 

In vain — the Saint could see in his looks 
(She civilly said) much tuneful lore ; 

So, at once, all open'd their music- 
books, [at score. 
And herself and her Cherubs set ofl 

All night duets, terzets, quartets, 
Nay, long quintets most du-e to jear,- 

Ay, and old motets, aud canzonets. 
And glees, in sets, kept boring his ear. 

He tried to sleep — but it wouldn't do ; 

So loud they squall'd, he must attend 

to 'em ; [knew. 

Though Cherubs' songs, to his cost he 

"Were like themselves, and had no end 

to 'em. 

Oh judgment dire on judges bold, 
"Who meddle with music's sacred 
strains ! 
Judge Midas tried the same of old, 
A^d was punish'd, like H — nl — y, for 
his pains. 

But worse on the modem judge, alas ! 
Is the sentence lauuch'd from Apollo's 
throne ; 
For Midas was given the ears of an ass, 
"While H— nl — y is doom'd to keep his 
own! 



ADVERTISEMENT. § 



1830. 



Missing or lost, last Sunday night, 

A "Waterloo coin, whereon was traced 
Th' inscription, " Courage 1" in letters 
bright, 

Though a httle by mst of years defaced. 

t " Asseyez-vous, mes enfans." — " H n'y a 
pas de quoi, mon Seigneur.'' 

§ Written at that memorable crisis when a 
distinguished Duke, then I'rimc Minister, act- 




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!€ •w, ^ _ jj^ I :Q^ ^_ , e«^^ Sirs 




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630 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



The metal thereof is rough and hard, 
And ('tis thought of late) mix'd up 
with brass ; 
But it bears the stamp of Fame's award, 
And through all Posterity's hands will 
pass. 

iZbw it was lost, God only knows, 
But certain City thieves they say. 

Broke in on the owner's evening doze, 
And filch'd this " gift of gods'' away ! 

One ne'er could, of course, the Cits sus- 
pect, [to see, 

If we hadn't, that evening, chanced 
At the robb'd man's door, a Mare elect, 

With an ass to keep her company. 

WTiosoe'er of this lost treasiu-e knows, 
Is begg'd to state all facts about it, 

As the owner can't well face his foes, 
Isax even his friends, just now, with- 
out it. 

And if Sir Clod will bring it back, 
Like a tmsty Baronet, wise and able, 

He shall have a ride on the whitest hack* 
That's left in old King George's stable. 

MISSI27G. 

Carlton Terrace. 1832. 



"Whereas, Lord ****** de ****** 
Left his home last Saturday, [round. 
And, though inquired for, round and 
Through certain purlieus, can't be found; 
And whereas, none can solve our queries 
As to where this virtuous Peer is, 
Kotice is hereby given that all 
May forthwith to inquiring fall. 
As, once the thing's well set about, 
No doubt but we shall hunt him out. 

His Lordship's mind, of late, they say, 
Hath been in an uneasy way. 
Himself and colleagues not being let 
To climb into the Cabinet, 
To settle England's state affairs, 
Hath much, it seems, wHsettled theirs ; 
And chief to this stray Plenipo 
Hath been a most distressing blow. 
ing under the inspirations of Sir CI— d— s 
H — nt— r and other City worthies, advised his 
Majesty to give up his announced intention of 
dining with the Lord Mayor. 

* Among other remarkable attributes by 
which Sir CI— d — s distinguished himself, the 
dazzling wliiteness of his lavorite steed was not 
the least conspicuous. 

t In the Government of Perm. 

X Territory belonging to the mines of Koli- 
Tano Kosskressense. 



Already,— certain to receive a 

Well-paid mission to the jSTeva, 

And be the bearer of kind words 

To tyrant Nick from Tory Lords, — 

To fit himself for free discussion. 

His Lordship had been learning Russian ; 

And all so natural to him were 

The accents of the Northern bear, [you 

That, wMle his tones were in yom- ear, 

Might swear you were in sweet Siberia. 

And still, poor Peer, to old and young. 

He goes on raving in that tongue ; 

Tells you how much you would enjoy a 

Trip to Dabiodoubrowskoya;t 

Talks of such places, by the score, on 

As Oulisffiirmchinagoljoron.t 

And swears (for he at nothing sticks) 

That Russia swarms with Raskol-niks;5 

Though one such Nick, God knows, must 

A more than ample quantity. [be 

Such are the marks by which to know 

This stray'd or stolen Plenipo ; 

And whosoever brings or sends 

The unhappy statesman to his friends, 

On Carlton Ten-ace, shall have thanks. 

And — any paper but the Bank's. 

P. S.— Some think, the disappearance 

Of this our diplomatic Peer hence 

Is for the purpose of reviewing. 

In person, what dear Mig is doing. 

So as to 'scape all tell-tale letters 

'Bout B— s — d, and such abettors, — 

The only " wretches" for whose aid|| 

Letters seem not to have been made. 

THE DANCE OF BISHOPS; 

OR, THE EPISCOPAL QUAURILLE.H 
A DREAM. 

1833. 
" Solemn dances were, on great festivals and 
celebrations, admitted among the primitive 
Christians, in which even the I5ishops and dig- 
nified Clergy were performers. Scaliger says, 
that the first Bishops were cAWedpraixules,** for 
no other reason than that they led off these 
dances." — Cyclopadia, art. Dancer. 
I've had such a dream — a frightful 
dream — [seem, 

Though funny, mayhap, to wags 'twill 
§ The name of a religious sect in Kussia. 
" II existe en Knssie plusieurs sectes ; la plus 
nombreuse est celle des Kaskol-niks, ou vrai- 
croyants." — Gamba, Voyage dans la Jtiissie 
Meridionale. 
II "Heaven first taught letters for some 

wretch's aid." Pope. 

IT "Written ou the passing of the memorable 
Bill, in the year 1833, for the abolutionof ten 
Irish Bishoprics. 
** Literally, First Dancers. 




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SATIKICAL AN"D HUMOROUS POEMS. 



631 



By all who regard the Church, like us, 
Twill be thought exceedingly ommous ! 

As reading in bed I lay last night— 
Which (being insured) is my dehght — 
I happen'd to doze off just as I got to 
The singular fact which forms my motto. 
Only think, thought I, as I dozed away, 
Of a party of Churchmen dancing the 

hayi 
Clerks, curates, and rectors, capering all, 
With a neat-legg'd Bishop to open the 

ball! 

Scarce had my eyelids time to close, 
When the scene I had fancied before me 

rose— 
An Episcopal Hop, on a scale so grand 
As my dazzled eyes could hardly stand. 
For, Britain and Erin clubb'd their Sees 
To make it a Dance of Dignities, 
And I saw— oh brightest of Church 

events ! 
A quadriUe of two Establishments, 
Bishop to Bishop vis-a-vis, 
Footing away prodigiously. 

There was Bristol capering up to Deny, 
And Cork with London making merry ; 
While huge Llandaff, with a See, so so, 
Was to dear old Dublin pointing his toe. 
There was Chester, hatch'd by woman's 

smile, [style ; 

Performing a Chaine des Barnes in 
While he who, whene'er the Lords' 

House dozes, 
Can waken them up by citing Moses,* 
The portly Tuam was all in a hurry 
To set, en avant, to Canterbury. 

Meanwhile, while pamphlets stuff'd his 

pockets, 
(All out of date, Uke spent sky-rockets,) 
Our Exeter stood forth to caper, [per— 
As high on the floor as he doth on pa- 
Much like a dapper Dancing Dervise, 
Who pirouettes his whole church-ser- 
vice — 
Performing, 'midst those reverend souls. 
Such entrechats, such cahriolcs, 
Such balonnes,] such — rigmaroles, 
Now high, now low, now this, now that, 

* " And what does Moses say ?" — One of the 
ejaculations with whicli this eminent prelate 
enlivened his famous speech on the Catholic 
question. 

t X description of the method of executing 



That none could guess, what the devil 

he'd be at ; [some thought 

Though, watching his various steps. 

That a step in the Church was all he 

sought. 

But alas, alas ! while thus so gay. 
These reverend dancers frisk'd away, 
Not Paul himself (not the saint, but he 
Of the Opera-house) could brisker be. 
There gather' d a gloom around their 

glee— [fast, 

A shadow, which came and went so 
That ere one could say "'Tis there," 

'twas past— [clear'd. 

And, lo, when the scene again was 
Ten of the dancers had disappear'd ! 
Ten able-bodied quadrillers swept 
From the hallow'd floor where late they 

stepp'd. 
While twelve was all that footed it still, 
On the Irish side of that grand Quadrille ! 

Nor this the worst : — still danced they 
on, [was gone; 

But the pomp was sadden'd, the smile 
And again, from time to time, the same 
lU-omon'd darkness round them came — 
While still, as the light broke out anew 
Their ranks look'd less by a dozen c • 

two; 
Till ah ! at last there were only found 
Just Bishops enough for a four-hands- 
round ; 
And when I awoke, impatient getting, 
I left the last holy ^&ix poussetting ! 

N. B.— As ladies in years, it seems, 
Have the happiest knack at solving 
dreams, [friends 

I shall leave to my ancient feminine 
Of the Standard to say what this por- 
tends. 



DICK * * * *. 

A CHARACTER. 

Of various scraps and fragments built, 
Borrow'd alike from fools and wits, 

Dick's mind was hke a patchwork quilt, 
Made up of new, old, motley bits — 

Where, if the Co. call'd in their shares, 
If petticoats their quota got, 

tliia step may be useful to future performers is 
tlie same line : — " Ce pas est compost do deux 
mouvemens ditftirens, savoir. plicr, ct sautei 
sur un pied, ct se rejeter sur l'autre."—Dictior^ 
naire de Danse, art. Contre-temps. 




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r^':^-^!^.^ 



--^^ 



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632 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And gowns were all refunded theirs, 
The quilt would look but shy, God wot. 

And thus he still, new plagiaries seek- 

Reversed ventriloquism's trick, [iug, 
For, 'stead of Dick through others speak- 
ing, [Dick. 

'Twas others we heard speak through 
A Tory now, all bounds exceeding, 

Now best of Whigs, now worst of rats ; 
One day, with Malthus, foe to breeding, 

The next, with Sadler, all for brats. 

Poor Dick ! — and how else could it be ? 

"With notions all at landom caught, 
A sort of mental fricassee. 

Made up of legs and wings of 
thought— 
The leavings of the last Debate, or 

A dinner, yesterday, of wits, 
Where Dick sat by, and, like a waiter, 

Had the scraps for perquisites. 

A CORRECTED REPORT OP SOME 
LATE SPEECHES. 

" That I heard one saint speaking, and an- 
other saint said unto that saint. " 

1834, 

St. S— ncl — R rose and declared in 

sooth, [Maynooth. 

That he wouldn't give sixpence to 
He had hated priests the whole of his 

Ufe, [wife,* 

For a priest was a man who had no 
And, having no wife, the Church was 

his mother, [brother. 

The Church was his father, sister, and 
This being the case, he was sorry to say. 
That a gulf 'twixt Papist and Protestant 

5ay,t 
So deep and wide, scarce possible was it 
To say even "how d'ye do ?" across it. 
And though your Liberals, nimble as 

fleas. 
Could clear such gulfs with perfect ease, 
'Twas a jump that naught on earth 

could make 

* " He objected to the maintenance and edu- 
cation of a clergy buund by the particular vows 
of celibacy, which, as it were, gave them the 
church as their onh/ family, making it fill the 
places of father and mother and brother.''— 
Debate on the Grant to Maynooth College, 
The Times, April 19. 

fit liad always appeared to himtlint be- 
tween the Catholic and Protestant a fireat gulf 
intervened, which rendered it impossible," &c. 

♦ "The Baptist might acceptably extend the 
offices of relijjion to the Presbyterian and the 
Independent, or the member of the Church of 



Your proper heavy-built Christian takei 
No, no, — if a Dance of Sects vnist be. 
He would set to the Baptist wilhngly,t 
At the Independent deign to smirk. 
And rigadoon with old Mother Kirk ; 
Nay even, for once, if needs must be, 
He'd take hands round with all the 

three ; 
But, as to a jig with Popery, no,— 
To the Harlot ne'er would he point his 

toe. 

St. M — n — d — V — le was the next that 

rose,— 
A Saint who round, as pedlar, goes, 
With his pack of piety and prose. 
Heavy and hot enough, God knows,— 
And he said that Papists were much in- 
clined 
To extirpate all of Protestant kind. 
Which be couldn't, in truth, so much 

condemn, 
Having rather a wish to extirpate them: 
That is,— to guard against mistake,— 
To extirpate them for their doctrine's 
sake ; [make, — 

A distinction Churchmen always 
Insomuch that, when they've prime con- 
trol, [whole, 
Though sometimes roasting heretics 
They but cook the body for the sake of 

the soul. 
Nextjump'd St. J— hnst— n jollily Ibrth, 
The spmtual Dogberry of the North, § 
A right "wise fellow, and, what's more, 
An officer," II like his type of yore ; 
And he ask'd, if we grant such toleration. 
Pray, what's the use of our Reforma- 
tion ?1I [State? 
What is the use of our Church and 
Our Bishops, Articles, Tithe, and Rate ? 
And, still as he yeU'd out " what's the 

use f ' 
Old Echoes, from their cells recluse 
Where they'd for centuries slept, broke 

loose. 
Yelling responsive, " What's the use ?" 

Euphvnd to any of the other three ; but the 
Catholic," &c. 

§ "Could he then, holding as he did a spirit- 
ual office in the Church of Scotland, (cries of 
hear, and laughter,) with any consistency give 
his consent to a grant of money?" &c. 

II " I am a wise fellow, and which is more, an 
officer." — Much Ado about Nothing. 

t ""What, he asked, was the use of the Re 
formation ? "What was the use of the Articles 
of the Chsrch of England, or of the Church of 
Scotland V &.C. 




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SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



CJh 



MORAL POSITION'S. 

A DREAM. 

' His Lordship said that it took a lon^ time 
for a moral positioa to find its way across the 
Atlantic. Ho was very sorry that its voyajre 
had been so lon.i,%" ifcc— Speech of Lord Dud- 
ley and "Ward ou Colonial Slavery, March 8. 

T'OTHER night, after hearing Lord Dud- 
ley's oration, [May-day does,) 
(A treat that comes once a year as 
I dreamt that I saw — -what a strange 
operation ! [Barbadoes. 

A "moral position" shipp'd off for 

The whole Bench of Bishops stood by in 
grave attitudes, 
Packing the article tidy and neat ;— 
As their Rev'rences know, that m south- 
erly latitudes [sweet. 
" Moral positions " don't keep very 

There was B — th — st aiTanging the cus- 
tom-house pass ; 
And, to guard the frail package from 
tousing and routing, [it "Glass," 
There stood my Lord Eld— n, endorsing 
Though as to which side should lie up- 
permost, doubting. 

The freight was, however, stow'd safe 

in the hold ; [look'd romantic, 

The winds were polite, and the moon 

While off iu the good ship " The Truth" 

we were roU'd, [lantie. 

With our ethical cargo, across the At- 

Long, dolefully long, seem'd the voyage 

we made ; [very slow sailer, 

For "The Truth," at all times but a 

By friends, near as much as by foes, is 

delay'd, (many hail her. 

And few come aboard her, though so 

At length safe arrived, I went through 
" tare and tret," [dition. 

Delivered my ^oods in the primest con- 
And next mommg read, in the Bridge- 
town Gazette, [moral position." 
"Just anived by ' The Truth,' a new 

•* The Captain"— here, startled to find 
myself named [I own it with pain, 
As "the Captain"— (a thing which, 
* Eclipses and comets have been always 
looked to as prcat changers of administrations. 
Thus Milton, speaking of the former:— 
" "With fear of change 
Perplexing monarchs." 



I through life have avoided,) I woke^ 

look'd ashamed, [off again.* 

Found I wasn't a captain, and dozed 



THE MAD TORT AND THE 
COMET. 

FOUNDED ON A LATE DISTRESSING INCIDENT. 
1832-3. 

'Matantem regna cometem.' Locan.* 

" THOTJGn all the pet mischiefs we count 

upon fail, [lington leave us, 

"Though Cholera, hurricanes, Wel- 

" We've still iu reserve, mighty Comet, 

thy tail ; — [too deceive us ? 

" Last hope of the Tories, wilt thou 

"No — 'tis coming, 'tis coming, th' aven- 
ger is nigh , [ Herapath flatters ; 
" Heed, heed not, ye placemen, how 
" One whisk from that tail, as it passes 
us by, [ ters ; — 

" "WUl settle, at once, all political mat- 

"The East-India Question, the Bank, 
the Five Powers, 
("Now turn'd into two) with their 
rigmarole Protocols ;t — [of ours 
" Ha! ha! ye gods, how this new friend 
"Will knock, right and left, all diplo- 
macy what-d'ye-calls ! 

" Tes, rather than Whigs at our down- 
fall should mock, [eral hustle! 
" Meet planets, and suns, in one gen- 
" While, happy in vengeance, we wel- 
come the shock 
" That shall jerk from their places, 
Grey, Althorp and Russell." 

Thus spoke a mad Lord, as, with tele- 
scope raised, [set ; 
His wild Tory eye on the heavens he 
And, though nothing destructive ap- 
pear" d as he gazed, 
Much hoped that there would, before 
Parliament met. 
And still, as odd shapes seem'd to flit 
through his glass, [niac cries ; 
" Ha ! there it is now," the poor ma- 
While his fancy with forms but too mon- 
strous, alas ! [the skies :— 
From his own Tory zodiac, peoples 

And in Statins we find, 

" Mutant quaj sceptra cometa)." 
1 See, for some of these Protocols, the Ad 
Dual JRegister, for the year 1832. 



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634 



MOORE'S WORirS. 



" N"ow I ppy a big body, good heavens, 
a hoAv "big ! [not well say ; — 

" "Whether Biicky* or Taurus I can- 
"And, yonder, there's Eld— n's old 
Chancery-wig, [away. 

"In its dusty aphelion fast fading 
" I see, 'mong those fatuous meteors be- 
hind, [ about ; — 
"L— nd— nd— ry, in vacuo, flaring 
""While that dim double star, of the 
nebulous kind, [t — n, no doubt. 
" Is the Gemini, R — den and L — r — 
" Ah, El— b'r— h ! faith, I first thought 
'twas the Comet ; [quite pale ; 
"So like that in Milton, it made me 
"The head with the same 'horrid 
hair't coming from it, [the tail ? " 
" And plenty of vapor, but — where is 

Just then, up aloft jump'd the gazer 

elated— [show'd, 

For, lo, his bright glass a phenomenon 

■Which he took to be C— mb— rl— d, up- 

wards translated, [road ! 

Instead of his natural course, t'other 

But too awful that sight for a spirit so 

shaken, — [and grimaces, 

Down dropp'd the poor Tory in fits 

Then off to the Bedlam in Charles Street 

was taken, [vorite cases. 

And is now one of Halford's most fa- 



FROM THE HON. HENRY 
TO LADY EMMA 



Paris, March 30, 1832. 
You bid me explain, my dear angry 
Ma'amselle, [in^ farewell ; 

How I came thus to bolt without say- 
And the truth is, — as truth you tvill 
have, my sweet railer,— 
There are two worthy persons I al- 
ways feel loath 
To take leave of at starting— my mis- 
tress and tailor, — 
As somehow one always has scenes 
with them both ; [tears, 

The Snip in ill-humor, the Syren in 
She calling on Heaven, and he on th' 
attorney, — [and his dears, 

TiU sometimes, m short, 'twixt his duns 
Ayoung gentleman risks being stopp'd 
in liis journey, [thmk, I dare say, 
But to come to the point,— though you 

* The D— e of B— ck— m. 

* " And from his horrid hair 

Shakes pestilence and wax." 



That 'tis debt or the Cholera drives me 

away, [bagatelle 

'Pon honor you're wrong; such a mere 

As a pestilence, nobody, now-a-days, 

fears; [ing, pell-mell. 

And the fact is, my love, I'm thus bolt- 
To get out of the way of these horrid 

new Peers ;t [think of, 

This deluge of coronets, frightful to 
"Which England is now, for her sins, on 

the bi-ink of; ['em, badly. 

This coinage of nobles, — coin'd, all of 
And sure to bring Counts to a discount 

most sadly. 

Only think, to have Lords overrunning 

the nation, [tion ; 

As plenty as frogs in a Dutch inunda- 
No shelter from Barons, from Earls no 

protection, [direction, — 

And tadpole young Lords, too, in every 
Things created in haste just to make a 

Court list of, [of! 

Two legs and a coronet all they consist 
The prospect's quite frightful, and what 

Sir George R— se [true, 

(My p articular friend) says is perfectly 
That, so dire the alternative, nobody 

knows, [what he's to do ; 

'Twixt the Peers and the Pestilence, 

And Sir George even doubts, — could he 

choose his disorder, 
'Twixt coffin and coronet, wJdch he 

would order. 

Thiu being the case, why, I thought, my 

dear Emma, [dilemma ; 

'Twere best to fight shy of so cm-sed a 

And though I confess myself somewhat 

a villain, 

To've left idol mio without an addio, 

Console your sweet heart, and, a week 

hence, from Milan [last trio. 

I'll send you— some news of Belhni's 

N. B.— Have just pack'd up my travel- 
ling set-out, [out- 
Things a tourist in Italy can't go with- 
Viz., a pair of gants gras, fi-om old Hon- 

bigant's shop, 
Good for hands that the air of Mont 
Cenis might chap, [so wheedles 
Small presents for ladies,— and nothing 
The creatures abroad as your golden- 
eyed needles. [are cozen'd 
A neat pocket Horace, by which folks 

X A new creation of Peers was generally ex- 
pected at this time. 




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SATIRICAL A^J) HUMOROUS POEMS. 



635 



To think one knows Latin, when — one, 
perhaps, doesn't ; [mythology, 

"With some little book about heathen 

Just large enough to refresh one's the- 
ology; 

Nothing on earth being half such a bore 
as [gins and Floras. 

Not knowing the difference 'twixt Vir- 

Once more, love, farewell, best regards 
to the girls, [new Earls. 

And mind you beware of damp feet and 
Henry. 



TRIUMPH OF BIGOTRY. 

"College. — We announced, in onrlast, that 
Lefroy and Shaw were returned. They were 
chaired yesterday ; the Students of the College 
determined, it would seem, to imitate the mob 
in all things, harnessing themselves to the car, 
and the iilasters of Arts bearing Orange flags 
and bludgeons before, beside, and behind the 
car." 

Dublin Evening Post, Dec. 20, 1832. 

Ay, yoke ye to the bigots' car. 

Ye chosen of Alma Mater's scions ; — 
Fleet chargers drew the God of War, 

Great Oybele was drawn by lions, 
And Sylvan Pan, as Poets dream, 
Drove four young panthers in his team. 
Thus classical L— fr— y, for once, is, 

Thus, studious of a like turn-out, 
He harnesses young suckling dunces, 

To draw him, as their Chief, about, 
And let the world a picture see 
Of Dulness yoked to Bigotry : 
Showing us how young College hacks 
Can pace with bigots at their backs, 
As thougli the cubs were iorn to draw 
Such luggage as L— fr — y and Sh — w. 

Oh shade of Goldsmith, shade of Swift, 

Bright spirits whom, in days of yore, 
This Queen of Dulness sent adrift. 

As aliens to her foggy shore ;* — 
Shade of our glorious Grattan, too. 

Whose very name her shame reciEs ; 
Whose effigy her bi^ot crew 

Reversed upon their monkish walls, f — 
Bear witness (lest the world should 
doubt) 

To your mute Mother's dull renown. 
Then famous but for Wit tmu'd out, 

And Eloquence turn'd upside down ; 

* See the lives of these two poets -for the 
circumstances under which they left Dublin 
College. 

t In the year 1799, the Board of Trinity Col- 
lege, Dublin, thought proper, as a mode of 
expressing their disapprobation of Mr. Grat- 



But now ordain'd new wreaths to win, 
Beyond all fame of former days, 

By breaking thus young donkeys in 
To draw M. P.'s, amid the brays 
Alike of donkeys and M. A.'s — 

Defying Oxford to surpass 'em 

In this new " Gradus ad Pamassum." 

TRANSLATION FROM THE GULL 
LANGUAGE. 

Scripta manet. 

1833. 

'TwAS graved on the Stone of Destiny,t 
In letters four, and letters three ; [by 
And ne'er did the King of the Gulls go 
But those awful letters scared his eye ; 
For he knew that a Prophet Yoice had 

said, [read, 

" As long as those words by man were 
" The ancient race of the Gulls should 

ne'er 
" One hour of peace or plenty share." 
But years on years successive flew. 
And the letters still more legible grew, — 
At top, a T, an H, an E, 
And underneath, D. E. B. T. 
Some thought them Hebrew, — such as 

Jews, 
More skill'd in Scrip than Scripture, use; 
While some surmised 'twas an ancient 

way _ [day 

Of keeping accounts (well known in the 
Of the famed Didlerius Jeremias, 
Who had thereto a wonderful bias,) 
And proved in books most learnedly 

boring, [ing. 

'Twas call'd the Tontick way of scor- 
Howe'er this be, there never were yet 
Seven letters of the alphabet, 
That, 'twixt them form'd so grim a spell, 
Or scared a land of Gulls so well, 
As did this awful riddle-me-ree 
Of T. H. E. D. E. B. T. 
***** 

Hark !— it is struggling Freedom's cry; 
"Help, help, ye nations, or I die ; 
" 'Tis freedom's fight, and, on the field 
" Where I expire, your doom is seal'd." 
The GuU-King hears the awakening call, 
He hath summon'd his Peers and Patri- 
ots all, 
tan's public conduct, to order his portrait, in 
the Great Hall of the University, to be turned 
upside down, and in this position it remained 
for some time. 

t Liafail, or the Stone of Destiny,— for which, 
see Westminster Abbey. 




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63G 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And he asks, ' ' Ye noble Gulls, shall we 
'' Stand basely bv at the fall of the 

Free, 
" Nor utter a curse, nor deal a blow V 
And they answer, with voices of thun- 
der, " ISTo !'' 

Out fly their flashing swords in the 

aur ! — 
But,— why do they rest suspended there ? 
What suddenblight, what baleful charm. 
Hath chill'd each eye, and check'd each 

arm? 
Alas ! some withering handhath thrown 
The veil from off that fatal stone. 
And pointing now, with sapless finger, 
Showeth where dark those letters lin- 
Letters four, and letters three, [ger, 
T. H. E. D. E. B. T. 

At sight thereof, each lifted brand 
Powerless falls fi-om eveiy hand ; 
In vain the Patriot knits his brow, — 
Even talk, his staple, faUs him now. 
In vain the King like a hero treads, 
His Lords of the Treasury shake their 

heads ; 
And to all his talk of " brave and free," 
JSTo answer getteth bis Majesty, 
But " T. H. E. D. E. B. T." 

In short, the whole GuU nation feels 
They're fairly spell-bound, neck and 

heels ; 
And so, in the face of the laughing world. 
Must e'en sit down, with banners furl'd. 
Adjourning aU their dreams sublime 
Of glory and war to — some other time. 

NOTION'S ON REFORM. 

BY A MODEKN REFORMER. 

Of all the misfortunes as yet brought to 
pass [tail of speeches. 

By this comet-Hke Bill with its long 
The saddest and worst is the schism 
which, alas ! 
It has caused between "W — th — r — I's 
waistcoat and breeches. 
Some symptoms of this Anti-Union 
propensity [before ; 

Had oft broken out in that quarter 
But the breach, since the Bill has at- 
tained such immensity, 
Daniel himself could have scarce 

wish'd it more. 
* It will be recollected that the learned 
gentleman himself boasted one night in the 
House of Commons, of having sat in the very 



Oh 1 haste to repair it, ye friends ol 
good order, [ment is past ; 

Te Atw— ds and W — nns, ere the mo- 
Who can doubt that wo tread upon An- 
archy's border, 
Wlien the ties that should hold men are 
loosening so fast ? 

Make W— th — ^r— 1 yield to " some sort 

of Reform,'' [very wry faces, ) 

(As we all must, God help us ! with 

And loud as he likes let him bluster and 

storm [wear braces. 

A.bout Corporate Rights, so he'll only 

Should those he now sports have been 
long in possession, [for the wear. 
And, like his own borough, the worse 
Advise him, at least, as a prudent con- 
cession [pair. 
To Intellect's progress, to buy a new 

Oh ! who that e'er saw him, when vocal 

he stands 

"With a look eomethiug midway 

'twixt Filch's and Lockit's, 

While stiU, to inspire him, his deeply 

thi-ust hands [breeches-pockets — 

Keep jiugUng the rhino in both 

Who that ever has listen'd, through 
groan and through cough. 
To the speeches inspired by this mu- 
sic of pence — [like falling off 
But must grieve that there's anything 
In that great nether source of his wit 
and his sense ? 

Who that knows how he look'd when, 

with grace debonair, 

He began first to court — rather late 

in the season — 

Or when, less fastidious, he sat in the 

chair, [Goddess of Reason ;* 

Of his old friend, the Nottingham 

That Goddess, whose borough-like vir- 
tue attracted [their love ; 
AU mongers in hoth wares to profi'er 
Whose chair like the stool of the Pyth- 
oness acted, [goto prove ;t 
As W — th — r — I's rants, ever since, 

Wlio, in short, would not grieve, if a 
man of his graces [the past. 

Should go on rejectmg, unwarn'd by 
chair which this allegorical lady had occupied, 

t Lucau's dcscriptiou of the effects of the 
tripod on the appearance and voice of the sifr 




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SATIEICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



637 



The "moderate Reform" of a pair of 

new braces, [at last. 

Till, some day, — he'll all fall to pieces 



TORT PLEDGES. 

I PLEDGE myself through thick and thin, 
To labor still, ^^•ith zeal devout, 

To get the Outs, poor devils, in. 
And turn the Inns, the wretches, out. 

I pledge myself, though much bereft 
Of ways and means of ruling ill, 

To make the most of what are left. 
And stick to all that's rotten still. 

Though gone the days of place and pelf, 
And di'ones no more take all the honey, 

I pledge myself to cram myself 
With all I can of public money ; 

To quarter on that social purse 
My nephews, nieces, sisters, brothers, 

Nor, so we prosper, care a cm'se 
How much 'tis at th' expense of others. 

I pledge myself, whenever Right 
And Might on any point divide, 

Not to ask which is black or white, 
But take, at once, the strongest side. 

For instance, in all Tithe discussions, 
I'm /or the Reverend encroachers: — 

I loathe the Poles, applaud the Rus- 
sians, — [ers. 
Am for the Squires against the Poach- 

Betwixt the Corn-Lords and the Poor 
Fve not the slightest hesitation, — 

The people must be starved t' ensure 
The Land its due remuneration. 

I pledge myself to be no more 

With Ireland's wrongs beprosed or 
I vote her grievances a &ore, [shamm'd — 

So she may suffer, and be d— d. 

Or if ^he kick, let it console us. 
We still have plenty of red coats. 

To cram the Church, that general bolus, 
Down any giv'n amount of throats. 

I dearly love the Frankfort Diet, — 
Think newspapers the worst of crimes ; 

And would, to give some chance of quiet. 
Hang all the writers of The Times ; 

Break all their correspondents' bones, 
All authors of " Reply,'' " Rejoinder," 

ter, shows that the symptoms are, at least, very 
similar : 
Spumea tunc primum rabies vesana per ora 



From the Anti-Tory, Colonel J— es. 

To the Anti-Suttee, Mr. P— ynd— r. 
Such are the Pledges I propose ; 

And though I can't now oQer gold. 
There's many a way of buying those 

Who've but the taste for being sold. 
So here's, with three times three hurrahs, 

A toast, of which you'U not com- 
plain, — 
" Long life to jobbing ; may the days 

" Of Peculation shine again !" 

ST. JEROME ON EARTH. 

FIRST VISIT. 

1832. 

As St. Jerome, who died some ages ago, 
Was sitting, one day, in the shades be- 
low, [quoth he, 
"I've heard much of English bishops," 
" And shall now take a trip to earth, to 
see ['^^ays, 
" How far they agree, in their lives and 
"With our good old bishops of ancient 

days." 
He had leam'd— but leaxn'd without 
misgivings — [livings ; 

Their love for good living, and eke good 
Not knowing (as ne'er having taken de- 
grees) [cassees, 
That good living means claret and fri- 
WhUe its plural means simply— plural- 
ities, [man, 
"From all I hear," said the innocent 
" They are quite on the good old primi- 
tive plan. [care, 
" For wealth and pomp they little can 
"As they all say 'No' to th' Episcopal 

chair ; 
" And their vestal virtue it weU denotes, 
" That they all, good men, wear petti- 
coats." 
Thus saying, post-haste to earth he hur- 
ries, [terbuiy's. 
And knocks at th' Archbishop of Can- 
The door was oped by a lackey in lace, 
Saying, " What's your business with his 
Grace ?"' [was he, 
" His grace !" quoth Jerome— for posed 
Not Imowing what sort this Grace could 
be ; [ ticular, 
Whether Grace preventing, Grace par- 
Grace of that breed called Quinqiiartic- 
ular* — 

Effluit 

tunc moestus vastis nlulatus in antris. 
* So called from the proceeding's of tlie Synod 
of Dort. 




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633 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



In short, he rummaged his holy mind, 
Th' exact description of Grace to find, 
Which thus could represented be 
By a footman in full livery. , 

At last, out loud in a laugh he broke, 
(For dearly the good saint loved his 

joke,*) 
And said — surveying, as sly he spoke, 
The costly palace from roof to base— 
" Well, it isn't, at least, a saving Grace!'' 
" Umph," said the lackey, a man of few 
■words, [of Lords." 

" Th' Archbishop is gone to the House 
" To the House of the Lord, you mean, 
my son, [but one ; 

" For in my time, at least, there was 
" Unless such many -/oW priests as these 
"Seek, ev'n in their Lord, plurali- 
ties !"t [iu lace ; 
"1^0 time for gab," quoth the man 
Then, slamming the door in St. Jerome's 

face. 
With a curse to the single knockers all. 
Went to finish his port in the servants' 

hall. 
And propose a toast (humanely meant 
To include even Curates in its extent) 
'' To aU as serves th' EstabUshment.'' 



They are ghosts of wigs,'' said Char- 
on, "all. 
Once worn by nobs Episcopal.f 
For folks on earth, who've got a store 
Of cast oflF things they'll want no more. 
Oft send them down, as gifts, yon 



ST. JEROME ON" EARTH. 

BECOND VISIT. 

" This much I dare say, that, since lording 
and loitering hath come up, preacliintr hath 
corao down, contrary to the Apostles times. 
For they preached and lorded not : and now 

they lord and preach not Ever since 

the" Prelates were made Lords and Nobles, the 
]:louf;h standeth; there is no work done, the 
people starve." — Latimer, Sermon of the 
Plough. 

"Once more," said Jerome, "I'll run 
up and see [set he. 

" How the Church goes on," — and off 
Just then the packet-boat, which trades 
Betwixt our planet and the shades. 
Sad arrived below, with a freight so 
queer, [we here f — 

" My eyes !" said Jerome, " what have 
For he saw, when nearer he explored, 
They'd a cargo of Bishop's wigs aboard. 

* "Witness his well-known pun on the name 
of his adversary, Visiilantius, whom he calls 
facetiously Dorniitantius. 

t The suspicion attached to some of the early 
Fathers of being Arians in their doctrine 
•noukl nppearto derive some confirmation from 
this passage. 

; The wig, which had so long formed an cs- 



" To a certain Gentleman here below." 
" A sign of the times, I plainly see," 
Said the Saint to himself as, pondering, 
Sail'd off in the death-boat gallantly, [he 

Arrived on the earth, quoth he, " No 
" I'll affect a body, as before ; [more 
"For I think I'd best, in the company 
" Of Spiritual Lords, a spirit be, 
" And glide, unseen, from See to See." 
But oh ! to tell what scenes he saw, — 
It was more than Rabelais' pen could 
For instance, he found Ex — t— r, [draw. 
Soul, body, inkstand, all in a stii-, — 
For love of God ? for sake of King f 
For good of people ?— no such thing •, 
But to get for himself, by some new 
A shove to a better bishoprick. [trick. 

He found that pious soul. Van M — Id— t, 
Much with his money-bags bewilder'd ; 
Snubbing the Clerks of the Diocese, § 
Because the rogues show'd restlessness 
At having too little cash to touch, 
While he so Christianly bears too much. 
He found old Sarum's wi.ts as gone 
As his own beloved text in John, || — 
Text he hath prosed so long upon. 
That 'tis thought when ask'd, at the gate 

of heaven. 
His name, he'U answer, " John, v. 7." 

" But enough of Bishops I've had to- 
day," 
Said the weary Saint, — " I must away. 
" Though I own I should like, before I 

go, 
"To see for once (as I'm ask'd below 
" If really such odd sights exist) 
"A regular six- fold Plui-alist.'' 
Just then he heard a general cry — [by !" 
" There's Doctor Hodgson galloping 
" Ay, that's the man," says the Saint, 
" to follow," 

sential part of the dress of an English bishop, 
was at this time beginning to be dispensed with. 

§ See the Bishop's Letter to Clergy of his 
Diocese. 

II 1 John, V. 7. A text which, though long 
given up by all the rest of the orthodox world, 
j is still pertinaciously adhered to by this Eight 
Keverend scholar. 




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^^IV 




BATIKICAL AN^D HUMOEOUS POEMS. 



And off he sets, -sv^th a loud view-hollo, 
At Hodgson's heels, to catch, if he can, 
A glimpse of this singular plural man. 
But,— talk of Sir Boyle Roche's bhd !* 
To compare with Hodgson, is absurd. 
"Which way, sir, pray, is the doctor 
gone ?"— [don."— 

" He is now at his living at Hilling- 
" 'So, no, — you're out, by many a mile, 
" He's away at Lis Deanery, in Car- 
lisle." — 

Pardon me, sir; but I understand 
'^He's gone to his living in Cumber- 
land." — 
'• God bless me, no,— he can't be there ; 
" You must try St. George's, Hanover 
Square." 

Thus all in vain the Saint inquired, 
From living to living, mock'd and 

tired ; — [there, 

'Twas Hodgson here, 'twas Hodgson 
'Twas Hodgson nowhere, everywhere ; 
Till, fau-ly beat, the Saint gave o'er, 
And flitted away to the Stygian shore, 
To astonish the natives under ground 
"With the comical things he on earth had 

found. 



THOUGHTS ON" TAR BARRELS. 
(Vide Descuiption of a late Feib t) 
J 832. 
What a pleasing contrivance ! how apt- 
ly devised [one's noses ! 
'Twist tar and magnolias to puzzle 
And how the tar-barrels must all be sur- 
prised [among roses!" 
To find themselves seated like " Love 

What a pity we can't, by precautions 
like these, [infection ; 

Clear the air of that other still viler 
That radical pest, that old whiggish dis- 
ease, [direction. 
Of which cases, true-blue, are in every 

'Stead of barrels, lets light up an Auto 

da F6 ["the Club;" 

Of a few good combustible Lords of 

* It was a saying of the well-known Sir 
Boyle, that " a man could not be in two places 
at once, unless he was a bird. ' 

TThe M s of H-tf— d's Fete.— From 

dread of cholera his Lordship had ordered tar- 
barrels to be burned in every direction. 

X These verses, as well as some others that 
foUow, (p. b'43,) were ostortecl from me by that 



They would fume, in a trice, the Whig 

cholera away. [barrel of bub. 

And there's B — cky would bm-n like a 

How R^d — n would blaze! and what 
rubbish throw out ! [play ', 

A volcano of nonsense, in active dis- 
While V— ne, as a butt, amidst laugh- 
ter, woidd spout [and all day. 
The hot nothings he's full of, all night 

And then, for a finish, there's C— m- 

b — d's Duke, — [crackle in air! 

Good Lord, how his chin-tuft would 

Unless (as is shrewdly surmised from his 

look) [elsewhere. 

He's already bespoke for combustion 



THE COlfSULTATIOKt 

""When they do agree, their unanimity is won- 
derful." The Critic. 
1833. 
Scene, discovers Dr. Whig and Dr. Tory in con- 
sultation. Patient on the floor between them. 

Dr. Whig. — This wild Lish patient does 

pester me so, [I know • 

That what to do with him, I'm cursed if 

I've promised him anodynes 

Dr. Tory. Anodynes ! — Stuff. 

Tie him down — gag him well — she'll be 

tranquil enough. 
That's my mode of practice. 

Dr. Whig. True, quite in your line. 
But unluckily not much, till lately, in 

'Tis so painful [mine. 

Dr. Tor//.— Pooh, nonsense— ask Ude 

how he feels, [his live eels, 

When, for Epicure feasts, he prepares 
By fliiiigin^ them in, 'twixt the bars of 

the fire, [they tire. 

And letting them wriggle on there till 
He, too, says "'tis painful"— "quite 

makes his heart Meed'' — 
But "your eels are a vile, oleaginous 

breed." - [Cookery says " No,'' 
He would fain use them gently, but 
And — in short — eels were horn to be 

treated just so. $ [odder fish still, — 
'Tis the same with these Irish,— who're 

lamentable measure of the Whig ministry, the 
Irish Coercion Act. 

§ Tills eminent artist, in the second edition 
of the work wherein ho propounds this mode of 
purifying his eels, professes himself much con- 
cerned at the charge of inhumanity brought 
against his practice, but still begs leave re- 
spectfully to repeat that it is the only prope? 
mode of preparmg eels for the table. 



M ywj ^ ,^^ \ ^O^ . _ . ^, life 





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640 



MOOKE'S WOKKS. 



Your tender "VThig heart skrinks from 

using them ill ; [get wise, 

I, myseU", in my youth, ere I came to 
Used, at such operations, to blush to the 

eyes ; — [make bold 

But, in fact, my dearbrother,— if T may 
To style you, as Peachum did Lockit, of 

old,— [ness of Ude, 

"We, Doctors, must act with the firm- 
And. indifferent like him, — so the fish 

is hut stew'd, — [good. 

Must torture live Pats for the general 

[Here 2)atie>it groans and kicks a little. 

Dr. Whig. — But what, if one's patient's 

so devilish perverse, 
That he ivon't be thus tortured ? 

Br. Tory. Coerce, sir, coerce. 

You're a juvenile performer, but once 

you begin. 
You can't think how fast you may train 

your hand in: 
And (smiling) who knows but old Tory 

may take to the shelf, 
"With the comforting thought that, in 

place and in pelf, [himself? 

He's succeeded by one just as — bad as 

Dr.Whig. (looking flattered.)— Why, 

to tell you the truth, I've a small 

matter here, 
Which you help'd me to make for my 

p\'itient last year, — 
[ Goes to a cupboard and brings out 

a straight waistcoat and gag. 
And such rest I've enjoy'd from his 

raving since then. 
That I have made up my mind he shall 

wear it again. 
Dr. Tory, (embracing him.) — Oh, 

charming ! My dear Dr. Whig, 

you're a treasure. [a pleasure. 

IText to torturing myself, to help you is 

[Assisting Dr. Whig. 

Give me leave— I've some practice in 

these mad machines ; 
There— tighter— the gag in the mouth, 

by all means. 
Delightful !— all's snug— not a squeak 

need you fear, — 
You may now put your anodynes off" till 

next year. 

[Scene closes. 

* See Edinburgh Review, No. 117. 

f "Your Lordship," says Mr. Ov— rt— n, in 
the Dedication of his Poem to the Bishop of 
Chester, "has kindly expressed your persua- 
sion that my 'Muse will always be a Muse of 
eacred song, and that it will be tuned as David'" 
■was.' " 



TO THE KEY. CH— KL— S OV— R- 
T— F, 

CURATE OF ROMALDKIRK. 

AUTHOR OF THE POETICAL PORTRAITURE OF THE 

CHURCH.* 

18C3. 

Sweet singer of Eomaldkirk, thou who 

art reckon'd. 
By critics Episcopal, David the Second,! 
If thus, as a Curate, so lofty your flight. 
Only think, in a Rectory, how you 
would write, [crowu'd Apollo,'' 
Once fairly inspired by the " Tithe- 
(Who beats, I confess it, our lay Phoe- 
bus hollow, [inspiration, 
Having gotten, besides the old Nixie's 
The Tenth of all eatable things in crea- 
tion,) [you, 
There's nothing, in fact, that a poet like 
So he-nined and he-tenth'd, couldn't 
easily do. [Athenian,! they say. 
Round the lips of the sweet-tougued 
While yet but a babe in his cradle he lay. 
While "honey-bees swarm'd as a presage 
to tell [afterwards fell. 
Of the sweet-flowing words that thence 
Just so round our Ov — rt— n's cradle, no 
doubt, [flitting about ; 
Tenth ducklings and chicks were seen 
Goose embryos, waiting their doom'd 
decimation, [nation, 
Came, shadowing forth his adult desti- 
And small, sucking tithe-pigs, in musical 
di-oves, [ter approves. 
Announced the Church poet whom Ches- 

Horace ! when thou, in thy vision of 

yore, [came o'er 

Didst dream that a snowy-white plumage 
Thy ethereahzed limbs, stealing dowuily 

on, [tum'd to a swan,-^ 

TiU, by Fancy's strong spell, thou wert 
Little thought'st thou such fate could a 

poet befall. 
Without any effort of fancy, at all ; 
Little thought'st thou the world would 

in Ov— rt— n find [in kind, 

A bird ready-made, somewhat different 
But as perfect as Michaelmas' self could 

produce. 
By gods yclept anser, by mortals a goose 

X Sophocles. 

§ -^— album mntor in alitem 

Supernei nascnnturque leaves 
Per digitos, humerosque plnm£B. 



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SATIEICAL AWD HTJMOKOTJS POEMS. 



641 



SCENE 

FROM A PLAY, ACTED AT OXFORD, CALLED 
" MATRICDLATION."* 

1834. 

[Boy discovered at a table, with the Thirty-nine 
Articles before him. — Enter the Rt. Eev. Dr. 
Ph-Up— ts.] 

Doctor P. —There, my lad, lie the Ar- 
ticles — Boy begins to count them) 
just thirty-nine — [to sign. 

Ko occasion to count — you've now ouly 
At Cambridge, where folks are less 

High-chm'ch than we, 
The whole Xiue-and-Thirty are lumped 

into Three. 
Let's run o'er the items ; — there's Justi- 
fication, 
Predestination and Supererogation, — 
iN^ot forgetting Salvation and Creed A.th- 
auasian, Ltification. 

Till we reach, at last, Queen Bess's Ra- 
That's sufficient — now, sign — having 

read quite enough. 
You ''believe in the fxill and true mean- 
ing thereof V (Boy stares. ) 
Oh, a mere form of words, to make 

things smooth and brief, — 
A commodious and short make-believe 
of belief, [form thus articular, 
"WTiich our Church has drawn up, iu a 
To keep out, in general, all who're par- 
ticular, [reading all through, 
But what's the boy doing? what ! 
And my luncheon fast cooling ! — this 
never will do. 
Boy, (poring over tlie Articles.) — Here 
are points which — pray, Doctor, 
what's " Grace of Congruity f 
Dr. P. (sharply.)— You'll find out, 
young sir, when you've more in- 
genuity. 
At present, by signing, you pledge your- 
self merely, [cerely. 
Whate'er it may be, to believe it sin- 
Both in dini7ig and signing we take the 
same plan — [as we can. 
First, swallow all down, then digest— 
Boy, (still reading.) — I've to gulp, I 
see, St. Athansius's Creed, 
"Which, I'm told, is a very tough morsel. 
As he damns — [indeed ; 

* " It appears that when a youth of fifteen 
goes to be matriculated at Oxford, and is re- 
quired first to subscribe Thirty-nine Articles 
of Kelipious Belief, this only means that lie en- 
gages himself afterwards to understiuid what 



Dr. P. (aside.)~Ay, and so would /, 
willingly, too, [like you. 

AU confounded particularyoung boobies 
This comes of Reforming! — aU'so'er with 
om- land, [can't understand ; 

"When people won't stand what they 
JS'or perceive that om- ever-revered Thir- 
ty-Nine [to sign. 
"Were made, not for men to helieve, but 
[Exit Dr. P. in a passion. 



LATE TITHE CASE. 



" The Vicar of B— mh— m desires me to state 
that, in consequence of the passin^r of a recent 
Act of Parliament, he is compelled to adopt 
measures which may by some be considered 
harsh or precipitate ; but, in diUy to avhat he 
owes to his successors, he feels bound to pre- 
serve the rights of the vicaxage."— ie<ter/*-om 
Mr. S. Powell, August 6. 

No, not for yourselves, ye reverend men. 
Do you take one pig in every ten, 
But for Holy Church's futm-e heirs, 
"Who've an abstract right to that pig, as 

theirs ;— 
The law supposing that such heirs male 
Are already seised of the pig, in tail. 
No, not for himself hath B — mh — m's 

priest [fleeced : 

His " well-beloved " of their pennies 
But it is that, before his prescient eyes, 
All future Vicars of B — mh — m rise, 
"With their embryo daughters, nephews, 

nieces. 
And 'tis for them the poor he fleeces. 
He heareth their voices, ages hence, 
Saying, " Take the pig "— " oh take the 

pence ;" 
The cries of little Yicarial dears. 
The unborn B — mh mites, reach his 

ears; 
And, did he resist that soft appeal, 
He would not like a true-bom "Vicar 



Thou, too, L— ndy of L— ck— ngt— n I 
A Rector tnie, if e'er there was one, 
"Who, for sake of the L— ndies of com- 
ing ages, 

is now above his comprehension ; that he er- 
presses no assent at all to what he signs; atrf 
that he is (or, ought to be) at full liberty, whcf 
he has studied the subjeo* to withdraw his priT 
visional assent ' — Edinourgh Heview, Ko 1:20 



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C43 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Gripest the tenth of laborers' wages.* 
'Tis true, in the pockets oithy small- 
clothes [pence goes ; 
The claim'd " obvention "t of fonr- 
But its abstract spirit, unconfined, 
Spreads to all future Rector-kind, 
Warning them aUto their rights to wake, 
And rather to face the block, the stake, 
Than give up their dai-lmg right to take. 

One grain of musk, it is said, perfumes 
(So subtle its spirit) a thousand rooms, 
And a single foitr-pence, pocketed well, 
Through a thousand rectors' lives wUl 

teU. 
Then still continue, ye reverend souls, 
Ajid still as your rich Pactolus rolls. 
Grasp every penny on every side, 
From every wretch, to swell its tide : 
Remembering still what the Law lays 

down, 
In that pure poetic style of its own, 
"If the parson in esse submits to loss, 

he [posse." 

•'Inflicts the same on the parson in 



FOOL'S PARADISE. 

DREAM THE FIRST. 

I HAVE been, like Puck, I have been, in 

a trice. 
To a realm they call Fool's Paradise, 
Lying N. N. E. of the Land of Sense, 
And seldom bless'd with a glimmer 
thence. [place, 

But they want it not in this happy 
Where a light of its own gilds every 
Or, if some wear a shadowy brow, [face; 
'Tis the wish to look wise, — not know- 
ing hoiv. 
Self-glory glistens o'er aU that's there. 
The trees, the flowers have a jaunty air; 
The well-bred wind in a whisper blows. 
The snow, if it snows, is coulcur de rose, 
The falling founts in a titter fall. 
And the sun looks simpering down on all. 

, Oh, 'tisn't in tongue or pen to trace 
The scenes I saw in that joyous place. 
There were Lords and Ladies sitting to- 
gether, [weather ! — 
In converse sweet, "What charming 

* Fourteen agricultural laborers (one of 
•whom received so little as six guineas for yearly 
wages, one eight, one nine, another ten guin- 
eas, and the best paid of the whole not more 
than 182. annually) were all, in the course of the 
autumu of 1832, served with demands of tithe 



" You'll all rejoice to hear, I'm sure, 
" Lord Charles has got a good sineciu-e ; 
" And the Premier says, my youngest 

brother [er. 

" (Him in the Guards) shall have anoth- 
" Isn't this very, very gallant ! — 
"As for my poor old virgin aunt, 
" Who has lost her all, poor thing at 

whist, [List." 

" We must quarter her on the Peu.sion 
Thus smoothly time in that Eden roll'd ; 
It seem'd hke an Age of real gold, 
Where all who liked might have a slice. 
So rich was that Fool's Paradise. 

But the sport at which most time they 

spent. 
Was a puppet-show, call'd Parhament, 
Perform'd by wooden Ciceros, 
As large as life, who rose to prose, 
While, hid behind them, lords and 

squires, [wires 

Who own'd the puppets, pull'd the 
And thought it the very Ijest device 
Of that most prosperous Pai-adise, [nose 
To make the vulgar pay through the 
For them and their wooden Ciceros. 

And many more such things I saw 

In this Eden of Church, and State, and 

Law ; 
For e'er were known such pleasant folk 
As those who had the best of the joke. 
There were Irish rectors, such as resort 
To Cheltenham yearly, to drink— port, 
And bumper, " Long may the Church 

endure, 
" May her cure of souls be a sinecure, 
"And a score of Parsons to every soul— 
"A moderate allowance on the whole.'' 
There were Heads of Colleges, lying 

about. 
From which the sense had all mn out, 
Even to the lowest classic lees. 
Till nothing was left but quantities ; 
Which made them heads most fit to be 
Stuck up on a University, 
Which yearly hatches, in its schools, 
Such flights of young Elysian fools. 

Thus all went on, so snug and nice, 
In this happiest possible Paradise. 

at the rate of 4d. in the \l. sterling, on behalf 

of the Rev. F. L— dv, Eector of , &C., 

&.c.—The Times, August, 1833. 

t One of the various general terms under 
which oblations, tithes, <fcc., are comprised. 




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_Jr^ 




SATIEICAL AKD HUMOROUS POEMS. 



643 



But plain it %vas to see, alas ! 
Tiiat a downfall soon must come to pass, 
For grief is a lot the good and wise 
Don't quite so much monopolize, 
But that (" lapt in Elysium" as they are) 
Even blessed fools must have their share. 
And so it happen' d : — but what befell, 
In Dream the Second I mean to tell. 



THE SECTOR AJfD HIS CURATE ; 

OR, ONE rODKD TWO. 

"I trust we shall part, as we met, in peace 
and charity. My hist payment to you paid 
yoi.r salary up to the Jst of this month. Since 
that, I owe you for one month, which, being a 
long month, of thirty-one days, amounts, as 
near as I can calculate, to six pounds eight 
shillings. My steward returns you as a debtor 
to the amount of seven pounds ten shillings 
FOK CON-ACUE-GROUXI), wMch leaves some 
trifling balance in my favor.''— Xe«er of Dis- 
missal frotn the Rev. Marcus Bcrcsford to his 
Curate, the Rev. T. A. Lyons. 

The account is balanced— the bill drawn 

out, — • 
The del)it and credit all right, no doubt— 
The Rector, rolling in wealth and state, 
Owes to his Curate six pound eight; 
The Curate, that least -well-fed of men. 
Owes to his Rector seven pound ten, 
"\Ybich maketh the balance clearly due 
From Curate to Rector, one pound two. 

Ah balance, on earth uufair, uneven ! 
But sure to be all set right in heaven, 
Where bills like these will be check'd, 

some day. 
And the balance settled the other way : 
Where Lyons the curate's hard-wrung 

sum [come; 

Will back to his shade with interest 
And Marcus, the rector, deep may rue 
This tot, iu his favor, of one pound two. 



PADDY' 



METAMORPHOSIS.* 

1833. 

About fifty years since, in the days of 

our daddies, 

That plan was commenced which 

the wise now applaud, [ Paddies, 

Of shipping off Ireland's most turbulent 

As good raw materials for settlers, 

abroad. 



* I have already in a preceding page referred me by the Irish Coercion Act of my friends, the 
to this squib, as being one of those wrung from Whigs. 



Some West-Indian island, whose name 

I forget, [scheme so romantic ; 

Was the region then chosen for this 

And such the success the first colony 

met, 

That a second, soon after, set sail o'er 

th' Atlantic. 

Behold them now safe at the long 

look'd-for shore, 

Sailing in between banks that the 

Shannon might greet. 

And thinking of friends whom, but two 

years before, [soon again meet. 

They had sorrow'd to lose, but would 

And, hark ! from the shore a glad wel- 
come there came — 
" AiTah, Paddy from Cork, is it you, 
my sweet boy V [own name 
While Pat stood astounded, to hear his 
Thus hail'd by black devils, who ca- 
pefd for joy ! 

Can it possibly be 1 — half amaze- 
ment — half doubt, [looks steady ; 
Pat listens again— rubs his eyes and 
Then heaves a deep sigh, and in horror 
yells out, 
" Good Lord ! only think — black and 
cm-ly already !*" 

Deceived by that well-mimick'd brogue 

in his ears, [wool-headed figures, 

Pat read his own doom in these 

And thought, what a climate, in less 

than two years, 

To turn a whole cargo of Pats into 

niggers ! 

MORAL. 

'Tis thus, — but alas! — by a marvel more 

true [best stories, — 

Than is told in this rival of Ovid'^. 

Tour Whigs, when in office a short .year 

or two, [Tories. 

By a lusus naturce, all turn into 

And thus, when I hear them '• strong 

measures " advise. 

Ere the seats that they sit on have 

time to get steady, [eyes, 

I say, while I listen, with tears in my 

"Good Lord! only think, — black and 

curly already !" 




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644 



MOORE'S ^ORKS. 



COCKER, ON" CHURCH REFORM. 

FOUNDED UPON SOME LATE CALCULATIONS. 
1833. 

Fine figures of speech let your orators 

follow, [all hollow; 

Old Cocker has figures that beat them 

Though famed for his rules Aristo^Ze 

may be, 
In but /;a?/of this Sage any merit I see, 
For, as honest Joe Hume says, the 
"tattle "* for me! 

For instance, while others discuss and 

debate, 
It is thus about Bishops I ratiocinate. 

In England, where, spite of the infidel's 

laughter, [well after, 

'Tis certain our souls are look'd very 
Two Bishops can well (if judiciously 

sunder'd) [hundred,— 

Of parishes manage two thousand two 
Said number of parishes, under said 

teachers, [creatures, — 

Containing three millions of Protestant 
So that each of said Bishops full ably 

controls [of souls. 

One million and five hundred thousands 
And now comes old Cocker. In Ireland, 

we're told, [tant fold ; 

Haifa million includes the whole Protes- 
If, therefore, for three million souls 'tis 

conceded [needed, 

Two proper-sized Bishops are all that is 
'Tis plain, for the Irish /m// million who 

want 'em, [quantum. 

Jne third of one Bishop is just the right 
k.nd thus, by old Cocker's sublime Rule 

of Three, [to a T ; 

The Irish Church question's resolved 
keeping always that excellent maxim 

in view, [save money too. 

That, in saving men's souls, we must 

Nay if— as St. Roden complains is the 

case — [apace, 

The half million of sotil is decreasing 

The demand too, for hishop will also fall 

off, [enough. 

Till the tithe of one taken in kind, be 

But, as fractions imply that we'd have 

to dissect, [object. 

And to cutting up Bishops I strongly 

*The total,— so pronoimced by this indus- 
tnoiis seiiiitor. 
t Corporation solo. 
X The materials of which those Nuremberg 



We've a smaU, fractious prelate whom 
well we could spare, [to a hair ; 

Who has just the same decimal worth, 

And, not to leave Ireland too much in 
the lurch, [her Church. 

"We'll let her have Ex— t— r, sole,] as 

LES HOMMES AUTOMATES. 



"We are persuaded that this our artificial 
man will not only walk and speak, and perform 
most of the outward functions of animal life, 
but (being wound up once a week) will per- 
haps reason as well as most of your country 
parsons." — Memoirs of Martinus Hcriblerus, 
chap. xii. 

It being an object now to meet 
With Parsons that don't want to eat. 
Fit men to fill those Irish rectories 
"Which soon will have but scant refec- 
tories. 
It has been suggested, — lest that Chm'ch 
Should, all at once, be left in the lurch, 
For want of reverend men endued 
With this gift of ne'er requiling food,^ 
To try, by way of experiment, whether 
There couldn't be made, of wood and 
leather,}: [ical,) 

(Howe'er the notion may sound chimer- 
Jointed figures not lay,^ but clerical, 
Which, wound up carefully once a week, 
Might just like parsons look and speak, 
Nay even, if requisite, reason too, 
As weU as most Irish parsons do. 

Th' experiment having succeeded quite, 
( Whereat those Lords must much delight, 
"Who've shown, by stopping the Church's 

food. 
They think it isn't for her spiritual good 
To be served by parsons of flesh and 

blood,) 
The Patentees of this new invention 
Beg leave respectfully to mention, 
They are now enabled to produce 
An ample supply, for present use. 
Of those reverend pieces of machinery. 
Ready for vicarage, rectory, deanery, 
Or any such -like post of skill 
That wood and leather are fit to fill. 
N. B. — In places addicted to arson. 
We can't recommend a wooden parson • 
But, if the Church any such appoints. 
They'd better, at least, have iron joints. 

Savans, mentioned by Scriblerus, constructed 
their artiiicial man. 

§ The wooden models used by painters aret 
it 18 well known, "lay figures." 



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SATIRICAL AJ^D HUMOROUS POEMS. 



645 



In parts, not mucli by Protestants 

haunted, 
A figure to looJc at's aU that's wanted— 
A block in black, to eat and sleep, 
"WTiich (now that the eating's o'er) comes 

cheap. 

P. S. — Should the Lords, by way of a 
Permit the clergy again to eat, [treat, 
The Church will, of coui-se, no longer 
Imitation-parsons that never feed; [need 
And these wood creatures of ours will sell 
For secular purposes just as well — 
Our Beresfords, turn'd to bludgeons 

stout, 
May, 'stead of beating their own about, 
Be knocking the brains of Papists out; 
While our smooth O'SuUivans, by all 

means, [chines. 

Should transmigi-ate into turning ma- 



HOW TO MAKE ONE'S SELF A 
PEER, 

ACCORDING TO THE NEWEST UECEIPT, AS DIS- 
CLOSED IN A LATE HERALDIC WORK.* 

1834. 

Choose some title that's dormant — the 
Peerage hath many — [any. 

Lord Baron of Shamdos sounds nobly as 
Next, catch a dead cousin of said defunct 
Peer, [year. 

And marry him off-hand in some given 
To the daughter of somebody, — no mat- 
ter Avho, — [run, will do ; 
Pig, the grocer himself, if you're hard 
For, the Medici pills still iu heraldry tell. 
And why shouldn't lollypops quarter as 
well? [lords cousin. 
Thus, having your couple, and one a 
Young materials for peers may be had 

by the dozen ; 
And 'tis hard if, inventing each small 

mother's son of 'em. 
You can't somehow manage to prove 

yourself one of 'em. 
Should registers, deeds, and such mat- 
ters refractory, [tory, 
Stand in the way of this lord-manufac- 
I've merely to hint, as a secret auricular, 
One grand rule of enterprise, — don^t be 
particular. [nobility, 
A man who once takes such a jump at 
Must «olmince the matter, like folks of 
nibility,t [agility. 
But clear thick and thin with true lordly 

* The Claim to tlie l)arony of Chandos (if I 
recollect ricrht) advanced by the lato Sir 
Ejj— r— t — n Br — d — s. 



'Tis true, to a would-be descendant from 
Bangs, [some things ; 

Parish- registers sometimes are trouble- 
As oft, when the vision is near brought 
about, [out; 

Some goblin, in shape of a grocer, grins 
Or some barber, perhaps, with my Lord 
mingles bloods, [suds. 

And one's patent of peerage is left in the 

But there are ways — when folks are re- 
solved to be lords — [records: 
Of expurging ev'u troublesome parish 
What think ye of scissors ? depend on't 

no heir [a pair. 

Of a Shamdos should go unsuppHed with 
As, whate'er else the leam'd in such lore 

may invent, [descent. 

Your scissors does wonders in proving 
Yes, poets may sing of those tenible 

shears [biimpkins and peere, 

With which Atropos snips off both 
But they're naught to that weapon which 

shines in the hands 
Of some would-be Patrician, when 

proudly he stands [mal array. 
O'er the careless chutchwardeu's baptis- 
And sweeps at each cut generations 

away, [resisted? 

By some babe of old times is his peerage 
One snip, — and the urchin hath never 

existed ! [ Flood, interfere 

Does some marriage, iu days near the 
With his one sublime object of being a 

Peer ? [groom and bride, — 

Quick the shears at once nullify bride- 
No such people have ever Uved, married, 

or died ! 

Such the newest receipt for those high- 
minded elves, [of themselves. 
Who've a fancy for making great lords 
Follow this, young aspirer, who pant'st 
for a peerage, [thy steerage. 

Take S — m for thy model and B— z for 
Do all and much worse than old Nicho- 
las Flam does, [on of Shamdos ? 
And — lolio knows but vou'U be Lord Bar-, 



THE DUKE IS THE LAD. 
Air. — " A master I have, and I am his man, 
Galloping di-eary dun." 

CaMe of Andalusia, 

The Duke is the lad to frighten a lass, 
Galloping, dreary duke ; 

< "This we call pure nihility, or mere noth. 
ing." — Watts's Logic. 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 



The Duke is the lad to frighten a lass, 
He's au ogre to meet, and the d— 1 to 
pass, 

With his charger prancing, 
Grim eye glancing, 
Chin, like a Mufti, 
Grizzled and tufty, 
Galloping, dreary Duke. 

^e misses, beware of the neighborhood 
Of this galloping, dreary Duke ; 
Avoid him, all who see no good 
In being run o'er by a Prince of the 
Blood. 

For, surely, no nymph is 
Fond of a grim phiz, 
And of the manned, [ried 
Whole crowds have miscar- 
At sight of this dreary Duke. 



EPISTLE. 

FROM EASMCS ON EARTH TO CICERO IN THB 
SHADES. 

Southampton. 
As 'tis now, my dear Tully, some weeks 

since I started [we parted, 

By rail-road, for earth, having vow'd, ere 
To drop you a line, by the Dead- Letter 

post, [of ghost, 

Just to say how I thrive, in my new Mne 
And how deucedly odd this live world 

all appears, [three hundred years, 
To a man who's been dead now for 
I take up my pen, and, with news of 

this earth, [spleen and your mirth. 
Hope to waken, by turns, both your 

In my way to these shores, taking Italy 
first, [den should burst. 

Lest the change from Elysium too sud- 
I forgot not to visit those haunts where, 
of yore, [lore,* 

You took lessons fromPsetus in cookery's 
Tum'd aside from the calls of the ros- 
trum and Muse, [stews. 
To discuss the rich merits of rotis and 
And preferr'd to all honors of triumph 
or trophy, [httle Sophy, t 
A supper on prawns with that rogue. 

Having dwelt on such classical musings 

awhile, [isle, 

I set off, by a steamboat, for this happy 

* See his Letters to Friends, lib. ix. epist. 19, 
20, &e. 

t Ing:entium squillarum cum Sophia Septi- 
miffl. — LiD. ix. epist. 10. 



(A conveyance t/ou ne'er, I think, sril'tl 
by, my Tully, [more fully,; 

And therefore, jjer next, I'll descril)e it 
Having heard, on the way, what dis- 
tresses me greatly, [lately. 
That England's o'errun by idolaters 
Stark, staring adorers of wood and of 
stone, [statue alone. 
Wbo will let neither stick, stock nor 
Such the sad news I heard fi-om a tall 
man in black, [ing back, 
Who from sports continental was hurry- 
To look after his tithes ; — seeing, doubt- 
less, 'twould follow, [Apollo, 
That, just as, of old, your gi-eat idol, 
Devour'd all the Tenths,t so the idols in 
question, [equal digestion, 
These wood and stone gods, may have 
And th' idolatrous crew, whom this Rec- 
tor despises, [izes. 
May eat up the tithe-pig, which lie idol- 
London. 

Tis aU but too true— grim Idolatry 

reigns, [and plains ! 

In full pomp, over England's lost cities 
On arriving just now, as my first thought 

and care [House of Prayer, 

Was, as usual, to seek out some near 
Some calm, holy spot, fit for Christians 

to pray on, [downright Pantheon ! 
I was shown to— what think you?— a 
A grand, pdlar'd temple, with niches 

and halls, § [name St. Paul's;— 
Pull of idols and gods, which they nick- 
Though 'tis clearly the place where the 

idolatrous crew. 
Whom the Rector complain'd of, their 

dark rites pursue ; 
And, 'mong all the "strange gods" 

Abraham's father carved out, II 
That he ever carved stranger thaji these 

I much doubt. 

Were it even, my dear Tully, your 

Hebes and Graces, 
And such pretty things, that usurp'd the 

Saints' places, [classic dome, 
I shouldn't much mind,— for, in this 
Such folks from Olympus would feel 

quite at home. 
But the gods they've got here !— such a 

queer omnium gatherum 

J Tithes were paid to the Pythian Apollo. 
§ See Dr. Wiseman's learned and able letter 
to Mr. Poynder. 
II Joshua, xxiv. 2. 




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SATIKICAL AJfD HUMOROUS POEMS. 



C47 



Of mitioegot th?ngs, that no poet would 

fatiier em ; 
Britannias, in ligni^ Bnmmer-wear for 

the skies, — 
Old Thames, tum'd to stoiie, to his no 

small surprise,— I, what's said, 
Father Nile, too,— a portraU, (in spite of 
'I'hat no mortal e'er yet got a glimpse of 

his head, )* [somewhat fat for't. 
And a Gauges, which India would think 
Unless 'twas some full-grown Diiector 

had sat for't ; — [and Sphinxes, 
Not to mention th' et eceteras of Genii 
Fame, Victory, and other such semi-clad 

minxes ; — [idolized ; 

Sea Captains,! — the idols here most 
And of whom some, alas, might too weU 

be comprised [ca«no«-ized ; — 
Among ready-made Saints, as they died 
With a multitude more of odd cockney- 

fied deities, [uig to see it 'tis ; 
Shrined in such pomp that quite shock- 
Nor know I what better the Rector 

could do [quadruped too ; 

Than to shrine there his own beloved 
As mosi, surely a tithe-pig, whate'er the 

world thinks, is [Sphinx is. 

A much fitter beast for a church than a 

But I'm caU'd off to dinner — grace just 

has been said, [dead. 

And my host waits for nobody, living or 



LINES.t 



At Parish et Fratres, et qui rapuere sub illis, 
Yix teiiuere manus (scis hoc, Menelae) nefan- 
das. Ovid, Metam. lib. xiii. v. 202. 

Go, Brothers in wisdom— go, bright pair 

of Peers, 

And may Cupid and Fame fan you 

both with their pinions ! 

The one, the best lover we have — of his 

years, [tain's dominions. 

And the other Prime Statesman of Bri- 

Go, Hero of Chancery, blest with the 

smile [archs that prize thee ; 

Of the Misses that love, and the mon- 

* " Nee contigit ulli 

Hoc vidisse caput." Clauuian. 

t Captains Mosse, Rlou, &c., &c. 

J This and th3 following' squib, which raust 
have been written about the vear ISIS-IO, have 
been by some oversight misp'aced. 

i Ovid is mistaken iu saying that it waa 



Forget Mrs. Aug— lo T— yl— r awhile, 

And all tailors but him who so well 

dandifies thee. 

Never mind how thy juniors in gallantly 

scoff, [may thwart thee. 

Never heed how perverse affidavits 

But show the young Misses thou'rt 

scholar enough \_ahout forty ! 

To translate " Amor Fortis " a love, 

And sure 'tis no wonder, when, fresh 
as young Mars, 
From the battle you came, with the 
Orders you'd eam'd in't, 
That sweet Lady Fanny should cry out 
"My stars.'" 
And forget that the Moon, too, was 
some way concem'd in't. 
For not the gi-eat R— g— t himself has 
endured [and orders all shine, 
(Though I've seen him with badges 
Till he look'd like a house that was over 
insured) [than thine. 

A much heavier burden of glories 
Ajid 'tis plain, when a wealthy young 
lady so mad is. 
Or any young lady can so go astray, 
As to maiTy old Dandies that might be 
their daddies, 
The starsW are in fault, my Lord 
St — w — rt, not they ! 
Thou, too, t'other brother, thou TuIIy of 
Tories, [lips 

Thou Malaprop Cicero, over whose 
Such a smooth rigmarole about " mon- 
archs," and " glories," 
And " nullidffe,''^ and "features," 
like syllabub slips. 

Go, haste, at the Congress pursue thy 
vocation [tional Debt of ours. 
Of adding fresh sums to this Na- 
Leaguing with Kings, who, for mere 
recreation, 
Break promises, fast as your Lord- 
ship breaks metaphors. 
Fare ye well, fare ye well, bright Pair 
of Peers, [with their pinions ! 
And may Cupid and Fame fan you both 

"at Paris " these rapacious transactions took 
place — ^\^e sliould read " at Vienna." 

II " When weak women go astray, 

The stars are more in fault than they. 

IT It is thus the noble lord pronounces the 
word "knowledge"— deriving it, as l;vr as iiia 
own sliare is concerned, from the Latin 
" nullus." 




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648 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



The one, the best lover we have— 0/ 

his years, [Britain's dominions. 

And the othci, Prime Statesman, of 



TO THE SHIP 



Imitated from Horace, lib. i., ode 3. 
So may my Lady's prayers prevail,* 

And C— nn— g's too, and lucid 
Br— gge's, 
And Eld — u beg a favoring gale 

From Eolus, that older Bags.t 
To speed thee on thy destined way, 
Oh ship, that beai-'st our C— st — r — gh,| 
Our gracious R— g— t's better half, ^ 

And, therefore, quarter of a King — 
(As Vac, or any other calf, 

May find, without much figuring.) 
Waft him, oh ye kindly breezes, 

Waft this Lord of place and pelf, 
Anywhere his Lordship pleases, 

Though 'twere to Old Nick himself ! 

Oh, what a face of brass was his, || 
Who first at Congress show'd his phiz — 
To sign away the Rights of Man [gle ; 

To Russian threats alid Austrian jug- 
And leave the sinking AfricanlT 

To fall without one saving struggle— 
'Mong ministers from North and South, 

To show his lack of shame and sense, 
And hoist the sign of ''Bull and Mouth" 

For blunders and for eloquence ! 

In vain we wish our Sees, at home** 
To mind then* papers, desks, and 
shelves. 

If siUy Sees, abroad will roam, [selves. 
And make such noodles of them- 

* Sic te Diva potens Cypri, 

Sio fratres HeleniB, lucida sidera, 
Veutoruiuque ref!,at pater. 

t See a description of the ao-Koi, or Bags of 
Eolus, in the Odyssey, lib. 10. 

X Navis, quie tibi creditum 

Debes Virgilium. 

§ AnimsB dimidium menm, 

Uli robur et ats triplex 

Circa pectus erat, qui, &c. 

^ praBcipitem Africum 

Decertantem Aquilonibus. 

*• Nequicquam Deus abscidit 

Prudens oceano dissociabili 
Terras, si tanieu iinpiie 
Non tangenda Rates transiliunt vada. 



But such hath always been the case — 
For matchless impudence efface, 
There's nothing like your Tory race !tt 
First, Pitt, XX the chosen of England, 

taught her 
A taste for famine, fixe, and slaughter. 

Then came the Doctor, § $ for our ease. 
With E— d— ns, Ch— th— ms, H— wfe 
And other deadly maladies. [— b— s, 
When each, in turn, had run their rigs,, 
Necessity brought in the Whigs :11|| 
And oh, I blush, I blush to say, [too. 

When these, in tm"n, were put to flight. 
Illustrious T— MP — E flew away 

With lots of pens he had no right to. TIT 
In short, what will not mortal man do?*** 

And now, that— strife and bloodshed 

past — " [do, 

We've done on earth what harm we can 

We gravely take to Heaven at last,ttt 
And think its favorite smile to purchase 
(Oh Lord, good Lord!) by— building 
churches ! 



SKETCH OF THE FIRST ACT OF A 
NEW ROMANTIC DRAMA. 

" And now," quoth the goddess, in ac- 
cents jocose, [such a dose 

" Having got good materials, I'll brew 

" Of Double X mischief as, mortals shall 
say, [a long day." 

" They've not known its equal for many 

Here she wink'd to her subaltern imps 
to be steady, [and stood ready. 

And all wagg'd their fire-tipp'd tails 

" So, now for th' ingredients : — first, 

hand me that bishop ;" [fish up. 

Whereon, a whole bevy of imps run to 

This last line, we may suppose, alludes to some 
distinguished Rat)i that attended the voyager. 
ft Audax omnia perpeti 

Gens ruit per vetitum nefas. 
JJ Audax Japeti genus 

Ignem fraude mala gentibus intulie. 

§§ Post 

. . . macies, et nova febrium 
Terris incubit cohors. 

IIII tarda necessitas 

Lethi corripuit gradum. 
Expertus vacuum Dsedalns aera 
Pennis non homini datis. 
HIT This alludes to the 1200?. worth of station 
ery, which his Lordshipis said to have orderea 
when on the point of vacating his place. 
*** Nil mortalibus arduum est. 
fit Cojlum ipaum petimus stultitia. 




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SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



649 



From out a large reseryoir, wherein they 
pen 'em, [venom ; 

The blackest of all its black dabblers in 

And ■wrapping him up (lest the viras 
should ooze, 

And one " drop of th' immortal"* Right 
Rev.f they might lose) 

In the sheets of his own speeches, 
charges, reviews, [a burst 

Pop him into the caldron, while loudly 

Prom the by-standers welcomes ingre- 
dient the first ! 

*' Now fetch the Ex-Chancellor," mut- 

ter'd the dame — [by name." 

" He who's call'd after Harry the Older, 

" The Es-Chancellcr !" echo'd her imps, 

the whole crew of 'em — 
" Why talk of one Ex, when your Mis- 
chief has two of 'em V 
" True, true," said the hag, looking arch 
at her elves, [ia themselves," 
"And a double-i^a; dose they compose. 
This joke, the sly meaning of which was 
seen lucidly, [cedly, 

Set aU the devils a laughing most deu- 
So, in went the pair, and (what none 
thought surprising) [for rising ; 
Show'd talents for sinking as great as 
"While not a grim phiz in that realm but 
was lighted [ed — 

"With joy to see spirits so twin-like unit- 
Or (plainly to speak) two such birds of 
a feather, [gether. 

In one mess of venom thus spitted to- 
Here a flashy imp rose— some connec- 
tion, no doubt, [scowling about, 
Of the young lord in question — and, 
"Hoped his fiery friend, St — nl — y, 

would not be left out ; 
" As no schoolboy imwhipp'd, the whole 

world must agree, 
" Loved mischief, pure mischief, more 
dearly than he." 

But, no — the wise hag wouldn't hear of 

the whipster ; [eclipsed her, 

Not merely because, as a shrew, he 
And nature had given him, to keep him 

stUl young, [his tongue ; 

Much tongue in his head and no head in 
But because she weU knew that, for 

change ever ready, [steady ; 

He'd not even to mischief keep properly 
That soon even the wrong sid!e would 

cease to delight, 

* " To lose no drop of the immortal man." 
^ The present Bishop o*' Ex — t — r. 



And, for warn; of a change, he must 

swerve to the righ t ; 
WMe, on each, so at random his mis- 
siles he threw, [of the two.— 
That the side he attack'd was most safe 
This inaredient was therefore put by on 
the shelf, [itself. 

There to bubble, a bitter, hot mess, by 
"And now," quoth the hag, as her cald- 
ron she eyed, [side. 
And the titbits so friendlily rankling in- 
" There wants but some seasoning;— so, 

come, ere I stew 'em, 

' ' By way of a relish, we'll throw in ' + 

John Tuam.' [or fish 

" In cooking up mischief, there's no flesh 

" Like your meddling High Priest, to 

add zest to the dish.'' [Lama — 

Thus saying, she pops in the Irish Grand 

Which great event ends the First Act of 

the Drama. 



ANIMAL MAGNETISM. 

THOrGH famed was Mesmer, in his day, 
Nor less so, in ours, is Dupotet, 
To say nothing of all the wonders done 
By that wizard. Dr. Elliotson, 
When, standing as if the gods to invoke, 
he [Okey \\ 

Up Agaves his arm, and — down drops 

Though strange these things, to mind 

and sense, [see — 

If you wish still stranger things to 

If you wish to know the power immense 

Of the true magnetic influence. 

Just go to her Majesty's Treasury, 
And learn the wonders working there — 
And I'll be hang'd if you don't stare ! 
Talk of your animal magnetists, 
And that wave of the hand no soul re- 
sists, 
Not aU its witcheries can compete 
With the fiiendly beckon towards 
Downing Street, [wishes 

Which a Premier gives to one who 
To taste of the Treasury loaves and 

fishes. 
It actually lifts the lucky elf, 
Thus acted upon, above himself; — 
He jumps to a state of clairvoyance, 
And is placeman, statesman, all, a< 



; Tlic namo of the heroine of the perfonm- 
auce at the North London Hospital. 



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.-^-^ 




650 



MOOEE'S "V^ORES. 



These e^Fects observe, (with -which I 
begin,) \_in, 

Take place -when the patient's motion'cl 
Far different, of course, the mode of af- 
fection, [oMi direction; 
When the ■wave of the hand's in the 
The effects being then extremely un- 
pleasant, [at present ; 

As is seen m the case of Lord B ra, 

In -whom this sort of manipulation 
Has lately produced such inflammation, 
Attended with constant irritation, 
That, in short — not to mince his situa- 
tion— [tion 
It haR work'd in the man a transforma- 
That puzzles all human calculation ! 

Ever since the fatal day which saw 
That "pass''* perform'd on this Lord of 

Law — 
A pass potential, none can doubt, 

As it sent Harry B m to the right 

about — [been 

The condition iu which the patient has 
Is a thing quite awful to be seen. 
N"ot that a casual eye could scan 
This wondrous change by outward 
survey ; 
It being, in fact, th' interior man 
That's turn'd completely topsy- 
turvy :— ['em. 
Like a case that lately, in reading o'er 
I found iu the Acta Eruditoruni, 
Of a man in whose inside, when disclos- 
ed, [transposed ;t 
The -whole order of things was found 
By a lu,sus natures, strange to see, [be, 
The Lver placed where the heart should 

And the spleen (like B m's, since 

laid on the shelf) [himself. 

As diseased and as much out of place as 

In short, 'tis a case for consultation, 
If e'er there was one, in this thinking na- 
tion; 
And therefore I humbly beg to propose, 
That those sovajw who mean, as the ru- 
mor goes. 
To sit on Miss Okey's wonderful case, 
Should also Lord HaiTy's case embrace ; 
And inform us, in hoth these patient's 

states^ 
Which ism it is that predominates, 

* The technical term for the movements of 
the magnetizer's hand. 

t Omnes 1 er6 internas corporis partes inverse 
ordine sitas.— JlC«. Erudit lti9U. 



Whether magnetism and somnambulism, 
Or, simply and solely, mountebankism. 



THE SOITG OP THE BOX. 

Let History boast of her Eomans and 

Spartans, [ranny's shocks; 

And tell how they stood against ty- 

They were all, I confess, in my eye, 

Betty Martins, 

Compared to George Gr — te and his 

wonderful Box. 

Ask, where Liberty now has her seat ?— 

Oh, it isn't [land's rocks ; — 

By Delaware's banks or on Switzer- 

Like an imp in some conjuror's bottle 

imprison'd, [derful Box. 

She's slyly shut up in Gr — te's won- 

How snug !— 'stead of floating through 
ether's dominions. 
Blown this way and that, by the 
"populi vox,'' [pinions. 

To fold thus in silence her sinecure 
And go fast asleep in Gr— te's won- 
derful Box. 

Time was, when free-speech was the 
life-breath of freedom— 
So thought once the Seldens, the 
Hampdens, the Lockes ; 
But mute be our troops, when to am- 
bush we lead 'em, 
For " Mum " is the word with us 
Knights of the Box. 

Pure, exquisite Box ! no corruption can 

soil it; [it unlocks ; 

There's Otto of Rose, in each breath 

While Gr-te is the "Betty," that 

serves at the toilet, [his Box.t 

And breathes all Arabia aroimd from 

'Tis a singular fact, that the famed 

HugoGrotius.§ [of Dutch stocks,) 

(A namesake of Gr— te's— being both 

Like Gr— te, too, a genius profound as 

precocious, [for a Box ; — 

Was also, like him, much renown'd 

An immortal old clothes-box, in which 

the great Grotius [heterodox, 

Wheu sufiering, in prison, for viewa 



X And all Arabia breathes from yonder -bo-s 

Poi'E's liaj}? of the Lock. 
5 Groot, or Qrote, Latinized into Grotius. 




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SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



651 



Was pack'd up incog., spite of jailers 

ferocious,* [in a Box ! 

And sent to his wife,t carriage free, 

But the fame of old Hugo now rests on 
the shelf, [lei mocks ; — 

Since a rival hath risen that all paral- 
That Grotius ingloriously saved but him- 
self, [realm by a Box ! 
"While ours saves the whole British 

And oh when, at last, even this great- 
est of Gr— tes [door knocks,j: 
Must bend to the power that at every 
May he drop in the urn like his own 
"silent votes," [Ballot-Box. 

And the tomb of his rest be a large 

"While long at his shrine, both from 
county and city, [flocks, 

Shall pilgrims trienniaUy gather in 
And sing, while they whimper, th' ap- 
propriate ditty, [ — in the Box." 
" Oh breathe not his name, let it sleep 



ANNOUNCEMENT OP A NEW 
THALABA. 

ADDRESSED TO ROBERT SOUTHET, ESQ. 

"When erst, my Southey, thy tuneful 

tongue 
The terrible tale of Thalaba sung — 
Of him, the Destroyer, doom'd to rout 
That grim divan of conjurors out, 
"Whose dwelling dark, as legends say, 
Beneath the roots of the ocean lay, 
(Fit place for deep ones, such as they,) 
How little thou knew'st, dear Dr. 

Southey, 
Although bright genius all allow thee. 
That, some years thence, thy wond'ring 

eyes 
Should see a second Thalaba rise— 
As ripe for ruinous rigs as thine. 
Though bis havoc lies in a different line, 
And should find this new, improved 

Destroyer 
Beneath the wig of a Yankee lawyer; 

* For the particulars of this escape of Grotius 
from the Cnstle of Louvenstein, by means of a 
box (only three feet and a half long, it is said) 
in whicli books used to be occasionally sent to 
him and foul linen returned, see any of the 
Biographical Dictionaries. 

t This is not quite according to the facts of 
the case ; his wife havinp been the contriver of 
the strataRera, and remained in the prison her- 
self to give him time for escape. 



A sort of an " alien," alias man, 
"Whose country or party guess who can, 
Being Cockney half, half Jonathan; [er, 
And his life, to make the thing complet- 
Being all in the genuine Thalaba metre, 
Loose and irregular, as thy feet are ;— 
First, into Whig Pindarics rambling. 
Then in low Tory doggrel scrambling ; 
Now love his theme, now Church tug 

glory, 
(At once both Tory and ama-tory,) 
Now in th' Old Bailey-?«?/ meandering. 
Now in soft couplet style philandering ; 
And, lastly, in lame Alexandrine, 
Dragging his wounded length along,§ 
"When scourged by Holland's silken 

thong. 

[n short, dear Bob, Destroyer the Sec- 
ond [reckon'd ; 
May fairly a match for the First be 
Save that your Thalaba's talent lay 
In sweeping old conjurors clean away, 
While ours at aldermen deals his blows, 
("Who no great conjurors are, God 

knows,) 
Lays Corporations, by wholesale, level, 
Sends Acts of Parliament to the devil, 
Bullies the whole MUesian race- 
Seven millions of Paddies, face to face; 
And, seizing that magic wand, himself 
Which erst thy conjurors left on the 
shelf, [Liffey 

Transforms the boys of the Boyne and 
All into foreigners, in a jiffey — 
Aliens, outcasts, every soul of 'em, 
Bom but for whips and chains, the 
whole of 'em ! 

Never, in short, did parallel 
Betwixt two heroes gee so well ; 
And, among the points in which they fit, 
There's one, dear Bob, I can't omit. 
That hacking, hectoring blade of thine 
Dealt much m the Domdaniel line ;|| 
And 'tis but rendering justice due, 
To say that ours and his Tory crew 
Damn Daniel most devoutly too. 



t Pallida Mors sequo pulsat pede, &c.— 

noRAT. 
§ " A needless Alexandrine ends the song 
That, like a wounded snake, drags it! 
slow length along." 

D ' Vain are the spells, the Destroyer 
Treads the Domdaniel floor." 

Thalaba, a Metrical Romanca 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 



EIYAL TOPICS.* 

AN EXTKAVAGANZA. 

Oh "W— 11— ngt — n and Stephenson, 

Oh mom and evening papers, 
Times, Herald, Courier, Globe and Sun, 
When will ye rouse our ears to stun 

With these two heroes' capers ? 
Still "Stephenson" and "W— 11— ng- 

The everlasting two ! — [t — n," 

Still doom'd, from rise to set of sun, 
To hear what mischief one has done, 

And t'other means to do : — 
WhatbUls the lianker pass'd to friends, 

But never meant to pay ; 
What Bills the other wight intends 

As honest, in their way ; — 
Bills, payable at distant sisiht. 

Beyond the Grecian kalends. 
When all good deeds will come to light. 
When W— 11— ngt— n will do what's 
right. 

And Rowland pay his balance. 

To catch the banker all have 

But still the rogue unhml is 

While t'other juggler — who'd have 

thought ? [caught 

Though sUppery long, has ]ust been 

B3" old Archbishop Curtis; — 
And, such the power of papal crook, 

The crosier scarce had quiver'd 
About his ears, when, lo, the Duke 

Was of a Bull deliver'd ! 

Sir Richard Bimie doth decide 

That Rowland " must be mad," 
In private coach, with crest, to ride, 

When chaises could be had. 
And t'other hero, all agree, 

St. Luke's will soon arrive at, 
[f thus he showr oflf pulilicly, 

When he might pass in private. 

On W— 11 — ngt— n, oh Stephenson, 

Ye ever-bormg pair. 
Where'er I sit, or stand, or run, 

Te haunt me everywhere. 
Though Job had patience tough enough, 

Such duplicates would try it ; 
Till one's tum'd out and t'other off. 

We shan't have peace or quiet. 
But, small's the chance that Law af- 

Some folks are daily let off; [fords— 
And,'twixtth' Old Bailey and the Lords, 

They both, I fear, will get off. 

* Tlic (late of this squib must have been, 1 
think, about 1828-9. 



THE BOY STATESMAN-. 

BY A TORT. 

" That boy will be the death of me." 

Mathews at Home 

Ah, Tories dear, our ruin is near, 
With St— nl— y to help us, we can t 
but fall ; 
Ah-eady a warning voice I hear. 
Like the late Charles Mathews' croak in 
my ear, [of vou all. " 

" That boy — that boy'll be tiae deatb 

He will, God help us !— not even Scrib- 
lerius [could be ; 

In the "Art of Sinking'' his match 
And our case is growing exceeding seri- 
ous, 
For, all beingin the same boat as he, 
If down my Lord goes, down go we. 
Lord Baron St — nl — y and Company, 
As deep in Oblivion's swamp below 
As such ''Masters Shallow" well could 
go; [high. 

And where we shall all, both low and 
Ercbalm'd in mud, as forgotten lie 
As already doth Gr — h — m of Netherby ! 
But that boy, that boy ! — there's a tale 

I know, 
Which in talking of him comes a propos. 
Sir Thomas More had an only son. 
And a foolish lad was that only one. 
And Sir Thomas said, one day, to his 
wife, 
" My dear, I can't but wish you joy, 
" For you pray'd for a boy, and you now 
have a boy, [his life." 

"Who'll continue a boy to the end ot 

Even such is our own distressing lot, 
With the ever-young statesman we have 

got ;— 
ITay even still worse , for Master More 
Wasn't more a youth than he'd been 

before. 
While ours such power of boyhood 

shows, [nile he grows, 

That, the older he gets, the more juve- 
And, at what extreme old age he'll close 
His schoolboy course, heaven only 

knows ;— [far, 

Some century hence, should he reach so 

And ourselves to witness it heaven 

condemn, 
We shall find him a sort of cm& Old Parr, 

A whipper-snapper Methusalem : 
Nay, ev'n should he make still longer 

stay of it, [day of it! 

The boy'll want judgment, ev'n to the 




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SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



653 



Meanwhile, 'tis a serious, sad infliction ; 

And, day and night, with awe I recall 
The late Mr. Mathews' solemn predic- 
tion, [of you all." 

"That boy'll be the death, the death 



LETTER 

FROM LARRY O'BRANIGAN TO THE KEV. MUB- 
TAGH O'MULLIGAN. 

Areah, where were you, Murthagh, that 

beautiful day ? — [laid on the shelf, 

Or, how came it your riverence was 

When that poor craythur, Bobby — as 

^ott were away — \^oi himself. 

Had to make twice as big a Tom-fool 

Throth, ^'t wasn't at all civil to lave in 

the lurch [aflPection ;— 

A boy 50 desarving your tindh'rest 

Two such iligant Siamase twins of the 

Church, [the connection. 

As Bob and yourself, ne'er should cut 

If thus vu two different directions you 

pull, [and your riverend brother 

'Faith, they'll swear that yourself 

Are like those quare foxes, in Gregory's 

Bull, [while they look'dawo^^er.'* 

Whose tails were join'd one way, 

Och biess'd be he, whosomdever he be. 

That help'd soft Magee to that Bull of 

a Letther ! [times make free 

Not ev'n my own self, though I some- 

At such bull-manufacture, could make 

him a betther. 

fo be sure, when a lad takes to forgin', 

this way, [on gayly ; 

'Tis a thrick he's much timptedto carry 

Till, at last, "injanious devices,"! some 

day, [th' Ould Bailey. 

Show him up, not atExether Hall, but 

That parsons should forge thus appears 
^nighty odd. 
And (as if somethin' "odd" in their 
names, too, must be,) 

♦ "Tou Tvill increase the enmity with which 
they nre refrarded by tboir associates in her- 
esy, thus tying these foxes by the tails, that 
their faces may tend in opposite directions."— 
Bob's Bull, read at Exeter Hall, July 14. 

f'Aii ingenious device of my 
friend."— Bo u's Letter to Standard. 

I Had I consulted only my own wishes, I 
should not have allowed this hasty attack on 
Dr. Todd to have made its appearance in this 
Collection ; being now fully convinced that the 



07ie forger, of ould, was a riverend Dod, 
While a riverend Todd's now his 
match, to a T.t 

But, no matther who did it — all blessing 

betide him, [nate ; 

For dishin' up Bob in a manner so 

And there wanted but you, Murthagh 

'voumeen, beside him. 

To make the whole grand dish of bull- 

calf complate. 

MUSINGS OP AN UNREFORMED 
PEER. 

Of all the odd plans of this monstrously 
queer age, [age ;— 

The oddest is that of reforming the peer- 
Just as if we, great dons, with a title 
and star, [are, 

Did not get on exceedingly well, as we 
And perform all the functions of noodles, 
by birth, [earth. 

As completely as any bom noodles on 

How acres descend, is in law-books dis- 

play'd, [made ; 

But we as wiseacres descend, ready 
And, by right of our rank in Debrett'a 

nomenclature, [ture ; — 

Are, all of us, bom legislators by na- 
Like ducklings, to water instmctively 

taking, [making ; 

So we, with like quackery, take to law- 
Apd God forbid any reform should come 

o'er us, [were before us. 

To make us more wise than om* sires 

Th' Egyptians of old the same policy 

knew — [cook too ; 

If your sire was a cook, you must be a 
Thus making, from father to son, a good 

trade of it, [said of it, ) 

Poisoners by right, (so no more could bo 
The cooks, like our lordships, a pretty 

mess made of it; 
While, famed for conservative stomachs, 

th' Egyptians [scriptions. 

Without a wry face bolted all the pre- 



charge brought against that reverend pentle- 
man of intending to pass oflF as gcnume his 
famous mock Papal Letter was altogetlier un- 
founded. Finding it to be tlie wish, however, 
of my reverend friend — as I am now glad to 
be permitted to call him— that both the wrong 
and the reparation, the Ode and the Palinode, 
should be thus placed in juxtaposition, I have 
thought it but due to him to comply with hii 
request. 





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MOORE'S WORKS. 



It is tme, we've among us some peers of 
the past, [awfully fast— 

Who keep pace with the present most 
Fruits, that ripen beneath the new hght 
now arising [surprising, 

With speed that to us, old conserves, is 
Conserves, in whom— potted, for grand- 
mamma uses — [juices. 
'Twould puzzle a sunbeam to find any 
'Tis tme, too, I fear, midst the general 
movement, [to improvement, 
Ev'n our House, God help it, is doom'd 
And all its live furniture, nobly de- 
scended, [mended. 
But sadly worn out, must be sent to be 

With moveables 'mong us, like Br m 

and like D— rh— m, [bestir 'em ; 

No wonder ev'n fixtures should learn to 

And, distant, ye gods, be that terrible 

dav, [pastime, they say. 

When— as playful Old Nick, for his 

rUes off with old houses, sometimes, in 

a storm — [by Reform ; 

So ours may be whipp'd off, some night, 

And, as up, like Loretto's famed house,* 

through the air, [shall bear, 

Not angels, but devils, our lordships 

Grim, radical pliizzes, unused to the 

sky, ["good-by," 

Shall flit round, like cherubs, to wish us 

While, perch'd up on clouds, little imps 

of plebeians, [lo Pajans. 

Small Grotes and O'Connels, shall sing 

THE REYEREND PAMPHLETEER. 

A ROMANTIC BALLAD. 

Oh, have you heard what happ'd of late ? 

If not, come lend an ear, 
While sad I state the piteous fate 

Of the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

All praised his skilful jockeyship. 

Loud rung the Tory cheer, 
While away, away, with spur and whip. 

Went the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

The nag he rode — how could it err? 

'Twas the same that took, last year, 
That wonderful jump to Exeter 

With the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

Set a beggar on horseback, wise men 
The course he wiU take is clear ; [say, 

And in that direction lay the way 
Of the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

* The Oasa Santa, supposed to have been 
carried by augels through the air from Galilee 
to Italy. 



" Stop, stop," said Truth, but vain her 

Left far away in the rear, [ cry — ■ 
She heard but the usual gay " Good-by" 

From her faithless Pamphleteer. 
You may talk of the jumps of Homer's 
gods, 

When cantering o'er our sphere — 
I'd back for a bounce, 'gainst any odds, 

This Reverend Pamphleteer. 

But ah, what tumbles a jockey hath ! 

In the midst of his career, 
A file of the Times lay right in the path 

Of the headlong Pamphleteer. 

Whether he tripp'd or shy'd thereat. 

Doth not so clear appear: 
But down he came, as his sermons flat— 

This reverend Pamphleteer ! 

Lord King himself could scarce desire 
To see a spiritual Peer [mire, 

Fall much more dead, in the dirt and 
Than did this Pamphleteer. 

Yet pitying parsons, many a day. 
Shall visit his silent bier, [say, 

And, thinking the while of Stanhope, 
" Poor dear old Pamphleteer ! 

" He has finish'd, at last, his busy span. 

" And now lies coolly here — 
•' As often he did in life, good man. 

"Good, Reverend Pamphleteer!" 



A RECENT DIALOGUE. 

1825. 

A Bishop and a bold dragoon. 

Both heroes in their way, 
Did thus, of late, one afternoon, 

Unto each other say ; — 
" Dear bishop," quoth the brave hussas 

" As nobody denies 
" That you a wise logician are, 

«' And I am — otherwise, 
'"Tis fit that in this question, we 

" Stick each to his own art — 
" That yours should be the sophistry, 

" And mine the fighting part. 
"My creed, I need not tell you, is 

' ' Like that of W n, 

" To whom no harlot comes amiss, 

" Save her of Babylon ;t 
" And when we're at a loss for words, 

'•If laughing reasoners flout us, 

t Cui nulla meretnx displicuit preeter Baby 
lonicam. 




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llllllllinilllllHflllllHIIIIIRIiKlinillllllllllllllllliiililllllllllllllllHIIIIIIllllllUllllllllllllllllllllllllllllHIIIIIIIIIIIJIIIIII^^ 



SATIRICAL AIS^D HUMOROUS POEMS. 



655 



" For lack of sense we'll draw our 
swords — 

" The sole thing sharp about us."— 
"Dear bold dragoon," the bishop said, 

" 'Tis true for war thou art meant ; 
" And reasoning — bless that dandy head! 

" Is not in thy department. 
" So leave the argument to me — 

" And, when my holy labor 
" Hath lit the fires of bigotry, 

" Thou'lt poke them with thy sabre. 
" From pulpit and from sentry-box, 

" We'll make our joint attacks, 
" I at the head of my Cassocks, 

"And you of your Cossacks. 
" So here's your health, my brave hussar, 

' ' My exquisite old fighter — 
" Success to bigotry and war, 

" The musket and the mitre !" 
Thus pray'd the minister of heaven — 

While T — k, just entering then. 
Snored out, (as if some Clerk had given 

His nose the cue,) "Amen." T. B, 



THE WELLmGTON" SP^ 

" And drink oblivion to our woes." 

Anna Math-da. 
1829. 
TAiiK no more of your Cheltenham and 
Harrowgate springs, 
Tis from Lethe we now our potations 
must draw ; [things. 

Tour Lethe's a cure for — all possible 
And the doctors have named it the 
Wellington Spa. 

Other physical waters but cure you in 

part ; [your digestion — 

0)i€ cobbles your gout — t'other mends 

Some settle your stomachs, but this— 

bless your heart !— [Question. 

It wiU settle, forever, your CathoUc 

Unlike, too, the potions in fashion at 
present, [stealth, 

This Wellington nostrum, restoring by 
So purges the mem'ry of all that's un- 
pleasant, [rade health. 
That patients /or^e* themselves into 

For instance, th' Inventor— his having 

once said iany otie's call, 

" He should think himself mad, if, at 

* The only parallel I know to this sort of ob- 
livion is to be found in a line ot the late Mr. K. 
P. Knight. 

"The pleasing memory of things forgot." 



"He became what he is" — is so purged 

from his head, [man at all. 

That he now doesn't think he's a mad- 

Of course, for your mem'ries of very 

long standing— [undaunted. 

Old chronic diseases, that date back 

To Brian Boroo and Fitz-Stephens' first 

landing — 

A dev'l of a dose of the Lethe is wanted. 

But ev'n Irish patients can hardly regret 
An obUvion, so much in their own na- 
tive style, [they forget, 
So conveniently plann'd, that, whate'er 
They may go on rememb'ring it still, 
all the while !* 



A CHARACTER. 

1834. 

Half Whig, half Tory, like those mid- 
way things, [have wings ; 
'Twixt bird and beast, that by mistake 
A mongrel Statesman, 'twixt two fac- 
tions nursed, [the worst — 
Who, of the faults of each, combines 
The Tory's loftiness, the Whigling's 
sneer, [fear ; 
The leveller's rashness, and the bigot's 
The thirst for meddling, restless still to 
show [Whigs, will go; 
How Freedom's clock, repair'd by 
Th' alarm when others, more sincere 
than they, [flay. 
Advance the hands to the true time of 

By Mother Church, high-fed and haughty 

dame, [fame ; 

The boy was dandled, in his dawn of 

List'ning, she smiled, and bless'd the 

flippant tongue [hung. 

On which the fate of unborn tithe-pigs 

Ah, who shall paint the grandam's grim 

dismay, [away ; 

When loose Reform enticed her boy 

When, shock'd, she heard him ape the 

_ rabble's tone. [ own ! 

And, in Old Sarum s fate, foredoom her 

Groaning she cried, while tears roU'd 

down her cheeks, 
" Poor, glib-tongued youth, he means 
not what he speaks. [flow, 

" Like oil at top, these Whig professions 
" But, pure as lymph, runs Toryism be- 
low, [in the race, 
"Alas, that tongue should start thus, 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 



" Ere mind can reach and regulate its 
pace ! — [lagging mind, 

" For, once outstripp'd by tongue, poor, 
"At every step, still further limps be- 
hind, [wandering be, 
"But, bless the boy !— whate'er his 
" Still turns his heart to Toryism and 
me. [Dante's lay,* 
"Like those odd shapes, portray'd m 
" With heads fix'd on, the wrong and 
y backward way, [ track, 
," His feet and eyes pursue a diverse 
" While those march onward, tJiese look 
fondly back." [the day, 
And well she knew him — well foresaw 
Which now hath come, when snatch'd 
from Whigs away, [he wore, 
The self-same changeling dropsthe mask 
And rests, restor'd, in granny's arms 
once more. 

But whither now, mix'd brood of mod- 
em light [thy flight ? 
And ancient darkness, canst thou bend 
Tried by both factions, and to neither 
true, [by the new ; 
Pear'd by the old school, laugh'd at 
For tins too feeble, and ioxthattoo rash, 
Tliis wanting more of fire, that less of 

flash; 
Lone Shalt thou stand, in isolation cold, 
Betvnxt two' worlds, the new one and 
the old, [which the eye 

A small and " vex'd Bermoothes," 
Of venturous seaman sees — and passes 

by. 



" All burk'd by the, 
" Unmerciful Lord L — ndh- 



-rst: 



A GHOST STORY. 

TO THE AIR OF " UNFORTUNATE MISS BAILEY." 
1835. 

Not long in bed had L— ndh— rst Iain, 

When, as his lamp bum'd dimly, 
The ghosts of corporate bodies slain, f 

Stood by his bedsifle grimly. 
Dead aldermen, who once could feast, 

But now, themselves, are fed on, 
And skeletons of mayors deceased, 
This doleful chorus led on : — 
" Oh, Lord L— ndh— rst, 
♦'Unmerciful Lord L— ndh— rst, 
" Corpses we, 

• " Che dalle reni era tomato 1 volto, 
E indietro venir li convenia, 
Perihe '1 veder dinanzi era lor tolto." 

t deferring to the line taken by Lord L— nd- 
h— rst, on the question of Municipal Keform. 



" Avaunt, ye frights !" his Lordship 
cried, 
*' Ye look most glum and whitely.'' 
" Ah, L— ndh— rst, dear !" the frights 
replied, 
"You've used usunpolitely, 
" And now, ungrateful man ! to drive 

" Dead bodies from your door so, 
" Who quite corrupt enough, alive, [so. 
" You've made, by death, stiU more 
"Oh, Ex-Chancellor, 
"Destructive Ex-Chancellor, 
"See thy work, 
" Thou second Burke, 
" Destructive Ex-Chancellor !" 

Bold L— ndh — rst then, whom naught 
could keep 
Awake, or siu-ely that would. 
Cried " Curse you all !"— fell fast 
asleep— 
And dreamt of " Small v. Attwood.'' 
While, shock'd, the bodies flew down 
But, courteous in their panic, [stairs. 
Precedence gave to ghosts of mayors, 
And corpses aldermanic. 

Crying, " Oh, Lord L— ndh— rst, 
"That terrible Lord L— ndh— rst, 
" Not old Scratch 
" Himself could match 
" That terrible Lord L— ndh— rst !" 



THOUGHTS 

OH THE I,ATE DESTRUCTIVE PROPOSI- 
TIOXS OF THE TORIES.t 

BY A COMMON-COUXCILMAN. 

18:35. 

I SAT me down in my easy chair, 
To read, as usual, the morning pa- 
pers; [despair, 
But— who shall describe my look oi 
When I came to Lefroy's "destruct- 
ive " capers ! 
That Tie— that, of all live men, Lefroy 
Should join in the cry, " Destroy, de- 
stroy !" [said, 
Who, ev'n when a babe, as I've heard 
On Orange conserve was chiefly fed, 

I These verses were written m reference to 
the Wi\ l)roupht in at this time, for the reform 
of Corporations, and the sweeping amendments 
proposed by Lord Lyndhurst and otlier Tory 
Peers, in order to obstruct llie measure. 




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SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



657 



Aud never, tiU now, a movement made 
That wasn't most manfully retrograde ! 
Only think — to sweep from the light of 

day 
Mayors, maces, criers, and wigs away ; 
To annihilate— never to rise again — 
A whole generation of aldermen, 
Kor leave them ev'n th' accustom'd tolls, 
To keep together their bodies and 

souls! — 
At a time, too, when snug posts and 



Are falling away from us one by one. 
Crash — crash — like the mummy-eases 

Belzoni, in Egypt, sat upon, 
"Wherein lay pickled, in state sublime. 
Conservatives of the ancient time ; — 
To choose such a moment to overset 
The few snug nuisances left us yet ; 
To add to the ruin that round us reigns. 
By knocking out mayors' and town- 
clerks' brains ; 
By dooming all corporate bodies to fall. 
Till they leave, at last, no bodies at all- 
Naught but the ghosts of by-gone glory, 
Wrecks of a world that once was Tory ! 
"Where pensive criers, like owls unblest, 

Robb'd of their roosts, shall still hoot 

o'er them ! [a nest, 

Nor mayors shall know where to seek 

Till Gaily Knight shall find one for 

them ; — ['em. 

Till mayors and kings, with none to rue 

Shall perish all in one common plague ; 
And the sovereigns of Belfast and Tuam 

Must join their brother, Chaiies Dix, 
at Prague. 

Thus mused I, in my chair, alone, 
(As above described,) till dozy grown. 
And nodding assent to my own opinions, 
I found myself borne to sleep's dominions, 
"Where, lo, before my dreaming eyes, 
A new House of Commons appear'd to 

rise, [vey, 

"Whose living contents, to fancy's sur- 
Seem'd to me all tuni'd topsy-turvy — 
A jumble of polypi — nobody knew 
"Which was the head or which the queue. 
Here, Inglis, tum'd to a sans-culotte, 
"Was dancing the hays with Hume and 

Grote ; 
There, ripe for riot, Recorder Shaw 
"Was learning from Roebuck " ya-ira ;" 

* A term formed on the model of the Masto- 
don. &c. 



"While Stanley and Graham, aspoissarde 
wenches, [es ; 

Scream'd " a has!" from the Tory bench- 
And Peel and O'Connell, cheek by jowl. 
"Were dancing an Irish carmagnole. 

The Lord preserve us !— if dreams come 
"What is this hapless realm to do i [trae, 



ANTICIPATED MEETING 

OF THE 

BRITISH ASSOCIATION Df THE TEAK 
2836. 

1836. 

After some observations from Dr. 
M'Grig [Wig, 

On that fossile reliquum call'd Petrified 
Or PerruquoUthus — a specimen rare 
Of those wigs, made for antediluvian 
wear, [out turning a hair — 

"Which, it seems, stood the Flood with- 
Mr. Tomkins rose up, and requested at- 
tention [to mention. 
To facts no less wondrous which he had 
Some large fossil creatures had lately 
been found [ground, 
Of a species no longer now seen above 
But the same (as to Tomkins most 
clearly appears) [dreds of years, 
"With those animals, lost now for hun- 
"Which our ancestors used to call " Bish- 
ops" and "Peers," 
But which Tomkins more erudite names 
has bestow'd on, [tocratodou,* 
Having call'd the Peer fossil th' Aris- 
And, finding much food under t'other 
one's thorax, [pus "^''orax. 
Has christen'd that creature th' Episco- 

Lest the savantes and dandies should 

thmk this all fable, [the table, 
Mr. Tomkins most kindly produced on 
A sample of each of these species of 

creatures, [features, 

Both tol'rably human, in structure and 
Except tliat th' Episcopus seems, Lord 

deliver us ! [nivorous ; 

To've been carnivorous as well as gra- 
And Tomkins, on searching its stomach, 

found there [could bear. 

Large lumps, such as no modem stomach 
Of a substance call'd Tithe, upon which, 

as 'tis said. 
The whole Genus Clericum formerly fed •, 
And which having lately himself decom- 

poimded, [ally found it 

Just to see what 'twas made oi, he actu- 




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658 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Composed of all possible cookable things 
That e'er tripp'd upon trotters or soar'd 
upon -wings — [herbaceous, 

All products of earth, both gramineous, 
Hordeaceous, fabaceous, and eke farina- 
ceous, [oesophagus 
All clubbing their quotas to glut the 
or this ever greedy and grasping Titho- 
phagus. * [kind dispensation 
" Admire," exclaim'd Tomkins, " the 
" By Providence shed on this much-fa- 
Tor'd nation, [the earth, 
" In sweeping so ravenous a race from 
"That might else have occasion'd a 

general dearth — 
" And thus burying 'em, deep as even 

Joe Hume would sink 'cm, 
""With the Ichthyosaurus and Palteo- 

rjmchum, 
" And other queer ci-devant things, un- 
der ground — [so renown'd, 
' Not forgetting that fossilized youth, t 
' Who lived just to witness tha Beluge 

^was gratified 
" Much by the sight, and has since beeii 
found stratified I" 

This picturesque touch— quite in Tom- 
kins's way — [hurrah ; 

f!al]'d forth from the savantes a general 
WTiUe inquiries among them went rap- 
idly round, [could be found. 
is to where this young stratified man 
The " leam'd Theban's " discourse next 
as livelily flow'd on, [todon — 
To sketch t'other wonder, th' Aristoera- 
An mimal, differing from most human 
creatures [or features, 
Not ,^0 iiuch in speech, inward structm-e. 
As in \aving a certain excrescence, T. 
bodO. [its head, 
"Which in form cf a coronet grew from 
And devolved to its hefrs, when the 

creature vas dead ; 
Nor matter'd it, while this heir-loom was 
transmitted, \_net fitted. 

How unfit were the heads, so the eoro- 
He then mention'd a strange zoological 
fact, [applause to attract. 

"Whose announcement appear'd much 
In Prance, said the learned professor, 

this race 
Had so noxious become, in some centu- 
ries' space, 

* The zoological term for a tithe-eater. 
tThe man found by Seheuchzer, and sup- 
posed by him to have witnessed the Deluge, 



From their numbers and strcugth, tht<,( 
the land was o'errun with 'em, 

Every one's question being, ""What's to 
be done with 'em f 

"When, lo ! certain knowing ones— sa- 
vans, mayhap, 

"Who, like Buckland's deep followers, 
understood tra2),t 

Slyly hinted that naught upon earth was 
so good, [rude, 

For Aristocratodons, when rampant and 

As to stop, or curtail, their allowance of 
food. [afford;-, 

This expedient was tried, and a proof it 

Of th' effect that short commons will 
have upon lords ; 

For this whole race of bipeds, one fine 
summer's morn. 

Shed their coronets, just as a deer sheds 
his horn, [they became 

And the moment these gew-gaws fell off, 

Quite a new sort of creature— so harm- 
less and tame, [maintain 'em 

That zoologists might, for the first time. 

To be near akin to the genus humanum, 

And th' experiment, tried so success- 
fully then, [wanted again. 

Should bfo kept in remembrance, when 



SONGS OF TH5 CHURCH. 

No. 1. 

LEAVE ME aLONE. 

A PASTOUAL BALLAD. 

" We are ever standing on the defensive. All 
that we say to tliein is, 'leave us alone.' The 
Establislied Church is jiait and parcel of the 
constitution of this country. Ton are bou'ui to 
conform to this constitution. Wc ask of yim 
notliiugmore;-Je« us atone."— Letter ii. The 
Times, Nov. 1838. 

1838. 

Come, list to my pastoral tones, 

In clover my shepherds I keep ; 
My stalls are all fm-uish'd with drone..', 

Whose preaching invites one to sleep. 
At my spirit let infidels scoff, [own ; 

So they leave but the substance mj 
For, in sooth, I'm extremely well off. 

If the world will but let me alone. 

Dissenters are grumblers, we know ;— 
Though excellent men, in their waj^ 

("homo diluvii testis,") but who turned out. i 
am soiTy to say, to be merely a preat lizard. 

t Partiicularly the formation called It■ans^t:o■h. 
Trap. 



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SATIEICAL AKD HTJMOEOTJS POEMS. 



659 



They never like things to be so, 
Let things be however they may. 

But dissenting's a trick I detest ; 
And, besides/tis an axiom well known, 

The creed that's best paid is the best. 
If the Mwpaid would let it alone. 

To me, I own, very surprising 

Your Newmans and Puseysall seem, 
Who start first with rationalizing, 

Then jump to the other extreme. 
Far better, 'twixt nonsense and sense, 

A nice half -way concern, like our own, 
Where piety's mis'd up with pence. 

And the latter are ne'er left alone. 

Of all our tormentors, the Press is 

The one that most tears us to bits ; 
And, now, Mrs. WooLfrey's "excesses" 

Have thro wn all its imps into fits. 
The dev'ls have been at us, for weeks. 

And there's no saying when they'U 
have done ; — 
Oh dear, how I wish Mr. Breeks 

Had left Mrs. Woolfrey alone I 

If any need pray for the dead, 

'Tis those to whom post-obits fall; 
Since wisely hath Solomon said, 

'Tis "money that answereth aU." 
But ours be the patrons who live ; — 

For, once in their glebe they are 
thrown, 
T'he dead have no living to give, 

And therefore we leave them alone. 

"^hough in morals we may not excel, 

Such perfection is rare to be had ; 
^. good life is, of course, very well. 

But good living is also— not bad. 
Vnd when, to feed earth-worms, I go, 

Let this epitaph stare from my stone, 
" Here lies the Eight Rev. so and so ; 

" Pass, stranger, and— leave lum 
alone." 



EPISTLE PROM HEIf RT OP EX- 
— T— R TO JOHN OP TUAM. 

Dear John, as I know, like our brotl^pr 

of London, [cred and mundane, 

Vou've sipp'd of aU knowledge, both sa- 

* Mirari se, si augur augurem aspiciens sibi 
«mperaret a risu. 

t So spelled in those ancient versicles which 
Jv'iui, we understa'nd, frequently chants :— 
"Had erery one Suum, 
You wouldn't have Tuum. 



K"o doubt, in some ancient Joe Miller, 
you've read [once said— 

What Cato, that cunning old Roman, 
That he ne'er saw two re v'rend sooth- 
sayers meet, [or the street, 
Let it be where it might, in the shrine 
Without wondering the rogues, *mid 

their solemn grimaces, 

Didn't burst out a laughing in each 

other's faces.* [long ago. 

What Cato then meant, though 'tis sc 

Even we in the present times pretty 

well know • [ say, John — 

Having soothsayers also, who- -sooth to 

Are no better in some points than those 

of days gone, [you and me,) 

And a pair of whom, meeting, (between 

Might laugh in their sleeves, too— all 

lawn though they be. 
But this, by the way— my intention 
being chiefly [briefly. 

In this, my first letter, to hint to yuu 
That, seeing how fond you ot Tuuin] 
must be, [with me. 

While Meum's at all times themain point 
We scarce could do better than form an 
alhance, [defiance : 

To set these sad Anti-Church times at 
Ton, John, recollect, being still to em- 
bark, [titled and mark; 
With no share in the fio-m but your 
Or ev'n should you feel in your gran- 
deur inclined 
To call yourself Pope, "why 1 

shouldn't much mind ; 
While my church as usual holds fast by 

your Tuum, 
And every one else's, to make it all 
Suum. 

Thus allied, I've no doubt we shall 

nicely agree, [points than we ; 
As no twins can be liker, in most 
Both specimens choice of that mix'd 

sort of beast, 
(See Rev. xiii. 1.) a poetical priest ; 
Both mettlesome chargers, both brisk 

pamphleteers, [by the ears ; 

Ripe and ready for all that sets men 
And I, at least one, who would scorn tc 

stick longer [stronger. 

By any giv'n cause than I found it the 

But I should have Meum, 
And sing Te Deum." 
tFor his keeping the title he may quote 
classical authority, as Horace expressly says 
".^oteris servaro Tuam."— De Art. Foet. v 
Ji^.— Chronicle. 




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MOOEE'S "V^ORKS. 



And who, smooth m my turnings as if 

on a swivel, [try the civil. 

When the tone ecclesiastic won't do, 

In short (not to bore you, ev'n jure di- 
vino) [John— all but the riiino ; 
"We've the same cause in common, 
And that vulgar surplus, whate'«r it 
may bo, [you'd best leave to me. 
As you're not used to cash, John, 
And so, without form — as the p'^stman 

wo'n't tarry — 
I'm, dear Jack of Tuam, 
Tours, 

EXETEE HaRKV 



SONG OF OLD PUCK 

" And those things do best please me, 
That befall preposterously." 
Pdck Junior, Midsummer NighVs Dream. 

rffno wants old Puck? for here am I, 
A mongrel imp, 'twixt earth and sky. 
Ready ahke to crawl or fly; 
Now in the mud, now in the air, 
And, so 'tis for mischief, reckless where. 

As to my knowledge, there's no end to't, 
Por where I haven't it, I pretend to't ; 
And, 'stead of taking a leam'd degree 
At some dull university, 
Puck found it handier to commence 
With a certain share of impudence. 
Which passes one off as leam'd and 

clever. 
Beyond aU other degrees whatever ; 
And enables a man of hvely sconce 
To be Master of all the Arts at once. 
No matter what the science may be — 
Ethics, Physics, Theology, 
Mathsmatics, Hydrostatics, 
Aerostatics or Pneumatics — 
Whatever it be, I take my luck, 
'Tis all the same to ancient Puck ; 
Whose head's so full of all sorts of wares, 
That a brother imp, old Smugden, 

swears 
If I had but of law a little smatt'riug, 
I'd then be perfect^ — which is flatt'ring. 

My skiU as a linguist all must know 
Who met me abroad some months ago ; 
(And heard me «6road exceedingly, too. 
In the moods and tenses of parles-votis,) 

* "Verbatim, as said. This tribute is only 
equalled l)y tliat of Talleyrand to bis medical 
friend, Dr. - — - : " 11 se counoit ea tout j et 
meme uu peu en tnSdecine." 



When, as old Chambaud's shade stood 

mute, 

I spoke such French to the Institatc 
As puzzled those learned Thebans much, 
To know if 'twas Sanscrit or High Dutch 
And might have pass'd with th' unob- 

serving 
As one of the imknown tongues of Irving 
As to my talent for ubiquity. 
There's nothing like it in all antiquity. 
Like Mungo, (my peculiar care,) 
•' I'm here, I'm dere, I'm ebery where, 't 
If any one's wanted to take the chair. 
Upon any subject, anywhere, 
Just look around, and — Puck is there! 
When slaughter's at hand, your bird of 

prey 
Is never known to be out of the way ; 
And wherever mischiefs to be got. 
There's Puck instanter, on the spot. 

Only find me in negus and applause, 
And I'm your man for any cause. 
If wrong the cause, the more my delight; 
But I don't object to it, ev'n when right. 
If I only can vex some old friend by't ; 
There's D— rh— m, for instance; — to 

worry Mm 
FiUs up my cup of bliss to the brim! 

(NOTE BT THE EDITOR.) 

Those who are anxious to run a muck 
Can't do better than join with Puck ; 
They'll find him bon diable — spite of 

his phiz— 
And, in fact, his great ambition is. 
While playing old Puck in first-rate style, 
To be thought Robin Goodfellow aU the 

while. 



POLICE REPORTS. 

CASE OF IMPOSTURE. 

Among other stray flashmen, disposed 
of, this week. 
Was a youngster, named St— nl— y, 
genteelly connected, [as antique. 
Who has lately been passing off coins. 
Which have proved to be sham ones, 
though long unsuspected. 

The ancients, our readers need hardly 

be told, [for wholesale demands;! 

Had a coin they caU'd "Talents," 

t Pong in "The Padlock." 

t For an account of the coin called Talenta 
by the ancients, see Budreus de Asse, and the 
other writers de Ee Xuinmaria. 



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SATIRICAL AI«"D HUMOROUS POEMS. 



6G1 



And 'twas some of said coinage this 
youth was so bold 
As to fancy he'd got, God knows 
how, in his hands. 

People took him, howerer, like fools, at 

his word ; [own valuation) 

And these talents (all prized at his 

Were bid for, with eagerness ev'n more 

absurd [great thinking nation. 

Than has often distinguish'd this 

Talk of wonders one now and then sees 
advertised, 
"Black swans" — ''Queen Anne far- 
things" — or ev'n "achild's caul" — 
Much and justly as aU these rare objects 
are prize'd, 
" St — nl — y's talents " outdid them — 
swans, farthings, and all ! 

At length, some mistrust of this coin 
got abroad ; i.to doubt of it ; 

Even quondam believers began much 
Some rung it, some rubb'd it, suspect- 
ing a fraud — 
And the hard rubs it got rather took 
the shine out of it. 

Others, wishing to break the poor pro- 
digy's fall, [studied the matter, 
Said 'twas known well to all who had 
That the Greeks had not only great tal- 
ents but small* 
And those found on the youngster 
were clearly the latter. 
While others, who view'd the grave farce 
with a grin — [age so massy, 
Seeing cou^nterfeits pass thus for coin- 
By way of a hint to the dolts taken in, 
Appropriately quoted Budeeus de 
Asse. 

In short, the whole sham by degrees 

was found out, 

And this coin, which they chose by 

such fine names to call, 

Proved a mere lacker' d article — showy, 

no doubt, [Talent at all. 

But, ye gods, not the true Attic 

As th' impostor was still young enough 

to repent, [grandee connection, 

And, besides, had some claims to a 

* The Talentnm Magnum and tho Talentum 
Atticum appear to have been the same coin. 

t En fait d'amour, trop memo n'est pas assez. 
—Barbicr de Seville. 

I Grant of Ireland to Henrv II. by Pope 
Adrian. 



Their Worships — considerate for onco— 

only sent [Ilouse of Correction. 

The young Thimblerig ofi to the 



REFLECTION'S. 



QUARTERLY REVIEW. 

I'm quite of your mind ; — though these 

Pats cry aloud 

That they've got ' ' too much Church," 

'tis all nonsense and stuff; 

For Church is hke Love, of which Figaro 

vow'd [enough. 

That even too >wMc7i of it's not quite 

Ay, dose them wdth parsons, 'twill cure 
all their ills ; — [bos undaunted he 
Copy Morison's mode when from pill- 
Pours through the patient his black- 
coated pUls, [but quantity. 
Nor cares what their quality, so there's 

I verily think, 'twould be worth Eng- 

land's while [whether 

To consider, for Paddy's own benefit, 

'Twould not be as well to give up the 

green isle [Church altogether. 

To the care, wear and tear of the 

The Irish are well used to treatment so 

pleasant; [ry Plantagenet,t 

The harlot Church gave them to Hen- 

And now, if King WiJham would make 

them a present [imagine it ! 

To t'other chaste lady— ye Saints, just 

Chief Sees., Lord-Lieutenants, Com- 
manders-in-chief, [copal benches ; 
Might then all be cull'd from th' epis- 
While colonels in black would aflbrd 
some relief [old scarlet wench's. 
From the hue that reminds one of th' 

Think how fierce at a charge (being 
practised thereiu) 
The Right Reverend Brigadier Ph— 1- 
1— tts would slash on ! 
How General Bl— mf— d, through thick 
and through thin, 
To the end of the chapter (or chap- 
ters) would dash on ! 

For, in one point alone do the amply fed 
race 
Of bishops to beggars similitude bear— 




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662 



MOOKE'S "\70RKS. 



That, set them on horseback, in full 
steeple chase, 
And they'll ride, if not puU'd up in 
time — you know where. 
But, bless you, in Ireland, that matters 
not much, [the same way ; 

Where affairs have for centuries gone 
And a good stanch Conservative's sys- 
tem is such [long-founded sway. 
That he'd back even Beelzebub's 

I am therefore, dear Quarterly, quite of 

your mind ; — [Eriu let's pour ; 

Church, Church, iu all shapes, into 

&Jid the more she rejecteth ourmed'cine 

so land, [dose, as before." 

The more let's repeat it — "Black 

Let Coercion, that peace-maker, go liand 

in hand [ter and brother ; 

"With demure-eyed Conversion, fit sis- 

^nd, covering with prisons and churches 

the land, [the other. 

All that won't go to one, we'll put into 

ios the sole, leading maxim of us who're 

inclined [ligiously. 

To rule ever Ireland, not well, but re- 

*cto treat her like ladies, who've just 

been confined, [her prodigiously. 

(Or who oug^t io be so) and to church 

NEW GRAN"I> S:SrHIBITION OF 
MODEl,S 

OF -tUA 

TWO HOUSES OF PA^^UAMENT. 
*JoME, step in, gentlefolks, here ye may 
view 
An exact and nat'ral rei^rosfcntation 
( Like Siburn's Model of Waterlc>o*) 
Of the Lords and Commons Oi this 
here nation. 

There they are— all cut out in cork— I 

The " Collective Wisdom '' wondrous 

to see ; [work, 

My eyes ! when all them heads are at 

What a vastly weighty consara it 

must be. 

As for the " wisdom," — that may come 
anon ; [see 

Though, to say truth, we sometimes 
(And find the phenomenon no uncom- 
mon 'un) [that's M. T. 
A man whose M. P. with a head 



' One of the most interesting and curious of 
all the exhibitions of the day. 



Our Lords are rather too small, 'tis trae; 

But they do weU enough for Cabinet 

shelves; [turs to do 

And, besides,— w/tai's a man with cree- 

That make such werry small figui-es 

themselves ? 

There — don't touch those lords, my pret- 
ty dears— (Jsjf?e.) 
Curse the children! — this comes of re- 
forming a nation : 
Those meddlmg young brats have so 
damaged my peers, [creation. 
I must lay in more cork for a new 

Them yonder's our bishops — "to whom 

much is given," 

And who're ready to take as much 

more as you please : [heaven. 

The seers of old times saw visions of 

But these holy seers see nothing but 

Sees. 

Like old Atlas, f (the chap, in Cheapside, 

there below,) 

'Tis for so much per cent, they take 

heaven on their shoulders , 

And joy 'tis to know that old Eigh 

Church and Co., [capital-holders. 

Though not capital priests, are such 

There's one on 'em, Ph — l]p — ts, whc 
now is away, [bustible stuff. 

As we're having him filled with bum- 
Small crackers and squibs, for a great 
gala-day, [erence off. 

When we annually fire his Right Rev- 

'Twould do your heart good, ma'am, 

then to be by, [of with bile, 

When, bursting with guupowder,'stead 

Crack, crack, goes the bishop, while 

dowagers cry, [matter and style !" 

"How like the dear man, both in 

31i<.>uld you want a few Peers and M.P.s 
to bestow, [mend these :t— 

A/"< presents to friends, we can recom- 
Our iioMes are corne down to nine- 
pence, you know, 
Acd we charge but a penny a piece 
for M. j^.s. ^ 

Those of iottle-ccrks made take most 
with the tradt), 
(At least, 'mong hcch as my Irish 
writ summorLs,) 

f The sign of the Insuran. >o Office in Cheap 
side. 

1 Producing a bag full of Ic-ds and gentlemea 




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SATIEICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Of old whiskey corks our O'Connells are 
made, [froys of, are rum 'uns. 
But those we make Shaws aud Le- 
So, step in, gentlefoJks, &c. &g. 
Da Capo. 



AXtfOUNCBMBlfT 



A NEW GRAND ACCELERATION COM- 
PANY FOR THE PROMOTION OF THE 
SPEED OF LITERATURE, 

Loud complaints being made, in these 

quick-reading times, 
Of too slack a supply, both of prose 
works and rhymes, [moving plan, 
A new Company, form'd on the keep- 
First proposed by the great firm of 

Catch-'em-who-can, 
Beg to say they've now ready, in fuU 
wind and speed, [breed- 

Some fast-going authors, of quite a new 
Such as not he who ru7is but who gal- 
lops may read— 
And who, if weU curried and fed, 
they've no doubt, [and out. 

"Will beat ev'n Bentley's swift stud out 
It is true, in these days, such a drug is 
renown, [about town; 

"We've "Immortals'* as rife as M. P.s 
And not a Blue's rout but can off-hand 
supply [to die." 

Some invalid bard who's insured " not 
StiU, let England but once try our au- 
thors, she'll find [mortals behind ; 
How fast they'll leave ev'n these Im- 
And how truly the toils of Aleides were 

light, 
Compared with his toil who can read 
all they write. 

In fact, there's no saying, so gainful the 
trade, [made ; 

How fast immortalities now may be 
Since Helicon never wiU want an " Un- 
dying One," [ing One ; 
As long as the public continues a Buy- 
And the Company hope yet to witness 
the hour, 

* '"Tis money makes the mare to go." 
t We have lodgings apart, for our posthumous 
people, 
As we find that, if left with the lire ones, 
they keep ill. 
J " Bottom : Let me play the lion j I will roar 
you as 'twere any nightingale.'' 



"When, by strongly applying the mare- 
motive* power, 

A three-decker novel, 'mid oceans of 
praise. 

May be written, launch'd, read, and — 
forgot in three days ! 

In addition to all this stupendous celer- 
ity, [ferity— 
Which — to the no smaU relief of pos- 
Pays off at sight the whole debt of fame, 
Xor troubles futurity ev'n with a name, 
(A project that wo'n't as much tickle 

"Tom Tegg as us, 
Since 'twill rob Mm of his second- 
priced Pegasus;) [how immense 
We, the Company — still more to show 
Is the power o'er the mind of pounds, 
shillings, and pence ; [our day, 
And that not even Phoebus himself, in 
Could get up a lay without first an out- 
lay — [compare, 
Beg to add, as our literatm-e soon may 
In its quick make and vent, with our 
Birmingham ware, [these hues. 
And it doesn't at aU matter in either of 
How sham is the article, so it bu'' 
shines,— [iu hand. 
We keep authors ready, aU percli'd, pen 
To write off, in any given style, at com- 
mand, [deadjt 
;N"o matter what bard, be he living or 
Ask a work from his pen, and 'tis done 
soon as said : ["Walter Scots, 
There being, on th' establishment, six 
One capital Wordsworth, and Southeys 
m lots ; — [hke syrens. 
Three choice Mrs. Fortons, all singing 
"While most of our pallid young clerks 

are Lord Byrons. 
Then we've *'*s and ***s, (for whom 
there's small call,) [all.) 

And ***s and •**s. (for whom no call at 

In short, whosoe'er the last " Lion " 
may be, [to a T, 

"We've a Bottom who'll copy his roarj 

And so well, that not one of the buyers 
who've got 'em [Bottom. 

Can tell which is lion, and which only 

if, B. — The company, since they set up 
in this line, [at the sign 

Have moved their concern, and are now 

Of the Muse's Velocipede, Fleet Street, 
where all [to call. 

"Who wish well to the scheme are invited 




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664 



MOOEE'S WOEKS, 



SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LATE 
DINNER TO DAN. 

From tongue to tongnie the namor flew ; 

All ask'd, aghast, " Is't trae ? is'ttruef 

But noue knew whether 'twas fact or 

fable : 
And still the unholy rumor ran, 
Prom Tory woman to Tory man, 
Though none to come at the truth 

was able — 
Till, lo, at last, the fact came out, 
The honible fact, beyond all doubt. 
That Dan had dined at the Viceroy's 

table ; 
Had flesh'd his Popish knife and fork 
In the heart of th' Establish'd mutton 

and pork ! 

"WTio can forget the deep sensation 
That news produced in this orthodox na- 
Deans, rectors, curates, all agreed, [tion ? 
If Dan was allow'd at the Castle to feed, 
'Twas clearly all up with the Protestant 

creed ! 
There hadn't, indeed, such an apparition 
Been heard of, in Dublin,since that day 
When, during the first grand exhibition 
Of Don Giovanni, that naughty play. 
There appeared, as if raised by necro- 
mancers. 
An extra devil among the dancers ! 
Yes— ev'ry one saw, with fearful thrill. 
That a devU too much had jom'd the 
quadrille; [let fall 

And sulphur was smelt, and the lamps 
A grim, green light o'er the ghastly ball. 
And the poor sham devils didn't like it at 
all ; [had come. 

For, they knew from whence th' intruder 
Though he left, that night, his tail at 
home. 

This fact, we see, is a parallel case 
To the dinner that some weeks since, 
took place. [man, 

With the difference slight of fiend and 
It shows what a nest of Popish sin- 
ners [and Dan 
That city must be, where the devil 
May thus drop in, at quadrilles and 
dinners. 

But, mark the end of these foul pro- 
ceedings, [ings. 
These demon hops and Popish feed- 
Some comfort 'twiU be — to those, at 
least, [question — 
Who've studied this awful dinner 



To know that Dan, on the night of that 

feast. 
Was seized with a dreadful indigestion; 
That envoys were sent, post-haste, to 

his priest. 
To come and absolve the sufiering sinner, 
For eating so much at a heretic dinner ; 
And some good people were even afraid 
That Peel's old confectioner — still at the 

trade — 
Had poison'd the Papist with orangeade. 



NEW HOSPITAL FOR SICK LITE- 
RATI. 
With all humility we beg 
To inform the public, that Tom Tegg— 
Known for his spunky speculations, 
In buying up dead reputations. 
And, "by a mode of galvanizing 
Which, all must own, is quite surprising, 
Making dead authors move again, 
As though they stUl were living men ;— 
All this, too, managed in a trice. 
By those two magic words, "Half 

Price," 
Which brings the charm so quick about; 
That worn-out poets, left without 
A second /oo^ whereon to stand, 
Are made to go at second hand : — 
'Twill please the public, we repeat. 
To learn that Tegg, who works this feat. 
And, therefore, knows what care it needs 
To keep alive Fame's invahds. 
Has oped an Hospital, in town. 
For cases of knock'd-up renown — 
FaUs, fractures, dangerous Epic Jits, 
(By some call'd Cantos,) stabs from 

wits ; [nursed. 

And, of all wounds for which they're 
Bead cuts from publishers, the worst;— 
All these, and other such fatalities, 
That happen to frail immortaUties, 
By Tegg are so expertly treated, [ed, 
That oft-times, when the cure's complet- 
The patient's made robust enough 
To stand a few more rounds of puff 
Till, like the ghosts of Dante's lay. 
He's pufi'd into thin air away ! 

As titled poets (being phenomenons) 
Don't like to mix with low and common 

'uns, 
Tegg's Hospital has separate wards, 
Express for literary lords, [length, 

Where prose-peers, of immoderate 
Are nursed, when they've outgrown 

their strength, 




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SATIRICAL AOT) HUMOEOTJS POEMS. CO"' 



And poets, -whom their friends despair of, 
^e— put to bed and taken care care of. 

Tegg begs to contradict a story, 
]S'ow cim-ent both with Whig and Tory, 
That Doctor W— rb— t— n, M. P., 
"Well known for his antipathy, 
His deadly hate, good man, to all 
The race of poets, great and small— 
So much, that he's been heard to own. 
He would most willingly cut down 
The holiest groves on Pindus' mount. 
To turn the timber to account ! — 
The story actually goes, that he 
Prescribes at TegVs Infirmary ; 
And oft, not only stints, for spite, 
The patients in their copy-right. 
But that, on being call'd in lately 
To two sick poets, suffering greatly. 
This vaticidal Doctor sent them 
So strong a dose of Jeremy Bentham, 
That one of the poor bards but cried, 
" Oh, Jerry, Jerry !" and then died ; 
While t'other, though less stuff was 

given. 
Is on his road, 'tis fear'd, to heaven ! 

Of this event, howe'er unpleasant, 
Tegg means to say no more at present, — 
Intending shortly to prepare 
A statement of the whole affair, 
With full accounts, at the same tune. 
Of some late cases, (prose and rhyme,) 
Subscribed with every author's name. 
That's now on the Sick List of Fame. 



RELIGIOJ^ AND TRADE. 



■■ Sir Kobert Peel believed it was necessary 
to ori?iuate all respecting religion and trade in 
a Coniinitteo of the House."— 0/iurc/i Exten- 
sion, May •i'i, 1830. 

Say, who was the wag, indecorously 

witty, [vey'd; 

Who, first in a statute, this libel cou- 

And thus slyly referr'd to the self-same 

committee, [Trade'? 

As matters congenial, ReUgion and 

Oh surely, my Ph— lip— ts, 'twas thou 

didst the deed ; [brother. 

For none but thyself, or some pluralist 

Accustom'd to mix up the craft with the 

creed, [with each other. 

Could biing such a pair thus to twin 

And yet, when one thinks of times pres- 
ent and gone, [reflection, 
One is forced to confess, on maturer 



That 'tisn't in the eyes of committees 

alone, [have some connection. 

That the shrine and the shop seem to 

N'ot to mention those monarchs of Asia's 

fair land, [paid ; 

Whose civil list all is in " god-money " 

And where the whole people, by royal 

command, [ready made;* — 

Buy their gods at the government mart. 

There was also (as mention'd, in rhyme 
and in prose, is) [every shiine, 
Gold heap'd, throughout Egypt, on 
To make rings for right reverend croco- 
diles' noses— [look well m thine. 
Just such as, my Ph— Up— ts, would 
But one needn't fly off, in this erudite 
mood ; [so sunny, 

And 'tis clear, without going to regions 
That priests love to do the least possi- 
ble good, [of money. 
For the largest mosfpossible quantum 

"Of him," said the test, "unto whom 
much is given, [required :"— 
''Of him much, in turn, wiU be also 
" By we," quoth the sleek and obese 
man of heaven — 
"Give as much as you will— more 
will stiU be desired." 
More money ! more churches ! — ohNim- 
rod, hadst thou [er way gone— 
'Stead of Towjer-extension, some short- 
Hadst thou known by what methods we 
mount to heaven now, 
And tried C/iMrc/i-extension, the feat 
had been done ! 



MUSINGS, 

SUGGESTED BT THE LATE PROMOTION OF MRS. 
NETHERCOAT. 

" The widow Xethercoat is appointed jailer 
of Loughrea, in the room of her deceased hus- 
ha.n^."— Limerick Chronicle. 
Whether as queens or subjects, in 
these days, [each station ;— 

Women seem fonn'd to grace alike 
As Captam Flaherty gallantly says, 
"You, ladies, are the lords of the 
creation 1'' 
Thus o'er my mind did prescient visions 
float [be; 

Of all that matchless woman yet may 
* Tho Birmans may not bny the sacred mar- 
ble in mass, but roust purchase figures of the 
deitj' already made. — SviiES. 



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MOORE'S T70EKS. 



WTien, hark, in rumors less and less re- 
mote, [bient sea, 
Came the glad news o'er Erin's am- 
The important news— that Mrs. JS'ether- 
coat [rea ; 
Had been appointed jailer of Longh- 
Tes, mark it, History — Nethercoat is 
dead, [stead ; 
And Mrs. X. now rules his realm in- 
Hers the high task to wield th' uplocking 
' keys, [rees ! 
To rivet rogues and reign o'er Eappa- 
Thus, while your blust'rers of the Tory 
school [rule. 
Find Ireland's sanest sons so hard to 
One meek-eyed matron, in "Whig doc- 
trines nursed, [ worst ! 
Is all that's ask'd to curb the maddest, 
Show me the man that dares, with 

blushless brow, 
Prate about Erin's rage and riot now ; — 
Now, when her temperance forms her 
sole excess ; [from her sight, 
TThen long-loved whiskey, fading 
" Small by degrees, and beautifully less," 
Will soon, like other spirits, vanish 
quite ; [so small, 

When of red coats the number's grown 
That soon, to cheer the warlike par- 
son's eyes. 
If glimpse of scarlet will be seen at all, 
Save that which she of Babylon sup- 
plies,— [be, 
Or, at the most, a corporal's guard will 
Of Ireland's red defence the sole re- 
mains ; 
While of its jaUs bright woman keeps 
the key, [ charos ! 
And captive Paddies languish iu her 
Long may such lot be Erin's, long be 
mine ! [it shine 
Oh yes— if ev'n this world, though bright 
In Wisdom'aeyes a prison-house must 
be, [twine. 
At least let woman's hand our fetters 
And blithe I'U sing, more joyous than 
if free, [me! 
The Nethercoats, the Nethercoats for 



IlfTENDED TRIBUTE 

TO THE 

AUTHOR OF AN ARTICLE IN THE LAST NUMBER 

OF THE QUARTERLY REVIEW, 

ENTITLED 

" EOMAJSnSM IN lEELAND." 

It glads us much to be able to say, 
That a meeting is fix'd, for some early (Iaj4 



Of all such dowagers— ^e or she — 
(J^o matter the sex, so they dowagers be, ) 
Whose opinions, concerning Church and 
State, [date— 

From about the time of the Curfew 
Stanch sticklers still for days bygone. 
And admiring them for their rust alone— 
To whom if we would a leader give, 
Worthy their tastes conservative, [raise, 
We need but some mummy-statesman 
Who was pickled and potted in Ptole- 
my's days ; [shelf. 
For that's the man, if waked from his 
To conserve and swaddle this world, 
like himself. 

Such, we're happy to state, are the old 
Zte-dames [their names, 

Who've met in committee, and given 
(In good hieroglyphics, ) with kind intent 
To pay some handsome compliment 
To their sister-author, the nameless he 
Who wrote, in the last new Quarter^, 
That charming assault upon Popery; 
An article justly prized by them, 
As a perfect antediluvian gem — 
The work, as Sir Sampson Legend 
would say, [wash away. "* 

Of some "fellow the Flood couldn't 

The fund being raised, there remain'd 
but to see [be. 

What the dowager-author's gift was to 
And here, I must say, the Sisters Blue 
Show'd delicate taste and judgment 
too. [greatly 

For, finding the poor man suffering 
From the awful stuif he has thrown up 

lately — 
So much so, indeed, to the alarm of all, 
To bring on a fit of what doctors call 
The Antipapistico-monomania, 
(I'm soiTy with such a lor g word to de- 
tain ye,) [cian, 
They've acted the part of a kind physi- 
By suiting their gift to the patient s con- 
dition ; [tion; 
And, as soon as 'tis ready for presenta- 
We shall publish the facts for the grati- 
fication [tion. 
Of this highly-favor'd and Protestant ua- 

Meanwhile, to the great alarm of his 

neighbors, 
He still continues his Quarterly labors' 
And often has strong Ko-Popery fits, 

• See Congreve's I«»v» /or Love. 




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SATIEICAL AWD HTJMOROITS POEMS. 



667 



WTiich frighten his old nurse out of her 

wits. [play,* 

Sometimes he screams, like Scrub in the 

" Thieves ! Jesuits ! Popery !" night 

and day; [Dens.t 

Takes the Printer's Devil for Doctor 

And shies at him heaps of High-church 

pens ;t [senter) 

"Which the Devil (himself a touchy Dis- 

Feels all in his hide, like arrows, enter. 

'Stead of swallowing wholesome stuff 

from the druggist's, 
Eemll keep raving of "Irish Thug- 
gists ;"§ 
Tells us they all go murd'ring, for fun, 
Prom rise of morn till set of sun, 
Pop, pop, as fast as a minute-gun !|| 
If ask'd, how comes it the gown and 
cassock are [ere — 

Safe and fat, 'mid this general massa- 
How haps it that Pat's own population 
But swarms the more for this trucida- 

tion— 
He refers you, for all such memoranda, 
To the "archives of the Propagan- 
da /"% 
This is all we've got, for the present to 
say— [ture day. 

But shall take up the subject some fu- 



GRAND DINNER OP TYPE AND 
CO. 

A POOR poet's dream.** 

As I sate in my study, lone and still. 
Thinking of Sergeant Talfourd's BiU, 
And the speech by Lawyer Sugden 

made. 
In spirit congenial, for " the Trade," 
Sudden I sunk to sleep, and, lo. 
Upon Fancy's reinless night-mare 

flitting, 
I found myself, in a second or so, 
At the table of Messrs. Type and Co. 
With a goodly group of diners sitting ; — 
All in the printing and publishing line, 
Dress'd, I thought, extremely fine. 
And sipping, like lords, their rosy wine; 

* Beaux Stratagem. 

t The writer of tbe article has groped about, 
with much success, in what he calls " the dark 
recesses of Dr. Dens's disquisitions."— ^war- 
terly Revieiu. 

I "Pray, may we ask, has there been any 
rebellious movement of Popery in Ireland, 
since the planting of the Ulster colonies, in 
which something of the kind was not visible 
among the Presbyterians of the North V'—lbid. 



While I, in a state near inanition. 
With coat that hadn't much nap to' 
spare, [tion,) 

(Having just gone into its second edi- 
Was the only wretch of an author 
there. 
But think, how great was my surprise. 
When I saw, in casting round my eyes, 
That the dishes, sent up by Type's she- 
cooks, [books, 
Bore all, in appearance, the shape of 
Large folios— God knows where they 
got 'em, [torn ; 
In these small times — at top and bot- 
And quartos (such as the Press pro- 
vides [sides. 
For no one to read them) down the 
Then flash'd a horrible thought to my 

brain, 
And I said to myself, " 'Tis all too plain ; 
' ' Like those well known in school quo- 
tations, [tions, 
" Who ate up for dinner their own rela- 
" I see now, before me, smoking here, 
" The bodies and bones of my brethren 

dear ; — 
" Bright sons of the lyric and epic Muse, 
"All cut up in cutlets, or hash'd .in 

stews ; 
" ThQix ivorhs, a light through ages to 
go, [Co.!" 

" Themselves, eaten up by Type and 

While thus I moralized, on they went. 
Finding the fare most excellent; 
And all so kindly, brother to brother, 
Helping the titbits to each other ; 
""A slice of Southey let me send you" — 
" This cut of Campbell I recommend 

you "— 
" And here, my friends, is a treat indeed, 
"The immortal Wordsworth fricas- 
seed I" 

Thus having, the cormorants, fed some 

time. 
Upon joints of poetry — all of the prime— 
With also (as Type in a whisper averr'd 

it) 

§. " Lord Lorton, for Instance, who, for clear- 
ing his estate of a village of Irish Thuggists," 
&c., &.C.— Quarterly Review. 

II "Observe how murder _ after murder is 
committed like minute-guns." — Ibid. 

H " Might not the archives of the Propa- 
ganda possibly supply the key?" 

** Written during the late agitation of the 
question of Copyright. 



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MOORE'S TTOEKS. 



"Cold prose on the sideboard, for such 
as preferr'd it " — 

They rested awhile, to recruit their 
force, [oud course. 

Then pouuced, like kites, on the sec- 

Which was singing-birds merely — Moore 
and others — 

Who all went the way of their larger 
brothers ; 

And, num'rous now though such song- 
sters be, 

'Twas really quite distressing to see 

A whole dishful of Toms— Moore, Dib- 
din, Bayly, — 

Bolted by Type and Co. so gayly ! 

Nor was this the worst— I shudder to 

think [came to drink. 

What a scene was disclosed when they 
The warriors of Odin, as every one 

knows, [foes ; 

Used to drink out of skulls of slaughter'd 
And Type's old port, to my horror I 

found, [round. 

Was in skulls of bards sent menily 
And still as each well-fill'd cranium 

came, [name ; 

A health was pledged to its owner's 
WhUe Type said slyly, 'midst general 

laughter, ' [them after." 

" We eat them up first, then diink to 

There was no standing this— incensed I 
broke [woke. 

From my bonds of sleep, and indicant 
Exclaiming, " Oh shades of other times, 
" Whose voices still sound, like death- 
less chimes, 
"Could you e'er have foretold a day 

would be, 

"When a dreamer of dreams should 

live to see [Bulls 

"A party of sleek and honest John 

" Hobnobbing each other in poet's 

skulls P' 

* "For a certain man named Demetrius, a 
silversmith, which made shrines for Diana, 
brought no small gain unto the craftsmen ; 
whom he called together with the workmen of 
like occupation, and said, Sirs, ve know tliat by 
this craft wo hare our wealth.' —J.cte, xix. 

t Tria Virginis era Dianae. 

t The " shrines" are supposed to have been 
email churches, or chapels, adjoining to the 
great temples ; — "8Bdicul£8, in quibus status 
reponebantur."— Erasm. 



CHURCH EXTENSIOK 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE. 

Sir,— A well-known classical traveller, while 
employed in exploring, some time since, the 
supposed site of the TemjJe of Diana of Ephe- 
sus, was so fortunate, in the course of bis le 
searches, as to light upon a very ancient bark 
manuscript, which has turned out, on examina- 
tion, to be part of an old Ephesian newspaper : 
— a newspaper j)ublished, as yon will see, so 
far back as the time when Demetrius, the great 
Shrine-Extender,* flourished. 

I am, Sir, yours, &c. 

EPHESIAN GAZETTE. 

Second editio7i. 

Important event for the rich and re- 
ligious ! [Queen Square : — 
Great Meeting of Silversmiths held in 
Church Extension, their object,— th' ex- 
citement prodigious; — 
Demetrius, head man of the craft, 
takes the chair 1 

Third edition 

The Chairman still up, when our devil 

came away ; [usual state prayer. 

Having prefaced his speech with the 

That the Three-headed Dianf would 

Icindly, this day, [her care. 

Take the Silversmiths' Company under 

Being a?k'd by some low, unestablish'd 
divines, [are flocks to be got K" 
" When your churches are up, where 
He manfully answer'd, ' ' Let us build 
the shrines,t [for them or not." 
' ' And we care not if flocks are found 
He then added— to show that the Silver- 
smiths' Guild [ant views- 
Were above all confined and intoler- 
"Only pay through the nose to the 
altars we build, 
"Ton may pray through the nose to 
what altars you choose." 

This tolerance, rare from a shrine-deal- 
er's lip, [taste for the till,) — 
(Though a tolerance mix'd with due 
So much charm'd all the holders ol 
scriptural scrip. 
That thek shouts of " Hear !" "Hear 1" 
are re-echoing still. 

Fourth edition. 

Great stir in the Shrine Market! altars 

to Phoebus [a rebus. 

Are going dog-cheap— may be had for 

Old Dian's, as usual, outsell all the 

rest ; — 

But Venus's also are much in request 




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SATIEICAL Am) HUMOROITS POEMS. 



6G9 



LATEST ACCOUNTS FROM OLYM- 
PUS. 

As news from Olympus has grown rath- 
er rare, [to touch there, 
Since bards, in their cruises, have ceased 
We extract for our readers th' intelli- 
gence given, \vant heaven — 
In our latest accounts n-om that ci-dc- 
That realm of the By-gones, where still 
sit, in state, [out of date. 
Old god-heads and nod-heads, now long 

Jove himself, it appears, since his love- 
days are o'er, 

Seems to liudimmortahty rather a bore ; 

Though he still asks for news of earth's 
capers and crimes, 

And reads daily his old fellow-Thun- 
d'rer, the Times. 

He and Yulcan, it seems, by then* wives 
still hen-peck' d are, [tar. 

And kept on a stinted allowance of nec- 

Old Phoebus, poor lad, has given up in- 
spiration, [ulation. 
And pack'd off to earth on a jmff-STpec- 
The fact is, he found his old shrines had 
grown dim, [bum, not him. 
Since bards look'd to Bentley and Col- 
So, he sold oif his stud of ambrosia-fed 
nags, [writes for the Mags ; 
Came incog, down to earth, and now 
Taking care that his work not a gleam 

hath to linger in't. 
Prom which men could guess that the 
god had a finger in't. 

There are other small facts, well deserv- 
ing attention, [mention. 
Of which om- Olympic dispatches make 
Poor Bacchus is still very ill, they allege, 
Having never recover'd the Temperance 
Pledge. [look'd to the most ! 
" "What, the Irish !" he cried — " those I 
" If they give ap the spirit, I give up 
the ghost :" [make fun, 
While Momus, who used of the gods to 
Is tum'd Socialist now, and declares 
there aj-e none ! 

But these changes, though curious, are 

all a mere farce, [Mars, 

Compared to the new " casus beUi" of 

Who, for years, has been suffering the 

horrors of quiet, [or riot 1 

TJncheer'd by one glimmer of bloodshed 

In vain from the clouds his belligerent 

brow 



Did he pop forth, in hopes that some- 
where or somehow, [a row :" 
Like Pat at a fair, he might "coax up 
Bat the joke wouldn't take — the whole 
world had got wiser ; [adviser ; 
Men hked not to take a Great Gun for 
And, still less, to march in fine clothes 
to be shot, [or for what. 
Without very weB knowing for whom 

The French, who of slaughter had had 
their full swing, [at then- King; 

Were content with a shot, now and then. 

While, in England, good fighting's a 
pastime so hard to gain, 

2f obody s left to fight with, but Lord 
C — rd — g — n. 

'Tis needless to say, then, how mon- 
strously happy [on the tajns ; 
Old Mars has been made by what's now 
How much it delights him to see the 
French rally, [Ali ; 

In Liberty's name, around Mehemet 
Well Imowing that Satan himself could 
not find [his mind 

A confection of mischief much more to 
Than the old Bonnet Rouge and the 

Bashaw combined. 
Right well, too, he knows, that there 

ne'er were attackers, 
Whatever their cause, that they didn't 

find backers ; 
While any shght care for Humanity's 
woes [tique," which shows 

May be sooth'd by that " Art Diploma- 
How to come, in the most approved 
method, to blows. 

This is all, for to-day — whether Mars is 

much vex'd [by our next. 

At his friend Thiers's exit, we'll know 



THE TRIUMPHS OF FARCE. 

Our earth, as it rolls through the regions 

of space, [the sunny; 

Wears always two faces, the dark and 

And poor human fife runs the same sort 

of race, [side, funny. 

Being sad, on one side — on the other 

Thus oft we, at eve, to the Haymarket 

hie, [ — but scarce 

To weep o'er the woes of Macready ; 

Hath the tear-drop of Tragedy pass d 

li-om the eye, [ at the Farce. 

When, lo, we're all laughing in fits 




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670 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



And still let us laugh — preach the world 

as it may — 

"Where the cream of the joke is, the 

swarm will soon follow ; [way, 

Heroics are very grand things, in their 

But the laugh at the long run will 

carry it hollow. 

For instance, what sermon on human 

affairs [t'other day 

Could equal the scene that took place 

'Twixt Romeo and Louis Philippe, on 

the stairs — [halt- way ! 

The Sublime and Ridiculous meeting 

Yes, Joeus! gay god, whom the Gen- 
tiles supplied, 
And whose "worship not ev'n among 
Christians declines. 
In our senate thou'st languish'd since 
Sheridan died, [our shrines. 

But Sydney still keeps thee alive in 

Rare Sydney ! thrice honor'd the stall 
where he sits, 
And be his every honor he deigneth 
to climb at ! [wits, 

Had England a hierarchy form'd all of 
Who but Sydney would England pro- 
claim as its primate ? 

And long may he flourish, frank, mer- 
ry, and brave — [read,* 
A Horace to hear, and a Paschal to 
While he laughs, all is safe, but, when 
Sydney grows grave, 
We shall then think the Church is in 
danger indeed. 

MeanwhUe, it much glads us to find 

he's preparing [right way;"t 

To teach other bishops to "seek the 

And means shortly to treat the whole 

bench to an airing, [t'other day. 

Just such as he gave to Charles James 

For our parts, though gravity's good 
for the soul. 
Such a fancy have we for the side 
that there's fun on. 
We'd rather with Sydney southwest 
take a " stroll," 
Than coach it northeast with his 

Lordship of Limnun. 
* Some parts of the Provinciales may be said 
to bo of the highest order of jeux d'esprit, or 
squills. 

t 'This stroll in the metropolis is extremely 
well contrvcd for your Lordship's speech ; biit 



THOUGHTS OX PATRONS, PUFFS, 
AND OTHER MATTERS. 

IN AN EPISTLE FKOM T. M. TO S. K. 

What, thou, my friend! a man of 

rhymes, 
And, better still, a man of guineas, 
To talk of "patrons,'' in these times. 
When authors thrive, like spinning 
jennies, [pfige 

And Arkwright's twist and Bulwers 
Alike may laugh at patronage ! 

No, no— those times are pass'd away. 

When, doom'd in upper floors to star 
The bard inscribed to lords his lay, — [it. 

Himself, the while, my Lord Moimt- 
garret. 
No more he begs, with air dependent, 
His "little bark may sail attendant" 

Under some lordly skipper's steerage; 
But launch'd triumphant in the Row, 
Or ta'en by Murray's self in tow, 

Cuts both Star Chamber and the 



Patrons, indeed ! when scarce a sail 
Is whisk'd from England by the gale. 
But bears on board some authors, 

shipp'd 
For foreign shores, all well-equipp'd 
With proper book-making machinery, 
To sketch the morals, manners, scenery. 
Of all such lands as they shall see, 
Or not see, as the case may be : — 
It being enjoin'd on aU who go 
To study first Miss jj;********, 
And learn from her the method true, 
To do one's books— and readers, too. 
For so this nymph of nous and nerve 
Teaches mankind " How to Observe", ' 
And, lest mankind at all should swerve, 
Teaches them also " What to Observe." 

No, no, my friend — it can't be blink' d — 

The Patron is a race extinct; 

As dead as any Megatherion 

That ever Biickland built a theory on. 

Instead of bartering, in this age. 

Our praise for pence and patronage. 

We authors, now, more prosperous 

elves. 
Have leam'd to patronize ourselves ; 
And since all-potent Puflang's made 

suppose, my dear Lord, that instead of going 
E. and N. E. you had turned about," &c., &o. 
— SvDVEY Smith's Last Letter to the Bishop oj 

London. 




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SATIRICAL AlfD HUMOROUS POEMS. 



671 



The life of song, the soul of trade, 
More frugal of our praises grown. 
We puif no merits but our own. 

Unlike those feeble gales of praise 
Which critics blew in former days, 
Our modern puffs are of a kind 
That tmly, really raise the wind; 
And since they've fairly set in blowing, 
We find them the best irarfe-winds go- 
ing. 
Stead of frequenting paths so slippy 
As her old haunts near Aganippe, 
The Muse, now, taking to the tUl, 
Has open'd shop on Ludgate Hill, 
(Far handier than the Hill of Pindus, 
As seen from bard's back attic win- 
dows ;) 
And swallowing there without cessation 
Large draughts {at sight) of inspiration, 
Touches the notes tor each new theme, 
While still fresh " change comes o'er her 
dream." 

What Steam is on the deep— and more- 
ls the vast power of Puff on shore ; 
AYhich jumps to glory's future tenses 
Before the present even commences ; 
And makes " immortal" and "divine" 

of us 
Before the world has read one line of ns. 

In old times, when the God of Song 
Drove his own two-horse team along, 
Canying inside a bard or two, 
Book'd for posterity " all through;—" 
Their luggage, a few close-pack'd 
rhymes, [tunes— 

(Like yours, my friend,) for after- 
So slow the pull to Fame's abode, 
That folks oft slept upon the road ; — 
And Homer's self, sometimes, they say, 
Took to his nightcap on the way.* 

Ye Gods ! how different is the story 
With our new galloping sons of glory, 
Who, scorning all such slack and slow 
Dash to posterity in no time! [time, 

Raise but one general blast of Puff 
To start your author— that's enough. 
In vain the critics, set to watch him, 
Try at the starting post to catch him : 
He's off -the puffers carry it hollow — 
The critics, if they please, may follow. 
Ere they've laid down their first posi- 
tions, 
* Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus.— 

flOEAT. 



He's fairly blown through sis editions ! 
In vain doth Edinburgh dispense 
Her blue and yellow pestilence 
(That plague so awful in my time 
To young and touchy sons of rhyme) — 
The Quarterly, at three months' date, 
To catch th' Um-ead One, comes too 
And nonsense, litter'd in a hurry, [late ; 
Becomes "immortal," spite of Murray. 

But, bless me ! — while I thus keep fool- 

iiig> 
I hear a voice cry, " Dinner's cooling." 
The postman, too, (who, txuth to tell, 
'Mong men of letters bears the bell,) 
Keeps ringing, ringing, so infernally, 
That I 7nust stop- 
Tours sempitemally. 

THOUGHTS ON MISCHIEF. 

BY LORD ST — NL — Y. 
(HIS FIItST ATTEMPT IN VERSE.; 

"Evil, be thou my good."— MIL-0^ 

How various are the inspirations 
Of different men, in different nations ! 
As genius prompts to good or evil, [il. 
Some call the Muse, some raise thedev. 
Old Socrates, that pink of sages, 
Kept a pet demon, on hoard wages 
To go about with him incog.. 
And sometimes give his wits a jog. 
So L— nd— st, in our day, we know, 
Keeps fresh relays of imps below, 
To forward, from that nameless spot, 
His inspirations, hot and hot. 

But, neat as are old L — nd— st's do- 
ings — [brewings— 
Beyond even Hecate's " hell-broth " 
Had I, Lord Stanley, but my will, 
I'd show you mischief prettier still ; 
Mischief, combining boyhood's tricks 
With age's sourest politics ; 
The urchin's freaks, the veteran's gall. 
Both duly mix'd, and matchless all ; 
A compound naught in history reaches 
But Machiavel, when first in breeches ! 

Yes, Mischief, Goddess multiform. 
Whene'er thou, witch-hke, rid'st the 

storm, 
Let Stanley ride cockhorse behind thee— 
No liveUer lackey could they find thee. 
And, Goddess, as I'm well aware. 
So mischief's clone, you care not where 
I own, 'twill most my fancy tickle 
In Paddyland to play tue Pickle ■- 



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672 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



Having got credit for inventing 

A new, brisk method of tormenting — 

A way, they call the Stanley fashion, 

WTiich puts aU Ireland in a passion ; 

So neat it hits the mixture due 

Of injury and insult too ; 

So legibly it bears upon't 

The stamp of Stanley's brazen front. 

Ireland, we're told, means land of Ire ; 
And why she's so, none need inquire, 
"Who sees her millions, martial, manly, 
Spat upon thus by me. Lord St — nl— y. 
Already in the breeze I scent 
The whiff of coming devilment; 
Of strife, to me more stirring far 
Than th' Opium or th' Sulphur war, 
Or any such drug ferments are. 
Yes— sweeter to this Tory soul 
Than all such pests, from pole to pole, 
Is the rich, " swelter'd venom "got 
By stirring Ireland's " charmed pot ;"* 
And, thanks to practice on that land, 
I 8tu- it with a master-hand. 

Again thou'lt see, when forth hath gone 
The War-Church-cry, " On, Stanley, 
How Caravats and Shanavests [on !" 
Shall swarm from out their mountain 
nests, [ers, 

"With all their merry moonlight broth- 
To whom the Church (^step-dame to oth- 
ers) 
Hath been the best of nursing mothers. 
Again o'er Erin's rich domain 
Shall Rockites and right reverends reign; 
And both, exempt from vulgar toil, 
Between them share that titheful soil ; 
Puzzling ambition v}Mch to climb at, 
The post of Captaiu, or of Primate. 

And so, long life to Church and Co.— 
Hm-rah for mischief !— here we go. 



EPISTLE FROM CAPTAIIT ROCK TO 
LORD L— N^DH— T. 

Dear L— ndh — t, — you'll pardon my 

making thus free, — 
But form is all fudge 'twixt such " com- 

rogues" as we, 
Who, whate'er the smooth views we, in 

public, may drive at, 

* " Swelter'd venom, sleeping got, 

Boil thou first i' the charmed pot." 
t Exchequer tithe processes, served under a 
commission of rebellion. — Chronicle. 



Have both the same praiseworthy ob 

ject, in private — [riot, 

Namely, never to let the old regions ol 

"Where Rock hath long reign'd, have one 

instant of quiet, [taught her 

But keep Ireland still iu that liquid we've 

To love more than meat, drink, or cloth 

mg—}wt water. 

All the difference betwixt you and me' 
as I take it, [break it ; 

Is simply, that you make the la^v and 1 
And never, of big- wigs and small, were 
there two [we do ; 

Play'd so well into each other's hands as 
Insomuch, that the laws you and yours 
manufacture, [to fracture. 

Seem all made express for the Rock-boys 
ifot Birmingham's self — to her shame be 
it spoken^ [to be broken ; 

E'er made things more neatly contrived 
And hence, I coniess, in this island re- 
ligious, [prodigious. 
The breakage of laws — and of heads is 

And long may it thrive, my Ex-Bigwig, 
say I,— [fun was gone by. 

Though, of late, much I fear'd all our 
As, except when some tithe-hunting par- 
son show'd sport, [port,, 
Some rector — a cool hand at pistols and 
Who " keeps dry" his powder, but never 
himself— [shelf. 
One who, leaving his Bible to rust on the 
Sends his pious texts home, in the shape 
of ball-cartridges, [tridges;— 
Shooting his " dearly beloved," like par- 
Except when some hero of this sort 
tum'd out, [tithe-writst about— 
Or, th' Exchequer sent, flaming, its 
A contrivance more neat, I may sa}-, 

without flattery, 
Than e'er yet was thought of for blood- 
shed and battery ; [allow. 
So neat, that even I might be proud, t 
To have hit off so rich a receipt for a 

row ; — 
Except for such rigs turning up, now 
and then, [men; 

I was actually growing the duUe.st of 
And, had this blank fit been allow'd to 
increase, [Justice of Peace. 

Might have snored myself down to a 
Like you, Reformation in Church and iu 

State 
Is the thing of aU things I most cordially 
hate : 



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SATIRICAL AND HITMOROTTS POEMS. 



673 



If once these cursed Ministers do as they 
like, [and my pike, 

All's o'er, my good Lord, with your wig 

And one may be hmig up on t'other, 
henceforth, 

Just to show what siicli Captains and 
Chancellors were worth. 

But we must not despair — even already 

Hope sees [up a breeze 

You're about, my bold Baron, to kick 
Of the true baffling sort, such as suits 

me and you, [party right through, 
"Wlio have bos'd the whole compass of 
And care not one farthing, as all the 

world knows, [quarter it blows. 
So we hut raise the wind, from what 
Forgive me, dear Lord, that thus rudely 

I dare [compare : 

My own small resources with thine to 
Not even Jerry Diddler, in " raising the 

wind," durst [dear L — ndh— t. 
Compete, for one instant, with thee, my 

But, hark, there's a shot! — some par- 
sonic practi tioner ? [ missioner ; 
No— merely a bran-new Rebellion Com- 
The Courts having now, with true law 
erudition, [sion." 

Put even Rebellion itself " in commis- 
As seldom, in this way, I'm any man's 
debtor, [this letter. 

V\\ yist pay my shot, ?cadi then fold up 
In the mean time, hmxah for the Tories 
and rocks ! [their flocks ! 

Hurrah for the parsons who fleece well 
Hurrah for all mischief in aU ranks and 
spheres, [ House of Peers ! 

And, above aU, hurrah for that deeu: 



CAPTAIN ROCK IN LONDON. 

iETTEE FROM THE CAPTADl TO TERRY ALT, 

ESQ.* 

Here I am, at head-quarters, dear Ter- 
ry, once more, [before :^ 
Deep in Tory designs, as I've oft been 
For, bless them ! if 'twasn't for this 

wrong-headed crew. 

You and I, Terry Alt, would scarce 

know what to do ; [are growing, 

80 ready they're always, when dull we 

To set our old concert of discord a-going. 

While L— ndh— t's the lad, with his 

Tory- Whig face, [base. 

To play, in such concert, the true douhle- 

*The subordinate officer or lieutenaut of 

Japtain Bock. 



I had fear'd this old prop of my realm 

was beginning 
To tire of his course of political sinning, 
And, like Mother Cole, when her hey- 
day was past, [vu'tue at last. 
Meant, by way of a change, to try 
But I wrong' d the old boy, who as 
stanchly derides [besides; 

All reform in himself as in most things 
And, by using two faces through life, all 
aUow, [thing now. 

Has acquired face sufficient for any 

In short, he's aU right; and, if man- 
kind's old foe. 

My " Lord Harry" himself— who's the 
leader, we know. 

Of another red-hot Opposition, below — 

If that " Lord," in his well-known dis- 
cernment, but spares 

Me and L — ndh — t, to look after Ire- 
land's affairs. 

We shall soon such a region of devil- 
ment make it. 

That Old Nick himself for his own may 
mistake it. 

Even already — long life to such Big- 
wigs, say I, [cannot die — 
For, as long as they flourish, we Rocks 
He has served our right riotous cause by 

a speech [could reach ; 

Whose perfection of mischief he only 
As it shows off both his and my merits 

alike, 
Both the swell of the wig, and the point 

of the pike ; 
Mixes up with a skill which one can't 

but admire, [diary's fire. 

The lawyer's cool craft with th' incen- 
And enMsts, in the gravest, most plous- 

ible manner, [ery's banner ! 

Seven imlUons of souls under Rock- 
Oh Terry, my man, let this speech never 

die ; 
Through the re^ons of Rockland, like 

flame, let it fly ; 
Let each syllabi© dark the Law-Oracle 

utteVd [ter'd. 

By all Tipperary's wild echoes be mut- 
TUl naught shall be heard, over hUl, 

d£de, or flood, 
But " You're aliens in language, i« 

creed, and in blood ;" [afar. 

While voices, from sweet Connemara 
Shall answer, like true Irish echoes, 

"We are 1" 



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674 



MOOKB'S WORKS. 



And, though false be the cry, and 
though sense must abhor it, 

Still th' echoes may quote Law author- 
ity for it. 

And naught L — ndh — t cares for my 
spread of dominion. 

So he, in the end, touches cash " for th' 
ojpinion." 



But I've no time for more, my dear 

Terry, just now, 
Being busy in helping these Lords 

through their row : 
They're bad hands at mob-work, but, 

once they begin, 
They'll have plenty of practice to break 

them well in. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND, 

BEDia A SEQUEL TO 

«THE FUDGE FAMILY IS PARIS." 



PEEFACE. 

The name of the country town, in 
England — a well-known fashionable 
watering-place — in which the events 
that gave rise to the following corres- 
pondence occurred, is, for obvious rea- 
sons, suppressed. The interest attached, 
however, to the facts and personages of 
the story, renders it independent of all 
time and place ; and when it is recollect- 
ed that the whole train of romantic cir- 
cumstances so fuUy unfolded in these 
Letters has passed during the short pe- 
riod which has now elapsed since the 
great Meetings in Exeter Hall, due 
credit will, it is hoped, be allowed to 
the Editor for the rapidity with which 
he has brought the details before the 
Public; while, at the same time, any 
errors that may have been the result of 
such haste will, he tnists, with equal 
.consideration, be pardoned. 



LETTER L 

PROM PATEICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV. 
filCHARD , CDKATE OF , IN IKELAND. 

Who d'ye think we've got here?— 

quite reform'd from the giddy, 

Fantastic young thing, that once made 

such a noise — [delectable Biddy, 

Why, the famous Miss Fudcre — that 



Whom you and I saw once at Paris, 
when boys, [ands, and airs, 

In the full blaze of bonnets, and rib- 
Each a thing as no rainbow hath col- 
ors to paint ; [and prayers 
Ere time hath reduced her to wrinkles 
And the FHrt found a decent retreat 
in the Saint. 

Poor " Pa " hath popp'd off— gone, as 
charity judges, [the Fudges; 
To some choice Elysium reserved for 
And Miss, with a fortune, besides ex- 
pectations [palsied relations. 
From some much revered and much- 
Fow wants but a husband, with requi- 
sites meet — [six feet. 
Age thirty, or thereabouts— statma 
And warranted godly — to make aU com- 
plete, [if he's high, 
Nota Bene — a Churchman would suit, 
But Socinians or Catholics need not ap- 
ply. 

What say you, Dick? doesn't this 
tempt your ambition ? 
The whole wealth of Fudge, that re- 
nown'd man of pith, 
All brought to the hammep ^oi 
Church competitioii. 
Sole encumbrance. Miss Fudge, to b« 
taken therewith. [ous a catch i 
Tiiiuk, my boy, for a Curate how glort- 



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THE rUDGBS IN ENGLAiiTD. 



675 



WMle, instead of the thousands of souls 

you now watch, [do ; 

To save Biddy Fudge's is all you need 

And her purse will, meanwhile, be the 

saving of you. 

Ton may ask, Dick, how comes it, that 

I, a poor elf, [your spiritual self, 
Wanting substance even more than 
Should thus generously lay my own 

claims on the shelf. 
When, God knows ! there ne'er was 

young gentleman yet 
So much lack'd an old spiaster to rid 

him from debt, [ assail her 

Or had cogenter reasons than mine to 
With tender love-suit — at the suit of his 

tailor. 

But thereby their hangs a soft secret, 
my friend, [commend': 

Which thus to your reverend breast I 
Miss Fudge hfith a niece — such a crea- 
ture!— with eyes 
Like those sparklers that peep out from 
summer-night skies [delight 

At astronomers-royal, and laugh with 
To see elderly gentlemen spjiug all night. 

While her figure— oh,bring all the gi'ace- 

fuUest things [ feet or by wings. 

That are borne throiigh the hght air by 

Nht a single new grace to that form 

could they teach, [of each ; 

Which combines in itself the perfection 

While, rapid or slow, as her fairy feet 

fall, [all. 

The mute music of symmetry modulates 

Ne'er, in short, was there creature more 
form'd to bewilder [aerial 

A gay youth like mt, who of castles 
(And only of such) am, God help me ! a 
buUder ; [ers ethereal, 

Still peopling each mansion with lodg- 
And now, to this nymph of the seraph- 
like eye, [next the sky.* 
Letting out, as you see, my first floor 

But, alas ! nothing's perfect on earth — 
even she, [things sometimes ; 
This divine little gipsy, does odd 
Talks learning- looks wise, (rather pain- 
ful to see,) [her rhymes ; 
Prints already in two County papers 

* That floor which a facetious parreteer called 
"Ic premii'i' en descendant du eid." 

t See the Dublin Evening Post, of the 9th of 
this mouth, (July,) for an account of a scene 
which lately took place at a meeting of the 



And raves — the sweet, charming, absurd 
litiie dear ! [next year, 

About Amulets, Bijous, and Keepsaker-, 
In a manner which plainly bad symp- 
toms portends [to friends ; 
Of that Annual blue fit, so distressing 
A fit which, though lasting but one short 
edition, [anitiou. 
Leaves the patient long after in sad in- 

However, let's hope for the best- -and, 
meanwhile, [warm smUe ; 

Be it mine still to bask in the niece's 
While you, if you're wise, Dick, will 
p'lay the gallant [an Aunt. 

(Uphill work, I confess) to her Saint of 
Think, my boy, for a youngster like j-ou, 
who've a lack, [specie, 

Not indeed of rupees, but of all other 
What luck thus to find a kind witch at 
your back, [debts to release ye ; 
An old goose with gold eggs, from all 
Never mind, tho' the spinster be rever- 
end and thin, 
WTiat are aU the Three Graces to 
her Three per Cents. '? 
While her acres !— oh Dick, it don't 
matter one pin, [touch the rents ; 
How she touches th' affections, so you 
And Love never looks half so pleased, 
as when, bless him ! he [same." 
Sings to an old lady's purse " Open, Se- 
By the way, I've just heard, in my 
walks, a report, [some sport. 
Which, if true, will insure for your visit 
'Tis rumor'd our Manager means to be- 
speak [for next week ; 
The Church tumblers from Exeter HaU 
And certainly ne'er did a queerer or rum- 
mer set [a summerset. 
Throw, for th' amusement of Chi-istians, 
'Tis fear'd their chief "Merriman," 
C — ke, cannot come, [at home ;t 
Being cairdoff",at present, to play Punch 
And the loss of so practised a wag in di- 
vinity [the Trinity ; — 
Will grieve much all lovers of jokes on 
His pun on the nameUnigeuitus, lately. 
Having pleased Robert Taylor, the 

Reverend, greatly, t 
'Twill prove a sad drawback, if absent 
he be, [to see ; 

As a wag Presbyterian's a thing quite 
Synod of Ulster, in which the porformanco ot 
the above-mentioned part by the personage in 
(jucstit)n appears to have been worthy of all its 
loimer reputation in that line. 
I " All are punsters if they have the wit to 



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676 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



And, 'mong the Five Points of the Cal- 
vinists, none of 'em ['em, 

Ever yet reckon'd a point of wit one of 

But even though deprived of this comi- 
cal elf, [self, 

"We've a host of buffoni in Murtagh him- 

Who of all the whole troop, is chief 
mummer and mime, 

_^g 0— ke takes the Ground tumbling, 
he the Sublime ;* [come in time. 

And of him we're quite certain, so, pray, 



LETTER II. 



Just in time for the post, dear, and 
monstrously busy, [ly ones, too ; 
"With godly concernments— and world- 
Things carnal and spuitual mix'd, my 
dear Lizzy, [dizzy. 

In this little brain till, bewilder'd and 
'Twixt heaven and earth, I scarce 
know what I do. 

First, I've been to see all the gay fash- 
ions from Town, 
"Which our favorite Miss Gimp for the 
spring has had down, [a lafolle. 
Sleeves still worn (which Jthink is wise) 
Charming hats, pou de sole — though the 
shape rather droll, [^oi tulle lace. 
But you can't think how nicely the caps 
With the mentonniires, look on this poor 
sinful face; [thinks right, 

And I mean, if the Lord in his mercy 
To wear one at Mrs. Fitz-wigram's to- 
night, [too, to say. 
The silks are quite heavenly :— I'm glad, 
Gimp herself grows more godly and 
good every day; [doth begin 
Hath had sweet experience — yea, even 
To turn from the Gentiles, and put away 
sin — [laid in. 
And aU since her last stock of goods was 
"What a blessing one's milliner, careless 
of pelf, [as one's self! 
Should thus "walk in newness " as well 

So much for the blessings, the comforts 

cf Spirit [than I merit !— 

I've had since we met, and they're more 

be so ; and therefore when an Irishman has to 
commence with a Bull, you will nnturally pro- 
nounce it a hull. (A laugh.) Allow me to 
brinp before you the famous B\ill that is called 
Unigonitus, reterriuR to the only-bcfrotten Son 
oiGoAy— Report of the Ren. Doctor's speech, 
June 20, in the Record Newspaper. 



Poor, sinful, weak creature in every re- 

spect ; [be one of th' Elect. 

Though ordain'd (God knows why) to 
But now for the picture's reverse. — You 

remember [Decern oer ; 

That footman and cook-maid I hired last 
He, a Baptist Particular— s/t6, of some 

sect 
N"ot particular, I fancy, in any respect ; 
But desirous, poor thing, to be fed with 

the "Word, [Fudge and the Lord." 
And "to wait," as she said, "on Miss 

"Well, my dear, of all men, that Partic- 
ular Baptist [the nptest; 
At preaching a sermon, oil' baud, was 
And, loug as he stay'd, do him justice, 
more rich in [was kitchen. 
Sweet favors of doctrine, there never 
He preach'd in the parlor, he preach'd 
in the hall, [lions, and all. 
He preach'd to the chambermaids, scid- 
All heard with delight his reprovings 
of sin. [would she tire— 
Butabove all, the cook-maid ;— oh, ne'er 
Though, ifi learning to save sinful soula 
from the fire, [frying fall in. 
She would oft let the soles'she was 

(God forgive me for punning on points 
thus of piety'! — [en society.) 
A sad trick I've leam'd in Bpb's heath- 
But ah ! there remains still the worst of 
my tale ; [truth to veil- 

Come, Asterisks, and help me the sad 
Conscious stars, that at even your own 
secret tmn pale ! 



In short, dear, this preaching and 

psalm-sinmng pair. 
Chosen -' vessels of mercy," as / 
thought they were, [making bold 
Have together this last week eloped; 
To whip oflF as much goods as both ves- 
sels could hold — 
l^ot forgetting some scores of sweet 
tracts fi'om my shelves, [selves, 
Two Family Bibles as large as them- 
A.nd besides, from the drawer— I ne- 
glected to lock it— [the pocket."t 
My neat " Morning Manna, done up for 
* In the languajre of the play -bills, "Ground 
and Lofty Tumbling." 

f "Morning Manna, or British Verse-book, 
neatly done up furtlie pocket," and chiefly in- 
tended to assist the members of the British 
Verse Association, whose design is, we are 
told, " to induce the inhabitants of Great Brit- 




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THE rUDGES m EJ7GLAOT). 



677 



Was there e'er known a case so distress- 
ing, dear Liz ? [of it is, 
It has made me quite ill : — and the worst 
When rogues are all pious, 'tis hard to 
detect [the elect. 
Which rogues are the reprobate, which 
This man "had a call," he said— impu- 
dent mockery ! [ery ! 
Wliat call had he to my linen and croek- 

I'm now, and have been for this week 

past, in chase [to replace. 

Of some godly young couple this pair 
The inclosed two announcements have 

just met my eyes, [advertise 

In that venerable Monthly where Saints 
For such temperal comforts as this 

world supplies;* [made 

And the fruits of the Sphit are properly 
An essential in every craft, caUmg, and 

trade, ['prentice some youth 

Where th' attorney requires for his 
Who has "leam'd to fear God, and to 

walk in the truth ;" 
Where the sempstress, m search of em- 
ployment, declares, [prayers; 
That pay is no object, so she can have 
And th' Establish'd Wine Company 

proudly gives out, [are devout. 
That the whole of the firm, Co. and all, 
Happy London, one feels, as one reads 

o'er the pages, [dant than sages ; 
Where Saiuts are so much more abun- 
Where Parsons may soon be all laid on 

the shelf, [for himself, 

Is each Cit can cite chapter and verse 
Ind the serious frequenters of market 

and dock 

nin and Ireland to commit one and the same 
verse of Scripture to memory every morning. 
Already, it is known, several thousand persons 
in Scotland, besides tens of thousands in 
America and Africa, axQ every morning learn- 
ing the same versed 

*■ The Evangelical Magazine. — A few speci- 
mens taken at random from the wrapper of 
ihis highly esteemed periodical will fully justify 
the character which Miss Fudge has here given 
of it. ' ' Wanted, in a pious pawnbroker's family, 
nn active lad as an apprentice." "Wanted, as 
housemaid, a young female who has been 
brought to a saving knowledge of the truth." 
" Wanted immediately, a man of decided piety, 
to assist in the baking business." " A gentle- 
man wlio understands the Wine Trade is de- 
sirous of entering into p.irtnership, &c., &c. 
He is not desirous of bein;^ connected with 
any one whose system of business is not of the 
strictest integrity as in the siglit of God, and 
seeks connection only with a truly pious man, 
either Churchman or Dissenter." 



All lay in religion as part of their stock.f 
Who can tell to what lengths we may 

go on improving, [keeps moving, 
WTien thus through all London the Spirit 
And heaven's so in vogue, that each 

shop adverfeement [skies meant? 
Is now not so much for the earth as the 

P. S. 
Have mislaid the two paragraphs — can't 

stop to look, [man and Cook, 
But both describe charming— both Foot- 
She, "decidedly pious" — with pathos 

deplores [on our shores ; 

Th' increase of French cookery and sin 
And adds— (while for further account 

she refers [hers,) 

To a great Gospel preacher, a cousin of 
That "though so we make their Sabbaths 

mere matter-of-fun days. 
She asks but for tea and the Gospel, on 

Sundays." [knowledge; — 

The footman, too, full of the trae saving 
Has late been to Cambridge— to Trinity 

CoUege ; [ing divinity, 

Served last a young gentleman, study- 
But left — not approving the morals of 

Trinity. 

P. S. 

I enclose, too, according to promise, 

some scraps [of my heart ; 

Of my Journal— that Day-book I keep 

Where, at some little item, (partaking, 

perhaps, [prudery may start. 

More of earth than of heaven, ) thy 

And suspect something tender, sly girl 

as thou art. [e'er may befall, 

For the present, I'm mute— but, what- 

t According to the lute Mr. Irving, there is 
even a peculiar form of tlicology got up ex- 
presslv for the money-market. "I know how 
far wfde," he says, " of the mark my views of 
Christ s work in the flesh will be viewed by 
tliose who are working with the stoek-joblnng 
theoloirv of the religions world." " Let these 
preacbe'rs, " he adds, (" for I will not call tliem 
theologians,) cry up, broker-like, their ai tide. ' 
Morning Watch.— ^io. iii., 44->, 44.3. 

From the statement of another writer, m the 
same publication, it would appear that the 
stock-brokers have even set up a new Divinity 
of their own. "This shows,' says the writer 
in question, "that the doctrine of the union 
between Christ and his members is quite as 
essential as that of substitution, by taking which 
latter alone the Stock-Exchange Divinity has 
been produced." — No. x., p. 375. 

Among the ancients, we know the money- 
market was provided with more than one pre- 
siding Deity—" DciB Pecunia) (says an ancient 
author) commcndabantur ut pccuiiioBi essent." 




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MOOEE'S WORKS. 



Recollect, dear, (in Hebrews, xiii. 4,) 

St. Paul [honorable in aU. " 

Hath himself declared, "Marriage is 



EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY. 

Monday. 
Tried a new Chale gown on — pretty. 
Ifo one to see me in it— pity ! 
Flew in a passion with Friz, my maid ;— 
The Lord forgive me ! — she look'd dis- 

may'd ; 
But got her to sing the 100th Psalm, 
While she curl'd my hair, which made 

me calm 
Nothing so soothes a Christian heart 
As sacred music — heavenly art ! 

Tuesday. 
At two, a visit from Mr. Magan — 
A remarkably handsome, nice young 
And, all Hibernian though he be, [man ; 
As civilized, strange to say, as we ! 

I own this young man's spiritual state 
Hath mucii engross'd my thoughts of 
late ; [gone 

And I mean, as soon as my niece is 
To have some talk with him thereupon. 
At present, I naught can do or say, 
But that troublesome child is in the way ; 
Nor is there, I think, a doubt that he"^ 

Would also her absence much prefer. 
As oft, while list'uing intent to me, [her. 

He's forced, from politeness, to look at 

Heigho!— what a blessing should Mr. 

Magan [man ; 

Turn out, after all, a " renew'd" young 
And to me should fall the task, on earth, 
To assist at the dear youth's second birth. 
Blest thought ! and, ah ! more blest the 

tie, [I— 

"Were it heaven's high will, that he and 
But I blush to write the nuptial word- 
Should wed, as St. Paul says, " in the 

Lord ;" [lant. 

Not this world's wedlock— gross, gal- 
But pure— as when Amram married his 

aunt. 

Our ages differ — but who would count 
One's natural sinful life's amount, 
Or look iu the Register's vulgar page 
For a regular twice-bom Christian's age, 
"Who, blessed privilege ! only then 
Begin's to live when he's born again. 

And, counting in this way— let me 
I myself but five years old shall be. 



And dear Magan, when th' event takes 

place. 
An actual new-bom child of grace — 
Should Heaven in mercy so dispose — 
A six-foot baby, in swaddling clothes. 

Wednesday. 
Finding myself, by some good fate, 
With Mr. Magan left tete-a-tcte, 
Had just begun — having stirr'd the fire, 
And di-awn my chair near his— to inquire 
What his notions were of Original Sm, 
When that naughty Fanny again 

bounced in ; 
And all the sweet things I had got to say 
Of the flesh and the devil were whisk'd 

away ! 

Much grieved to observe that Mr. Magan 
Is actually pleased and amused with 

Fan! 
What charms any sensible man can see 
In a child so foolishly young as she — 
But just eighteen, come next May-day, 
With eyes, like herself, full of naught 

but play — 
Is, I own, an exceeding puzzle to me. 



LETTER in. 



STAISTZAS (EKCLOSED 

TO MY SHADOW; OK, WHY ?— WHAT ?— HOW ? 

Dark comrade of my path ! while earth 

and sky [array'd, 

Thus wed their charms, in bridal light 

Why in this bright hour, walk'st thou 

ever nigh, [length of shade — 

Black'ning my footsteps with thy 

Dark comrade, Why ? 

Thou mimic Shape that, 'mid these flow- 
ery scenes, 
Glidest beside me o'er each suimy spot, 
Sadd'ningthem as thou goest— say, what 
means 
So dark an adjunct to so bright a lot- 
Grim goblin, What ? 

StOl, as to pluck sweet flowers I bend 
my brow, [I rise;— 

Thou bendest, too — then risest when 
Say, mute mysterious Thing ! how is't 
that thou 
Thus comest between me and those 
bless'd skies- 
Dim shadow, How ? 




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THE FUDGES YS E]S"GLAE"D. 



(ADDITIONAL STANZA, BY ANOTHER HAND.) 

Thus said I to that Shape, far less in 

grudge [ciied, 

Than gloom of soul ; while, as I eatrer 

Oh, Why/ What? How f — a Voice, 

that one might judge 

To be some Irish echo's, faint replied, 

Oh fudge, fudge, fudge ! 

You have here, dearest Coz, my last 
lyric effusion ; [ stanza, " 

And, with it, that odious "■ additional 
Which Aunt will insist I must keep, as 
conclusion, [Magan's;— a 

And which, you'll at once see, is Mr. 
Most cruel and dark-design'd extrava- 
ganza, [my Aunt are 
And part of that plot in which he and 
To stifle the flights of my genius by 
banter. 

Just so 'twas with Byron's young eagle- 
eyed strain, [critics, vain. 
Just so did they taunt him ; — but vain, 
All your efforts to saddle Wit's fire with 
a chain ! [young stream, 
To blot out the splendor of Fancy's 
Or crop, in its cradle, her newly-liedged 
beam ! ! ! [these lines I indite. 
Thou perceiv'st, dear, that, even while 
Thoughts bum, brilliant fancies break 
out, wrong or right, [spite ! 
And I'm all over poet, in Criticism's 

That my Aunt, who deals only in Psalms, 
and regards [all bards — 

Messrs. Stenihold and Co. as the lii-.st of 
That slic should make light of my works 
I can't blame ; [ — what a shame ! 
But that nice, handsome, odious Magan 
Do you know, dear, that, high as on 
most points I rate him, [him. 
I'm really afraid — after all, I — WMsihute 
He is so provoking — naught's safe from 
his tongue ; [young. 

He spares no one authoress, ancient or 
Were you Sappho herself, and in Keep- 
sake or Bijou [he'd quiz you ! 
Once shone as contributor. Lord how 
He laughs at all Monthlies— I've actu- 
ally seen [zinc !— 
A sneer on his brow at the Coml Maga- 
While of Weeklies, poor things, there's 
Init one he peruses, [abuses. 
And buys every book which that Weekly 
But I care not how others such sarcasm 
may fear, [sneer ; 
One spirit, at least, will not bend to his 



And though tried by the fire, my young 
genius shaU burn as [nace ! 

Uninjm-ed as crucified gold in the fur- 

(I suspect the word "crucified" must 
be made " crucible," [ducible.) 

Before this fine image of mine is pro- 

And now, dear— to teU you a secret 
which, pray [you may — 

Only trust to such friends as with safety 

You know, and indeed the whole Coun- 
ty suspects, [things rejects,) 

(Though the Editor often my best 

That the verses signed so, ^W, which 
you now and then see [by me. 

In our County Gazette (vide last) are 

But 'tis dreadful to think what provolf- 
iug mistakes [ody makes. 

The vile country Press in one's pros- 

For you know, dear — I may, without 
vanity, hint — \dcKils must print ; 

Though au angel should write, still 'tis 

And you can't think what havoc these 
demons sometimes. 

Choose to make of one's sense, and 
what's worse, of one's rhymes. 

But a week or two since, in my Ode upon 
Spring, [beautiful thing, 

Which I meant to have made a most 

Where I talk'd of the "dew-di-ops irom 
freshly-blown roses," 

The nasty things made it "from fresh- 
ly-blown noses !" 

And once when, to please my cross 
Aunt, I had tried. 

To commemorate some saint of her 
clique, who'd just died. 

Having said he " had tak'n up uiheaven 
his position,'' [his physician !" 

They made it he'd " taken up to heaven 

This is very disheartening ; — Ijut bright- 
er days shine, [the Nine ; 

I rejoice, love, to say, both for me and 

For, what do you think ?— so delightful ! 

next year, [news prepare — 

Oh, prepare, dearest gu'l, for the grand 

I'm to write in the Keepsake — yes, Kit- 
ty, my dear, [you're there i! 
To write in the Keepsake, as sure as 

T'other night, at a Ball, 'twas my fortu- 
nate chance [dance. 

With a Ycry nice elderly Dandy to 

Who, 'twas plain, from some bints which 
I now and then caught, 

Was the author of something — one 
couldn't tell what : 




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G80 



MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



But his satisfied manner left no room for 

doubt [lately brought out. 

It was something that Colburn had 

We conversed of belles-lettres through 
all the quadrille,— [still ; 

Of poetrj', dancing, of prose, standing 
Talk'd of Intellect's march — whether 
right 'twas or wrong — [ew avant. 
And then settled the point in a bold 
In the course of this talk 'twas that, 
having just hinted [to be printed, 
That I too had Poems which — long'd 
He protested, kind man, he had seen, 
at first sight, [write. 

I was actually hum in the Keepsake to 
■ ' In the Annals of England, let some," 
he said, " shine, [thine. 

" But a place in her Annuals, Lady, be 
"Even now futm-e Keepsakes seem 
brightly to rise, [on those eyes, — 
" Through the vista of years, as I gaze 
"AJI letter'd andpress'd, and of large- 
paper size !'' [ius would smother. 
How -auUke that Magan, who my gen- 
And how we, true geniuses, find out 
each other ! 

This, and much more he said, with that 

fine phrensied glance, 

One so rarely now sees, as we slid 

through the dance ; [next year, 

TOI between us 'twas finally fix'd, that. 

In this exquisite task I my pen should 

engage ; [lisp'd in my ear 

And, at parting, he stoop'd down and 

These mystical words, which I could 

but /M6< hear, 

"Terms for rhyme — if it's prime — 

ten and sixpence per page. " 

Think, Kitty, my dear, if I heard his 

words right, [small head contains; 

What a mint of half-guineas this 

If for nothing to write is itself a delight, 

Te Gods, what a bUss to be paid for 

one's strains ! 

Having dropp'd the dear feUow a court'- 

sy profound, [I ran ; 

Off at once, to inquire all about him. 

And from what I could learn, do you 

know, dear, I've found 

That he's quite a new species of Hter- 

ary man ; [fashion accustom us ? 

One, whose task is— to what wiU not 

* "With regard to the exact time of this event, 
there appears to be a difference only of about 
two or three years among the respective calcu- 
lators. M. Alphonse Nicole, Docteur en Droit, 



To edite live authors, as if they were 
posthumous. [the oddest !— 

For instance— the plan, to be sure, is 
If auy young he or she author feels mod- 
est [man-usher 
In venturing abroad, this kind gentle- 
Lends promptly a hand to the interest- 
ing blusher ; [to light. 
Indites a smooth Preface, biings merit 
Which else might, by accident, shrink 
out of sight, [ics polite. 
And, in short, renders readers and crit- 
My Aunt says — though scarce on such 

points one can credit her — 
He was Lady Jane Thingumbob's last 

novel's editor. 
'Tis certain the fashion's but newly in- 
vented ; [and all names is. 
And, quick as the change of all things 
Who knows but, as authors, like girls, 
are presented, [James's ? 
We girls, may be edited soon at St. 

I must now close my letter — there's 

Aunt, in full screech. 
Wants to take me to hear some great 
Irvingite preach. [I must say, 
God forgive me, I'm not much inclined. 
To go and sit still to be preach'd at, to- 
day, [ing, no doubt. 
And, besides— 'twill be all against danc- 
Which my poor Aunt abhors, with such 

hatred devout, 
That, so far from presenting young 

nymphs with a head, 
For their skill in the dance, as of He- 
rod is said, [ter, instead . 
She'd wish their own heads in the plat- 
There, again — coming. Ma'am ! — I'll 

write more, if I can. 
Before the post goes, 

Your afi'ectionate Pan. 

Four o'clock. 

Such a sermon !— though not about dan- 
cing, my dear ; [being near. 
'Twas only on th' end of the world 
Eighteen Hundred and Forty's the year 
that some state [Forty-Eight :* 
As the rime for that accident — some 
And I own, of the two, I'd prefer much 
the latter, ['twon't matter. 
As then I shall be an old maid, and 

et Avocat, merely doubts whether it is to be in 
]84<i or 1847. "A eette ^poque," he says, " les 
fidelcs pcuVent esp(5rer de voir s'eiFectuer la 
purification du Sanctnaire." 



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THE FUDGES m EJ^GLAND. G8^ 



Once more, love, good-by — I've to make 
a new cap ; 

But am now so dead tired with this hor- 
rid mishap 

Of the end of the world, that I must 
take a nap. 



LETTER IV. 



He comes from Erin's speechful shore 
Like fervid kettle, bubbling o'er 

With hot effusions — hot and weak ; 
Sound, Humbug, all your hoUowest 

di'ums, 
He comes, of Erin's martyrdoms 

To Britain's weU-fed Church to speak. 
Puff him, ye Journals of the Lord,* 
'Twin prosers, Watchman and Eecord ! 
Journals reserved for realms of bliss, 
Being much too good to sell in this. 
Prepare, ye wealthier Saints, your din- 
ners, [crumpets ; 

Te Spinsters, spread your tea and 
And you, ye countless Tracts for Sin- 
ners, 

Blow all your little penny trumpets. 
He comes, the reverend man, to tell 

To all who still the Church's part take, 
Tales of parsonic wo, that well 

Might make ev'n grim Dissenter's 
heart ache :^ 
Of ten whole Bishops snatch'd away 
Forever from the light of day ; 
(With God knows, too, how many more. 
For whom that doom is yet in store) — 
Of Rectors, cruelly compell'd 

From Bath and Cheltenham to haste 
home, 
Because the tithes, by Pat withheld, 

Will notX,o Bath or Cheltenham come; 
N'or will the flocks consent to pay 
Their parsons thus to stay away • — 
Though, with such parsons, one may 

doubt 
If 'tisn't money, well laid out ; — 
Of all, in short, and each degree 
Of that once happy Hierarchy, 

Which used to roll in wealth so 
pleasantly ; 
But now, alas, is doom'd to see 

Its surplus brought to nonplus pres- 
ently ! 

* " Our anxious desire is to be found on the 
side of the Lord." — Becord Newspaper. 



Such are the themes this man of pathos 
Priest of prose and Lord of bathos. 

Will preach and preach t'ye, till 

you're dull again ; " [claim. 

Then, hail him, Saints, with joint ac- 

Shout to the stars his tuneful name, 

ffTiich Murtagh was, ere known to fame, 

But now is Mortimer O'MuUigan ! 

All true, Dick, true as you're alive— 
I've seen him, some hours since, arrive. 
Murtagh is come, the great Itinerant — 

And Tuesday, in the market-place. 
Intends, to every saint and sinner in't, 
To state what he calls Ireland's Case; 
Meaning thereby the case oihis shop,— 
Of curate, vicar, rector, bishop, 
And all those other grades seraphic. 
That make men's souls their special 

traffic. 
Though caring not a pin icMch way 
Th' erratic souls go, so they jjrty. — 
Just, as some roguish comiUy nurse. 

Who takes a foundling bal)e to suckle. 
First pops the payment in her purse. 
Then leaves poor dear to— suck it? 

knuckle. 
Even so these reverend rigmaroles 
Pocket the money — starve the souls. 
Murtagh, however, in his glory. 
Will tell, next week, a different story ; 
Will make out all these men of barter. 
As each a saint, a downright martyr. 
Brought to the stake— i. e. a hecf one ; 
Of all their martyrdoms the chief one ; 
Though try them even at this, they'll 

bear it, 
[f tender and wash'd down with claret. 

Meanwhile Miss Fudge, who loves all 
lions, ['uns— 

Tour saintly, next to great and high 
(A Viscount, be he what he may. 
Would cut a Saint out, any day,) 
Has just announced a godly rout, 
Where Murtagh's to be first brought out, 
And shown in his tame, week-day 

state :— 
" Prayers, half-past seven, tea at eight." 
Even so the circular missive orders — 
Pink cards, with cherabs round the 
borders. 

Haste, Dick— you're lost, if you lose 
time; 

Spinsters at forty-five grow giddy. 
And Murtagh, with his tropes subllms- 

WiU surely carry off old Biddj, 




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MOORE'S WORKS 



Unless some spark at once propose, 
And distance him by downright prose. 
That sick, rich squire, whose wealth and 

lands 
All pass, they say, to Biddy's hands, 
(The patron, Dick, of three fat rectories !) 
Is dying of angina pectoris ; — 
So that, unless you're stirring soon, 

Murtagh, that priest of putf and pelf, 
May come in for a honey-wioow, 

And be the man of it, himself! 

As for me, Dick — 'tis whim, 'tis folly, 
But this young niece absorbs me wholly. 
'Tis true, the girl's a vile verse-maker — 

Would rhyme all nature, if you'd let 
her •, — 
But even her oddities, plague take her, 

But make me love her all the better. 
Too true it is, she's bitten sadly 
With this new rage for rhjming badly. 
Which late hath seized all ranks and 

classes, 
Down to that new Estate, "the masses;" 

Till one pursuit all taste combines — 
One common raikoad o'er Parnassus, 
Where, sliding in those tuneful grooves, 
Call'd couplets, all creation moves. 

And the whole world runs mad in 
lines. 

Add to all this — what's even still worse 
As rhyme itself, though still a curse. 
Sounds better to a chinking purse- 
Scarce sixpence hath my charmer got, 
While I can muster just a groat ; 
So that, computing self and Venus, 
Tenpence would clear th' amount be- 
tween us. 

However, things may yet prove better; — 
Meantime, that awful length of letter ! 
And how, while heaping thus with gibes 
The Pegasus of modern scribes. 
My own small hobby of farrago [go ! 
Hath beat the pace "at which even they 



LETTER Y. 

FROM LARRY O'BKANNIOAN, IN ENGLAND, TO HIS 
WIFE JODY, AT MULLINAFAD. 

Dear Judy, I sind you this bit of a 
letther, [ofabetther— 

By mail-coach conveyance— for want 

To tell you what luck in this world I 
have had [fad. 

Since I left the sweet cabin, at MuUina- 



Och, Judy, that night ! — when the pig 

which we meant [the rent. 

To dry-nurse in the parlor, to pay off 

Julianna, the craythur — that name was 

the death of her* — 
Gave us the shiip and we saw the last 
breath of her ! [cent sowls, 

And there were the childher, six inno- 
For their nate Httle play-fellow tuning 
up howls ; [grievin's a folly,) 
While yourself, my dear Judy, (though 
Stud over Julianna's remains melan- 
choly — [for the money, 
Cryin', half for the craythur, and half 
" Arrah, why did ye die till we'd sowl'd 
you, my honey 1" 

But God's will be done !— and then, 

faith, sure enough, [time to be off. 
As the pig was desaiced, 'twas high 
So we gother'd up aU the poor duds we 

could catch [in the thatch, 

Lock'd the owld cabin-door, put the kay 
Then tuk laave of each other's sweet 

lips in the dark, [out of the Ark ; 
And set off, Hke the Chrishtians turu'd 
The six childher with you, my dear 

Judy, ochone I [alone. 

And poor I wid myself, left condolin' 

How I came to this England, o'er say 

and o'er lands, [on my hands, 
And what cruel hard walkin' I've had 
Is, at this present writin', too tadious to 

speak, [week : — 

So I'll mintion it all in a postscript, next 
Only starved I was, surely, as thin as a 

lath, [call Bath, 

Till I came to an up-and-down place they 
Where, as luck was, I managed to make 

a meal's meat, [the street— 

By dhraggin' owld ladies all day through 
Which their docthors (who pocket, like 

fun, the pound starlins) 
Have brought into fashion to plase the 

owld darUns. [could carry 

Div'l a boy in all Bath, though / say it, 
The grannies up hill half so handy as 

Larry ; [crows, in the air, 

And the higher they lived like owld 
The more / was wanted to lug them up 

there. 

* The Irish peasantry are very fond of giving 
fine names to their pigs. I have heard of one 
instance in which a couple of younjr piss wore 
named, at their birth, Aoelard and Eloisa. 




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THE FUDGES m ESTGLAKD. 



But luck has two handles, dear Judy, 

they say, [wrong way. 

And mine has both handles put on the 
For, poudherin', one mom, ou a drame 

I'd just had [fad, 

Of yourself and the babbies, at MuDina- 
Och, there came o'er my sinses so plasiu' 

a flutther, [in the gutther, 

That I spilt an owld Countess right clane 
Mufi", feathers and all ! — the descint was 

most awful, 
And— what was still worse, faith— I 

knew 'twas unlawful : 
For though, with mere women, no very 

great evil, [divil ! 

T' upset an owld Countess in Bath is the 
So, liftin' the chair, with herself safe 

upon it, [bonnet,) 

(For nothin' about her was kilt, but her 
Without even mentionin' "By your 

lave, ma'am," [am! 

I tuk to my heels and — ^here, Judy, I 

What's the name of this town I can't say 
very well, [hear what befell 

But your heart sure will jamp when you 
Your own beautiful Larry, the very first 
day, [gay,) 

(And a Sunday it was, shinin' out mighty 
VVTieu his brogues to this city of luck 
found their way [ui' to stop, 

Bein' hungry, God help me, aud happen- 
Just to diue on the shmell of a pastry- 
cook's shop, [paper, 
I saw, in the window a large printed 
And read there a name, och ! that made 
my heart caper— [A B C, 
Though printed it was in some quare 
That might bother a schoolmasther, let 
alone me. [you've but listeu'd, 
By gor, you'd have laugh'd, Judy, could 
As, doubtin', I cried, • ' why it is / — no, 
it isn't;" [quite slow, 
But it was, after aU — for, by speUin' 
First I made out " Rev. Mortimer "— 

then a great "0;" 
AjxA, at last, by hard readin' and rackin' 
my sTiull again, [ligan !" 

Ont it came, nate as imported, " O'Mul- 

Up I jump'd like a sky-lark, my jewel, 
at that name, — [be the same. 

Div'I a doubt on my mind, bat it must 

" Masther Murthagh, himself," says I, 
" all the world over I 

"My own fosther-brother — by jinks, 
I'm in clover. 



•' Though there, in the play -bill, he fig- 
ures so grand, [up by hand, 
"One wet-nurse it was brought us hoth 
"And he'll not let me shtarve in the 
iuemy's land !" 

"Well, to make a long hishtory short, 

niver doubt [lad out ; 

But I managed, in no time, to find the 
And the joy of the meetin' bethuxt him 

and me, [charmin'to see. 

Such a pair of owld cumrogues — was 
Nor is Murthagh less plased with th' 

evint than I am, de-sham ; 

As he just then was wanting a YaUey- 
Aud, for dressin' a gintleman, one way 

or t'other, [other. 

Your nate Irish lad is beyant every 

But now, Judy, comes the quare part 

of the case ; [ou my place, 

And, in throth, it's the only dra^vback 
'Twas Murthagh's ill luck to be cross'd, 

as you know, [short time ago ; 
With an awkward misfortune some 
That's to say, he tum'd Protestant— 

why, I can't lam ; [my cousam. 
But, of coorse, he kuew best, and it's not 
All I know is,, we both were good Cath'- 

lics, at nurse, [ther nor worse. 
And myself am so still— nayther bet- 
Well, our bargain was all right and tigh. 

inajiffey, llAS'ey, 

And lads morecontint never yet left the 
When Murthagh — or Morthimer, as he's 

notv chrishen'd, Ihc isn't— 

His name being convarted, at laist, if 
Lookin' sly at me (faith, 'twas divartm' 

to see) [ry,"says he, 

" Of coorse, you're a Protestant, Lar- 
Upon which says myself, wid a wink 

just as shly, [says I ;— 

''Is't a Protestant?— oh yes, lam, sir," 
And there the chat ended, and div'l a 

more word [occurr'd. 

Controvarsial between us has since then 

What Murthagh could mane, and, in 

troth, Judy, dear, [mighty clear; 
"What I myself meant, doesn't seem 
But the thruth is, though still for the 

Owld Light a stickler, 
I was just then too shtarved to be over 

partic'lar : — 
And, God knows, between us, a comio'- 

ler pair 
Of twin Protestants couldn't be seen 

any where. 




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6«4 



MOORE'S "W^ORKS. 



Next Tuesda;^ (as towld in the play -bills 
I mintion'd, [tion'd) 

Address'd to the loyal and godly intin- 
His rivirenee, my master, comes for- 
ward to preach, — [or speech, 
Myself doesn't know whether eannon 
But it's all one to him, he's a dead hand 
at each ; [in orations 

Like us, Paddys, in gin'ral, whose skill 
Quite bothers the blarney of all other 
nations. 

But whisht!— there's Ms Rivirenee, 

shoutiu' out "Larry," 
And son-a a word more will this snmall 
paper carry ; [letther. 

So, here, Judy, ends my short bit of a 
"Which, faix, I'd have made a much big- 
ger and betther, [town 
But div'l a one Post-office hole in this 
Fit to swallow a dacent-sized billy-dux 
down. [I love her ; 
So good luck to the childer ! — teU Molly, 
Ess Oouagh's sweet mouth, and kiss 
Katty all oyer — [raut whiskey 
Not forgettin' the mark of the red cur- 
She got at the fair when yourself was so 
frisky. [when I can again, 
The heavens be your bed ! — I will write 
rours to the world's end, 

Larrt O'Branigan. 



LETTER VL 



How I grieve you're not with ns! — 
pray, come, if you can, [man. 
Ere we're robb'd of this dear oratorical 
Who combines in himself all the multi- 
ple glory iand Tory ;— 
Of Orangeman, Saint, quondam Papist 
(Choice mixture i like that fi'om which, 

duly confounded, 

The best sort of brass was, in old times, 

compounded)— [godly, 

The sly and the saintly, the worldly and 

All fused down in brogue so deliciouslj' 

oddly ! [ces draws. 

In short, he's a dear — and such audien- 

Such loud peals of laughter and shouts 

of applause, [cause. 

As can't but do good to the Protestant 

Poor dear Irish Church ! — he to-day 

sketch'd a view [least new, 

Of her history and prospects, to me at 



And which (if it takes as it ought) must 
arouse [to espouse. 

The whole Christian world her just rights 
As to reasoning — you know, dear, that's 
now of no use, [tires produce, 
People still will their facts and dry Jig- 
As if saving the souls of a Protestant 
flock were [Cocker !" 

A thing to be managed " according to 
In vain do we say, (when rude radicals 
hector [Rector, 

At paying soiue thousands a year to a 
In places where Protestants never yet 
were,) [may be born there V 
"Who knows but young Protestants 
And granting such accident, think, what 
a shame, [they came I 

If they didn't find Rector and Clerk when 
It is clear that, without such a staff on 
full pay, [astray; 

These little Church embryos must go 
And, while fools are computing what 

Parsons would cost. 
Precious souls are meanwhile to th' Es- 
tablishment lost ! 

In vain do we put the case sensibly 
thus ;- - [make a fuss, 

They'll still with their figures and facta 
And ask, "if, while all, choosing each 
his own road, [Heavenly Abode, 
" Journey on, as we can, towards the 
"It is right that seven eighths of th« 

travellers should pay 
" For one eighth that goes quite a dif- 
ferent way?" — [in reality. 
Just as if, foolish people, this wasn't, 
A proof of the Church's extreme liberal- 
ity, [respects. 
That, though hating Popery in other 
She to Catholic money in no way ob- 
jects ; [this sense, 
And so liberal her very best Saints, in 
That they even go to heaven at the 
Catholic's expense. 

But, though clear to our minds aU these 

arguments be, [see ; 

People cannot or will not their cogency 
And, I grieve to confess, did the poor 

Irish Church [in the lui-ch. 

Stand on reasoning alone, she'd be left 
It was therefore, dear Lizzy, with joy 

most sincere, [thing we've here, 
That I heard this nice Reverend 0' some- 
Producc, from the depths of his knowl- 

eJge and reading, [exceeding, 
A view of that marvellous Church, fat 



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THE PUDGES IN" EN"GLAOT). 



In novelty, force, and profoundness of 

thought, [taught. 

All that Irving himself, in his glory, e'er 

Looking through the whole history, pres- 
ent and past, [to the last ; 
Of the Irish Law Church, from the first 
Considering how strange its original 
bu-th— [on earth- 
Such a thing having never before been 
How opposed to the instinct, the law, 
and the force [course; 
Of nature and reason has been its whole 
Through centuries encount'ring repug- 
nance, resistance, 
Scorn, hate, execration — yet stiU in ex- 
istence ! [draws 
Considering all this, the conclusion he 
Is that Nature exempts this one Church 

from her laws — 
That Keason, dumb-founder'd, gives 

up the dispute, 
And before the portentous anomaly 
stands mute ; — \_once begun. 
That, in short, 'tis a Mu-acle !— and, 
And transmitted through ages from fa- 
ther to son, [on. 
For the honor of miracles, ought to go 

Koi yet was conclusion so cogent and 
sound, [confound. 

Or So fitted the Church's weak foes to 
For, observe, the more low aU her mer- 
its they place, [case, 
The more they make out the miraculous 
And the more all good Christians must 
deem it profiine [rei^n. 
To disturb such a prodigy's marvellous 

As for scriptural proofs, he quite 
placed beyond doubt 

That the wboie in the Apocalypse may 
be found out. 

As clear and well-proved, he would 
venture to ^wear, [there : — 

A^ anything else has been ever found 

Av'hile the mode in which, bless the 
dear fellow, he deals 

With that whole lot of vials and trum- 
pets and seals, [strings, 

And the ease with which vial on vial he 

Shows him quite a first-rate at all these 
sort of things. 

So much for theology :— as for th' affairs 
Of this temporal world- -the light, draw- 
ing-room cares 
And gay toils of the toilet, which, God 
knows, I seek. 



From no love of such things, but in 
humbleness meek. 

And to be, as th' Apostle was, "weak 
with the weak," 

Thou wilt find quite enough (till I'm 
somewhat less busy) 

In th' extracts enclosed, my dear news- 
loving Lizzy. 



EXTRACTS FROM MY DIART. 

Thursday. 

Last m'ght, having naught more holy to 
do, [new, 

"Wrote a letter to dear Sir Andrew Ag- 
About the '*Do-notMng-on-Sunday- 
Club," [dub :— 

Which we wish by some shorter name to 
As the use of more vowels and conso- 
nants [wants, 
Than a Christian, on Sunday, really 
Is a grievance that ought to be done 

away, 
And the Alphabet left to rest, that day. 

Sunday. 
Sir Andrew's answer! — but, shocking 

to say. 
Being frank'd unthinkingly yesterday, 
To the horrcr of Aguews yet unborn. 
It arrived on this blessed Sunday 

mom! ! — 
How shocking! — the postman's self 
cried "sha,me on't," [on't ! ! 

Seeing th' immaculate Andrew's name 
What will the Club do!— meet, no 
doubt. [vout, 

'Tis a matter that touches the Class De- 
And the friends of the Sabbath must 
out. 

Tuesday. 

Saw to-day, at the raffle— and saw it with 

pain— [dress plain. 

That those stylish Fitzwigrams begin to 
Even gay little Sophy smart trimmings 

renounces — 
She, who long has stood by me through 

all sorts of flounces. 
And show'd, by upholding the toilet's 

sweet rites, [out being frights. 
That we, girls, may be Christians, with- 
This, I own, much alarms me; for 

though one's religious. 
And strict and— all that, there's no 

need to be hideous ; [the way 
And why a nice bonnet should stand in 
Of one's going to heaven, 'tisn't easy to 

say. 




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MOORE'S -VV^ORKS. 




Then, there's Gimp, the poor thmg— if 
her custom we drop, 

Pray, w hat s to become of her soul 
and her shop 1 [ders are given. 

If by saints hke ourselves no more or- 

She'Ulose all the interest she now takes 
in heaven ; [from the burning," 

And this nice little '• fire-brand, pluck'd 

May fall in again at the very next turn- 
ing. 

Wednesday. 

Mem. — To write to the India-Mission 
Society ; 

And send £20— heavy tax upon piety ! 

Of all Indian luxuries we now-a-days 
boast, [haps costs the most. 

Making " Company's Christians"* per- 
And the worst of it is, that these con- 
verts full grown, [their own,i 
Having lived in our faith, mostly die in 
Praying hard, at the last, to some god 
who, they say, [curds and whey.J 
When incarnate on earth, used to steal 
Think how honid, my dear ! — so that's 
all thrown away ; [the rice 

And (what is still worse) for the rum and 
They consumed, while believers, we 
saints pay the price. 

Still 'tis cheering to find that we do save 
a few— [nau^cadoo; 

The Report gives six Christians lor Cun- 
Doorkotchum reckons seven, and four 
Trevandi-um, [padum. 

While but one and a half's left at Gooroo- 
In this last-mentiou'd place 'tis the bar- 
bers enslave 'em, 
For, once they turn Christians, no bar- 
ber will shave 'em.§ 

To atone for this rather small Heathen 
amount, [ tack'd to th' account. 

Some Papists, turn'd Christians, || are 

And though, to catch Papists, one 
needn't go so far, [they are ; 

Such fish are worth hooking, wherever 

* The title piven by the natives to such of 
their countrymen as beconie converts. 

t Of such relapses we find innumerable in- 
stances in the accounts of the ISIissionaries. 
I J The frod Krishna, one of tlie incarnations 
K)f the god Visluiu. "One day (says the Bliaga 
vata) Krishna's play-fellows compliiiued to 
Tasnda that he had pilfered and ate their 
curds." 

§ " Roteen wants shaving ; but the barber 
hero will not do it. He is run away lest he 
should be compelled. He says he will not 



And now, when so great of such converts 

the lack is, [ of Elackies. 

One Papist well caught is worth milhons 

Friday. 

Last night had a di'eam so odd and 
funny, 
I cannot resist recording it here, — 
Methought that the Genius of Matri- 
mony 
Before me stood, with a joyous leer. 
Leading a husband in each hand, 
And botli for me, which look'd rather 
queer ;— 
One I could perfectly understand. 
But why there were two wasn't quite 
so clear. 
'Twas meant, however, I soon could see, 
To afford me a choice— a. most excel- 
lent plan ; [dates be, 
And — who should this brace of caudi- 
But Messrs. O'MuUigan and Magan : — 
A thing, I suppose, unheard of till then, 
To dream, at once, of two Irishmen ! — 
That handsome Magan, too, with wiugs 
on his shoulders, [Bless'd,) 
(For all this pass'd in the realms of the 
And quite a creatm'e to dazzle behold- 
ers; [di'ess'd 
"WTiile even O'MuUigan, feather'd and 
As an elderly cherub, was looking his 
best. [doubt 
Ah Liz, you, who know me, scarce cau 
As to ivhich of the two I singled out. 
But — awful to tell — when, all in dread 
Of losing so bright a visiou's charms, 
I grasp'd at Magan, his image fled. 
Like a mist away, and I found but the 
head [arms! 
Of O'MuUigan, wings and all, in my 
The Angel had flown to some nest di- 

vme, 
And the elderly Cherub alone was mine ! 
Heigho !— it is certain that foolish Ma- 
gan [be the man; 
Either can't or won't see that he might 

shave Tesoo Kreest's people." — Bapt. Mission 
Society, vol. ii. p. 4UJ. 

II In the Reports of the Missionaries, the 
Roman Catholics are almost always classed 
along with the Heathen. "I have extended 
my labors (says James Venning, in a Report for 
1831) to the Heathen, Mahomedaus, and Roman 
Catholics.'' ''The Heathen and Roman Catho- 
lics in this neighborhood (says another mission- 
ary for the year 18.32) are not indifferent, but 
withstand, rather than yield to. the force of 
truth." 



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THE FUDGES IN" El^GLAOT). 687 



And, perhaps, dear — who knows ?— if 

naught better befall all. 

But— O'Mulligan may bo the man after 

KB. 
Next week mean to have my first scrip- 
tural rout, [vout; — 
For the special discussion of matters de- 
Like those soirees, at Powerscourt, * so 

justly renowu'd 
for the zeal with which doctrine and 

negus went round ; 
Those theology routs which the pious 

Lord R — d— n, [mode in; 

That pink of Christianity, first set the 
"Where, blessed down-pouring ! h fi-om 

tea until nine, [line ; — 

The subjects lay all in the Prophecy 
Then, supper — and then, if for topics 

hard di-iven, [was given; 

From thence until bed-time to Satan 
While K — d — u, deep read in each topic 

and tome, [at home. 

On all subjects (especially the last) was 



LETTER YIL 



IRREGULAR ODE. 

•^RiNG me the slumbering souls of flow- 
ers, [sky, 
While yet, beneath some northern 

Cngilt by beams, ungemm'd by show- 
ers, 

They wait the breath of summer hours, 



Aa account of these Powerscourt Conver- 
(under the direct presidency of Lord 
Roden,) as well as a list of the subjects dis- 
cussed at the ditferent meetings, may be found 
in the Christian Herald for the month of De- 
cember, 18:i2. The following is a specimen of 
the nature of tlie question submitted to the 
company: — '•Monday Evening, Six o'clock, 
September 24, ] 832.— 'An examination into the 
quotations^ given in the New Testament from 
the Old, with their connection and explanation, 
viz. &c , &c.' — Wednesday. — 'Should we ex- 
pect a personal Antichrist ? and to whom will 
he be revealed?' &c., &c.— Friday.— ' What 
light does Scripture throw on present events, 
and their moral character ? What is next to be 
looked for or expected ?' " &c. 

Th(^ rapid progress made at these tea-parties 
in settling points of Scripture, may be judged 
from p paragraph in the account given of one 
of thcu- evenings, by the Christian Herald :— 

" On Daniel a good deal of light was thrown, 
and there was some, I think not so much, per- 



To wake to light each diamond eye, 
And let loose every florid sigh ! 

Bring me the flrst-bora ocean waves, 
From out those deep primeval caves- 
Where fi-om t"he dawn of Time they've 

lain — 
The Embryos of a future Main — 
Untaught as yet, young things, to speak 

The language of then* Parent Sea, 
(Polyphlysbfeant named in Greek,) 
Though soon, too soon, in bay and 
creek, [peak, 

Round startled isle and wondering 

They'll thunder loud and long as He! 

Bring me, from Hecla's iced abode, 
Young fires 

I had got, dear, thus far m my Ode, 

Intending to fill the whole page to the 

bottom, [things. 

But, having invoked such a lot of fine 

Flowers, billows and thunderbolts, 

rainbows and wings, 

Didn't know what to do with 'em, when 

I had got 'em. [this minute, 

The truth is, my thoughts are too full at 

Of past MSS. any new ones to try. 
This very night's coach brings my des- 
tiny in it— [or to die' 
Decides the great question, to live or 
And, whether I'm henceforth immortal 
or no, ^ [and Co. 
AU depends on the answer oi" Simpkins 
You'll think, love, I rave, so 'tis best to 
let out 



haps, upon the Revelations; though particular 
parts of it were discussed with considerable 
accession of knowledge. There was some very 
interesting inquiry as to the quotation of the 
Old Testament in the New, particularly on the 
point, whether there was any 'accommoda- 
tion,' or whether they were quoted according 
to the mind of the Spirit in the Old: this gave 
occasion to some very iutere.sting develop- 
ment of Scripture. The progress of the Anti- 
christian powers was very fnlly discussed.'' 

t "About eight o'clock tlic Lord began to 
pour down his spirit copiously npou us—for 
they had all by tins time assembled in my room 
for the purpose of prayer. This downpouring 
continued till about ten o'clock." — Letter from 
Mary Campbell to the Rev. Jolin Campbell, of 
Row, (dated Fernicary, April 4, IS.'iO,) giving 
an account of her " miVaeulous cure." 

J Jf you guess wliat this word means, 'tis 
more than I can : — 
I but give't as I got it from Mr. Magan. 
F- V. 




JHIIllllllllllllllllinilllllllllllllllllllllllllUlllllllllllIllllIlllllltlllllllllllHIIIlllllllIl 




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MOORE'S WORKS. 



The -whole secret, at once— I have 
publish'd a Book ! ! 1 [doubt, 

Yes, an actual Book :— if the marvel you 
You have only in last Monday's Cour- 
ier to look, 

And you'll find " This day publish'd 
by Simpkins and Co. [ ' Wo Wo !' 

" A ■[t<)mauut, in twelve Cantos, entitled 

" By Miss Fanny F , known more 

commonly so ^^"." 

This 1 put that" my friends mayn't be 
left in the dark, [ing my mark. 

But n,ay guess at my writing by know- 

How 1 managed, at last, this gi-eat deed 

to achieve, 
Is its«5lf a "Romaunf which you'd 

,5carce, dear, believe ; 
Nor chJi I just now, being all in a whirl, 
LookiL^ out for the Magnet,* explain it, 

dear gu-1. [pense 

Suffice it to say, that one half the ex- 
Of this leasehold of fame, for long cen- 

vuries hence — 
(Tiioujh " God knows," as aunt says, my 

iumble ambition [Edition,)— 
Aspires not beyond a small Second 
One hair' the whole cost of the paper 

and printing, [past, by stinting 
I've rai^naged to scrape up, the year 
My owii little wants in gloves, ribands, 

itud shoes, [Muse ! 

Thus defrauding the toilet to fit out the 

And wDo, my dear Kitty, would not do 

the same ! [breath of fame ? 

What's eau de Cologne to the sweet 
Yards of riband soon end — but the 

measures of rhyme, 
Dipp'd in hues of the rainbow, stretch 

out through all time, [after pair. 
Gloves languish and fade away, pair 
While couplets shine out, but the 

brighter for wear, [ning is gone, 
And the dancing-shoe's gloss in an eve- 
While light-footed lyrics through ages 

trip on. 

The remaining expense, trouble, risk 

and, alas ! [hands pass ; 

My poor copyright too — into other 
And my friend, the Head Dev'l of the 

"County Gazette," 

(The only Mecsenas I've ever had yet,) 

He who set up in type my first juvenile 

lays, [days ; 

Is now set up by them for the rest of his 

* A day-coach of that name. 



And while Gods (as my "Heathen My- 
thology" says) 
Live on naught but ambrosia, Ms lot 

how much sweeter [metre ! 

To live, lucky dev'l, on a young lady's 
As for puffing — that first of all lit'rary 

boons, [balloons — 

And essential alike both to bards and 
As, unless well supplied with inflation, 

'tis found [from the ground ; — 
ITeither bards nor balloons budge an inch 
In this respect, naught could more pros- 

p'rous befall ; [can I call) 

As my friend (for no less this kind imp 
Knows the whole world of critics — the 

hypers and all. [rhyme, 

T suspect he himself, indeed, dabbles in 
Which, for imps diabolic, is not the first 

time ; [known among Gnostics, 
As I've heard uncle Bob say, 'twas 
That the Dev'l on Two Sticks was a 

dev'l at Acrostics. 

But hark ! there's the Magnet just 

dash'd in from Town — 
How my heart, Kitty, beats! I shall 

surely drop down. [nsum, 

That awful Coiu-t Journal, Gazette, Athe- 
All full of my book— I shall sink when 

I see 'em. (Simpkins and Co. 
And then the gi-eat point — whether 
Are actually pleased with their bargain 

or no !^ 



All's delightful — such praises !— I really 
fear [ dy, my dear ; 

That this poor little head will turn gid- 

I've but time now to send you two ex- 
quisite scraps — [perhaps. 

AH the rest by the Magnet, on Monday, 

FROM THE "morning POST." 

'Tis known that a certain distinguish'd 

physician [hglit reading ; 

Prescribes, for dyspepsia, a course of 

And Rhymes by young Ladies, the first, 

fresh edition, [nutrition,) 

(Ere critics have injured their powers of 

Are he thinks, for weak stomachs, 

the b»6t sort of feeding. 
Satires irritate— love-songs are found 

calorific ; [specific. 

But smooth, female sonnets he deems a 
And, if taken at bed-time, a sure sopor- 
j ific. [pleasing we know, 

Among works of this kind, the most 



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THE FUDGES DT ENGLAND. 



Is a volume just publisli'd by Simpkins 

and Co., [ery, the sweet, 

Wtere all such ingredients — the flow- 

And the gently narcotic— are mix'd^er 

receipt, [tation 

With a hand so judicious, we've no hesi- 

To say that — 'bove all, for the young 

generation — [aration. 

Tis an elegant, soothing, and safe prep- 

Nota bene — for readers, whose object's 

to sleep, [publishers iieep 

And who read in their nightcaps, the 

Good fire-proof binding, which comes 

very cheap. • 

ASECDOTE— FKOM THE " COUET JOOHNAL." 

T'other night, at the Countess of * * *'s 
rout, [about, 

An amusiug event was much whisper'd 

It was said that Lord , at the Coun- 
cil, that day, [seat like a rocket, 
Had, more than once, jump'd from his 

And flown to a comer, where— heed- 
less, they say, [der'd away — 

How the country's resources were squan- 
He kept reading some papers he'd 
brought in his pocket. 

Some thought them dispatcher from 
Spain or the Turk, 
Others swore they brought word we 
had lost the Mauritius; 

But it tum'd out 'twas only Miss Fudge's 
new work, 
"Which his Lordship devour'd with 
such zeal expeditious — [delay, 

Messrs. Simpkins and Co., to avoid all 

Haning sent it in sheets, that his Lord- 
ship might say, 

He had distanced the whole reading 
world by a day ! 



LETTER VIII. 

FROM BOB FUDGE, ESQ., TO THE REV. MORTI- 
MEE O 'MULLIGAN. 

Tuesday evening. 

I MUCH regret, dear Reverend Sir, 
I could not come to * * * to meet you : 

But this cursed gout wo'n't let me stu* — 
Ev'u now I but by proxy greet you. 

As this vile scrawl, whate'er its sense is. 

Owes all to an amanuensis. 

Most other scourges of disease 

Reduce men to extremities — 

But gout wo'n't leave one even these. 



From all my sister writes, I see 
That you and I will quite agi-ee. 
I'm a plain man, who speak the trath. 

And trust you'll think me not uncivil. 
When I declare that, from my youth, 

I've wish'd your country at the devil: 
Nor can I doubt, indeed, from all 

I've heard of your high patriot fame — 
From every word your lips let fall — 

That you most truly wish the same. 
It plagues one's life out— thirty years 
Have I had dinning in my ears, 

" Ireland wants this, and that, and 
t'other," 
And, to this hour, one nothing hears 

But the same vile, eternal bother. 
While, of those countless things she 

wanted. 
Thank God, but little has been granted, 
Andev'n that little, if we're men 
And Britons, we'll have back again ! 

I really thiiik that Catholic question 
Was what brought on my indigestion ; 
And still each year, as Popery's curse 
Has gather'd round us, I've got worse ; 
Till e v'n my pint of port a day 
Can't keep the Pope and bile away. 
And whereas, till the Catholic bill, 
I never wanted draught or pill. 
The settling of that cursed question 
Has quite M?isettled my digestion. 

Look what has happen'd since — the 
Of all the bores of every sect, [Elect 
The chosen triers of men's patience. 
From aU the Three Denominations, 
Let loose upon us ; — even Quakers 
Tum'd into speechers and law-makers, 
Who'll move no question, stiflF-rump'd 

elves. 
Till first the Spirit moves themselves ; 
And whose shrill Teas and Nays, in 

choras, 
Conquering our Ays and Nos sonorous, 
Will soon to death's own slumber snore 

us. 
Then, too, those Jews !— I really sicken 
To think of such abomination; [en. 
Fellows, who wo'n't eat ham with chick- 
To legislate for this great nation ! — 
Depend upon't, when once they've sway, 
With rich old Goldsmid at the head 

o' them! 
Th' Excise laws will be done away. 
And Circumcise ones pass'd instead 

o' them ! 




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'- iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiuii ' 

MOORE'S WORKS. 




In short, dear sir, look -where one will, 
Things all go on so devilish ill, 
That 'pon my soul, T rather fear 

Oui' reverend Rector may be right, 
"Who tells me the Millennium's near ; 
Nay, swears he knows the very year, 

And regulates his leases by't ;- - 
Meaning their terms should end, no 

doubt. 
Before the world's own lease is out. 
He thinks, too, that the whole thing's 

ended 
So much more soon than was intended, 
Purely to scourge those men of sin [in.* 
Who brought th' accursed Reform Bill 

However, let's not yet despair ; 

Though Toryism's eclipsed, at present, 
And — like mysell', in this i>ld chair — 

Sits in a state by no means pleasant ; 
Feet crippled— hands, in luckless hour, 
Disabled of theh grasping power ; 
And all that rampant glee, which rev- 
ell'd til'd- 

In this world's sweets, be-dull'd, be-dev- 
Yet, though condemn'd to friskno more, 

And both in Chair of Penance set. 
There's something tells me, all's not o'er. 

With Toryism or Bobby yet; 
That though between us, I allow, 
We've not a leg to stand on now ; 
Though cursed Reform and colchicum 
Have made us both look deuced glum, 
Yet still in spite of Grote and Gout, 
Again we'll shine triumphant out ! 

Yes— back again shall come, egad, 
Our turn for sport, my reverend lad. 
And then, O'MuUigan — oh then, 
When mounted on our nags again. 
You, on your high-flown Rosinante, 
Bedizzen'd out, like Show-Gailantee, 
(Glitter great from substance scanty;) — 
While I, Bob Pudge, Esquire, shall ride 
Your faithful Sancho, by your side ; 
Then — talk of tilts and tournaments ! 
Bam'me, we'll 



'Sqrdre Fudge's clerk presents 
To Reverend Sir his compliments: 
Is grieved to say an accident 
Has just occmi-'d which wiU prevent 

* This appears to havo been the opinion also 
of an eloquent writer in tlie Morning Watch. 
"One great object o£ Clirist's second Advent, 
ns the Man and as the King of the Jews, is to 
punish the Ki7igs who do not acknowledge that 
their authority is derived from him, and who 



The Squire— though now a little bet 
From finishing this present letter, [ter— 
Just when he'd got to " Dam'me, 

we'll " 

His Honor, full of martial zeal, 
Grasp'd at his crutch, but not being able 
To keep his balance or his hold. 
Tumbled, both self and crutch, and 
roll'd 
Like ball and bat, beneath the table. 

All's safe— the table, chair, and crutch; — 
Nothing, thank God, is broken much. 
But the Squire's head, which, in the faU, 
Got bump'd consid'rably — that's all. 
At this no great alarm we feel, 
As the Squire's head can bear a deal. 

Wednesday morning. 

Squire much the same — head rather 

light — [night. 

Raved about " Barbers' Wigs" all 

Our housekeeper, old Mrs. Griggs, 
Suspects that he meant "barbarous 
Whigs." 



LETTER IX 

FROM LAKKY O'bRANNIGAN, TO HIS WIFE JUDY. 

As it was but last week that I sint you 

a letther, [is about ; 

You'll wondher, dear Judy, what this 

And, throth, it's a letther myself would 

like betther, [it out ; 

Could I manage to lave the contints of 

For sure, if it makes even me onaisy, 

Who take things quiet, 'twill drive you 

crazy. 

Oh, Judy, that riverind Murthagh, bad 

scran to him ! [vant-man to him. 

That e'er I should come to've been sar- 

Orso fardemane the O'Branigan blood, 

And my Aunts, the Diluviaus, (whom 

not ev'n the Flood [the earth, )t 

Was able to wash away clane irom 

As to sarve one whose name, of mere 

yestherday's birth, [purtend, 

Can no more to a great 0, before it, 

Than mine can to wear a great Q at its 



submit to receive it from that many-headed 
monster, the mob." No. x. p. 373. 

t " I am of your Patriarchs, I, a branch of 
one of j-our antediluvian faiuilies — lellows that 
the Flood could not wash away."'— Congkbvb 
Love for Love. 




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s>vB^^-4: 




THE FUDGES IN" ElfGLAl^D. 



691 



But that's now all over — last night I 

gev wamin', [him this momin'. 
And, masth'r as he is, will discharge 
The thief of the world ! — but it's no use 

balraggiu';* — [draggin' 

All I know is, I'd fifty times rather be 
Ould ladies up hill to theind of my days, 
Than with Murthagh to rowl in a chaise, 

at my aise, [dirty ways. 

And be forced to discind thro' the same 
Arrah, sure, if I'd heerd where he last 

show'd his phiz, [mousther he is; 
I'd have known what a quare sort of 
For, by gor, 'twas at Exether Change, 

sure enough, [show'd olf ; 

That himself and his other wild Irish 
And it's pity, so 'tis, that they hadn't 

got no man 
"WTio knew the wild craythurs to act 

as their showman — 
Sayin', "Ladies and Gintlemen, plaze 

to take notice, 
"How shlim and how shleek this black 

animal's coat is ; 
" All by raison, we're towld, that tha 

nathur o' the baste 
" Is to change its coat once in its life- 
time, at laste; 
" And such objiks, in our counthry, 

not beiu' common ones, 
"Are 'bought up, as this was, byway of 

Fine JSTomenons. 
"In regard of its name — why, in 

throth, I'm consam'd 
" To d ^er on this point so much with 

\ '6 Larn'd, 
" "WTio V all it a ' MortJiimer,' whereas 

thi (iraythur 
" Is plainly a ' Mm-thagh,'by name and 

by nttchur.' 

This is how I'd have towld them the 
rights of it all, [Hall- 

Had /been their showman at Exether 
Kot forgettin' that other great wond- 
her of Auin [call Prosbetairin, ) 
(Of th' owld bitther breed which they 
The famed Daddy C— ke— who, by gor, 
I'd have shown 'em 

* To balraij is to abuse— Mr. Lover niiikes it 
ballt/ra(f, aiia he is liish authoritj; : but if I 
reraomijer rightly, Currau in his national 
stories used to crafloy the word as above. — 
See Lover's most amusinsr and genuinely Irish 
work, the " Legends nnd Stories of Iveliind," 

t Larry evidertly means the Ileglum Donum, 
a sum c6ntributi',d" by the government annually 
to the support oi the Presbyterian churches iu 
Irela» d. 



As -proof how such bastes may be 
tamed, when you've thrown 'em 

A good frindly sop of the rale Eaigin 
DonemA 

But, throth, I've no laisure just now; 

Judy dear, [here. 

For any thing, barriu' our own doings 
And thccursin' and dammiu' and thund'- 

rin', like mad, [have had. 

"We Papists, God help us, from Mmth^igh 
He says we're all murtherers — div'l a 

bit less— [go to confess, 

And that even our priests, when we 
Give us lessons in mm-th'ring, and wish 

us success ! 

When ax'd how he daar'd, by tongue or 

by pen, [men. 

To belie iu this way, seven millious of 

Faith, he said 'twas all towld him by 

Docther Den ! X 
" And who the div'ls hef" was the ques- 
tion that flew [a sowl knew. 
Prom Chiishtian to Chrishtian — but not 
While on weut Mmthagh, in iUigant 

style, 
Blasphaming us Cath'lics all the while. 
As a pack of desaivers, par)urers,villiaus. 
All the whole kit of th' aforesaid mil- 
lions, §— 
Yourself, dear Judy, as well as the rest. 
And the innocent craythur that's at youi 

breast. 
All rogues together, in word and deed, 
Owld Den our insthructor and Sin our 
creed ! 

When ax'd for his proofs again and 

again, [Den. 

Div'l an auswer he'd give but Docthor 
Couldn't he call iato coort some livin'' 

men ? [thor Den— 

" No, thank you "—he'd stick to Doc- 
An ould gentleman dead a centmy or 

two. 
Who all about us, live Cath'lics, knew ; 
And of coorse was more handy, to call 

in a hurry, [MiuTay ! 

Than Docthor Mac Hale or Docthor 

t Correctly, Dens— Larry not being very 
particular in his nomenclature. 

§ •' The deeds of darkness which are reduced 
to horrid practice over the drunken debauch of 
tlie midnight assassin arc debated, in principle, 
in the sober morning religious conference of 
the priests."— (Speec/i of the Rev. Mr. iVOhee.— 
" The character of the Irish people generall;/ is. 
that they are given to lying and to acts ol 
theft."— (S^eecA of the Rev. Robert iJalu, 




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iiiiiiiiiiiiHniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiii<iiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,;iiii;aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMMiiii!iiniii^^^^ 



MOORE'S "VTORKS. 



But, throth, it's no case to be jokin' 

upon, [in' it oue. 

Though myself, from bad habits, is maK- 
Even</OM, had jou witness'd his gi-and 

climactherics, [hysterics — 

"WTiich actually threw one owid maid in 
Or, och ! had you heerd such a purty 

remark as his, [casses. 

That Papists are only " Humanity's car- 
"Bis'n"— hut, by dad, I'm afeardi can't 

give it ye — [tivity ; 

" J?is')i from the sepulchre of-^inac- 
" And, like owld corpses, dug up from 

an tihity, , Mikity ! !* — 

" Wandrin' about in all sorts of in- 
Even you, Judy, true as you are to the 

Owld Light, [iligaut flight 

"Would have laugh'd, out and out, at this 
Of that figure of speech call'd the Blath- 

erumskite. [and then came to me, 
As for me, though a funny thought now 
Rage got the betther at last— and small 

blame to me ! [of Delf," 

So, slapping my thigh, " by the Powers 
Says I bowldly, " I'll make a noration 

mj'self." [lint, the minit 

And with that up I jumps — and, my dar- 
I cock'd up my head, div'l a sinse re- 

maiu'd in it. [tiful on. 

Though, salted, I could have got beau- 
Wheu I tuk to my legs, faith, the gab 

was all gone : — 
WTiich was odd, for us, Pats, who, 

whate'er we've a hand in, 
At laste in our legs show a sthrong un- 

derstandin'. 

Howsumdever, detarmined the chaps 

should pursaive [tuk lave, 

What I thought of their doin's, before I 
'' In regard of all that," says I — there I 

stopp'd short — 
Not a word more would come, though I 

sthruggled hard for't. 
So, shnappmg my fingers at what's 

call'd the Ciian, 
And the owld Lord (or Lady, I b'lieve,) 

that sat there — [again — 

" In regard of aU that," says I bowldly 
"To owld Nick I pitch Moitimer — and 

Docthor Den ;" — [out " Amen;" 
Upon which the whole company cried 

* " But she (Popery) is no lonper the tenant 
of the sepulchre of inaciimty. Slie has come 
from the buiial-jjlace, walking forth a monster, 
as if the spirit of evil had corrupted the carcass 
of her departed humanity ; noxious and noi- 
some, an object of abhorrence and dismay to 



And myself was in hopes 'twas to what 

Ihad said, 
But, by gor, no such thing— they were 

not so well bred : [had read out, 
For, 'twas all to a pray'r Murthagh just 
By way of fit finish to job so devout ; 
That is — afther well damning one-half 

the community, [unity! 

To pray God to keep all in peace an' in 

This is all I can shtuff in this letther, 

though plinty ['twas twinty. 

Of news, faith, I've got to fill more — il 
But I'll add, on the outside, a line, 

should I need it, [may read it,) 
(Writin " Private " upon it, that no one 
To teU you how Mortimer (as the 

Saints chrishten him) 
Bears the big shame of his sarvant's dis- 

misshm' him. 

(Private outside.) 
Just come from his riv'rence — the job is 

all done — [sure as a gun ! 

By the powers, I've discharged him as 
And now, Judy dear, what on earth I'm 

to do [good as new — 

With myself and my appetite— both 
Without ev'n a single traneen in my 

pocket, [to stock it— 

Let alone a good, dacent pound-starliu'. 
Is a mysht'ry I lave to the One that's 

above, [when hard dhrove. 

Who takes care of us, dissolute sowls, 



LETTER X. 



These few brief fines, my reverend 
By a safe, private hand I send, [friend, 
(Fearing lest some low Catholic wag 
Should pry into the Letter-bag, ) 
To tell you, as far as pen can dare, 
How we, poor errant martyrs, fare ; — 
Martyrs, not quite to fire and rack. 
As Saints were, some few ages back, 
But— scarce less trying in its way— 
To laughter, wheresoe'er we stray ; 
To jokes, which Providence mysterious 
Permits on men and things so serious, 

all who are not leagued with her in iniquity." — 
Report of tlie Rev. Gentleman's Speech, June 
20, in the Record Newspaper. 

We may well ask, after reading this and 
other such reverend ravings, " Quis dubitat 
quin omne sit hoc rationis egestas 2" 



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MiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiniiuiiitHiiiiuiiuiiiii;;iiiiiitaui[iimiiaiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiii{iiiiiiiiiiu^ 
THE FUDGES m EN"GLAN^D. 




Lowering the Church still more each 

minute, 
And — injuring our preferment in it. 
Just think, how worrying 'tis, my friend, 
To find, where'er our footsteps bend. 
Small jokes, like squibs, around us 
whizzing ; 
And bear the eternal tortming play 
Of that great engine of our day, [zing ! 
Unliuown to th' Inquisition — quiz- 
Tour men of thumb-screws and of racks 
Aim'd at the body their attacks ; 
But modern tortm-ers, more refined, 
Work their machinery on the mind. 
Had St. Sebastian had the luck 
With me to be a godly rover, 
J'astead of arrows, he'd be stuck 

With stings of ridicule all over ; 
And poor St. Lawrence, who was kiU'd 
Tiy being on a gridii-'n grill'd. 
Had he but shared my errant lot, 
Instead of grill on gridir'n hot, 
A moral roasting would have got. 
if or should I (trying as all this is) 

Muchheedthesulieringor ' 
As, like au actor, v^ed to hisses, 

I long have known no other fame, 
But that (as I may own to you. 
Though to the world it would not do) 
No hope appears of fortune's beams 
Shining on any of my schemes ; 
N"o chance of something more per ann. 
As supplement to K— llym— n ; 
No prospect tbat, by fierce abuse 
Of Ireland, I shall e'er induce 
The rulers of the thinking nation 
To rid us of Emancipation ; 
To forge anew the sever' d chain, 
And bring back Penal Laws again. 

Ah, happy time ! when wolves and 

priests 
Alike were hunted, as wild beasts : 
And five pounds was the price, per 6ead, 
For bagging cither, live or dead ;* — 
Though oft, we're told, one outlaw'd 

brother 
Saved cost, by eating up the other, 

* " Among other amiable enactments ajrainst 
the Catholics at this period, (Ui49,) tlio price of 
five pounds was set on the head of a Komish 
priest— being exactly the same sum olFered by 
the same legislators for the head of a wolf." 

Memoirs of Captain Rock, book i., chap. 10. 

t In the first edition of his Dictionary, Dr. 
Johnson very significantly exemplified the 
meaning of the word " alias " by the instance 
of Mallet, the poet, who had exchanged for 



Finding thus all those schemes and 

hopes 
I built upon my fi:owers and tropes 
All scatter' d, one by one, away, 
As flashy and unsound as they. 
The question comes — what's to be done ? 
And there's but one course left me — one. 
Heroes, when tked of waris alarms. 
Seek sweet repose in beauty's arms. 
The weary Day-God's last retreat is 
The breast of silv'ry-footed Thetis; 
And mine, as mighty Love's my judge. 
Shall be the arms of rich Miss Fudge ! 

Start not, my friend, — the tender scheme^ 

Wild and romantic though it seem, 

Beyond a parson's fondest dream. 

Yet shines, too, with those golden dyea 

So pleasing to a parson's eyes — 

That only gilding which the muse 

Cannot around her sons diffuse ;— 

Which, whencesoever flows its bliss. 

From wealthy Miss or benefice, 

To Mortimer indiS'rent is. 

So he can make it only his. 

There is but one slight damp I see 

Upon this scheme's felicity. 

And that is, the fair heroine's claim 

That I Bhall take her family name. 

To this (though it may look henpeck'd) 

I can't quite decently object. 

Having myself long chos'n to shine 

Conspicuous in the alias] line ; 

So that henceforth, by wife's decree, 

(For Biddy from this pomt won't 
budge, ) 
Tour old friend's new address must be 

The Bcv. Mortimer O'Fudge — 
The " 0" being kept, that all may see 
We're both of ancient famil}'. 

Such, friend, nor need the fact amaze 
My pubUc life's calm Euthanasia, [you, 
Thus bid I long farewell to all 
The freaks of Exeter's old Hall — 
Freaks, in grimace, its apes exceeding, 
And rivalling its bears in breeding. 
Farewell, the platform fiU'd with preach- 
ers — [speechers 
The pray'r giv'n out, as grace, J by 
this more refined name his original Scotch 
patronymic, Malloch. "What o^/tec proofs he 
gave (says Johnson) of disrespect tohis native 
conntry, I know not, but it was remarked of 
him that ho was the only Scot whom Scotch- 
men did not commend." — Li/e of Mallet. 

J " I think I am acting in unison with the 
feelings of a Meeting assembled for this solemn 
object, when I call on the Rev. Dr. Holloway 
to open it by prayer." — Speech of Lord Kenyoiu 



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lllllllllllllllllinilllllllllllllllllllllllHIIIIIIIIOlUllllillllllllllllllllllllHlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllJIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII^ 

MOORE'S T70EKS. 



Ere they cut up their fello-^r creatures :— 
Farewell to dead old Dens's volumes, 
And, scarce less dead, old Standard's 

columns : — 
From each and all I now retire, 
My task, henceforth, as spouse and sire, 
To biing up little filial Fudp;es, 
To be M. P.s, and Peers, and Judges — 
Parsons I'd add too, if alas ! [pass 

There yet were hope the Church could 
The gulf now oped for hers and her, 
Or long survive what Exeter — 
Both Hall and Bishop, of that name — 
Have done to sink her reverend fame. 
Adieu, dear friend — you'll oft hear /rom 
me, 

^ow I'm no more a travelling drudge ; 

Meanwhile I sign (that you may judge 
How well the surname wiU become me) 
Tours truly, 

Mortimer O'Fudge. 



LETTEE XL 



TO THE REV. 



Dear Dick— ^just arrived at my own 
humble gite, [all complete, 

I enclose you, post-haste, the account, 
Just arrived, per express, of our late no- 
ble feat. 
[Extract from the " County Gazette."'^ 
This place is getting gay and full again. 

Last week was married, "in the 
Lord, " 
The Reverend Mortimer O'MuUigan, 

Preacher, in Irish, of the Word, 
(He, who the Lord's force lately led on — 
Exeter Hall his Kxmagh-gQMon,*) 
To Miss B. Fudge of Pisgah Place, 
One of the chos'n, as "heir of grace," 
And likewise heh-ess of Phil. Pudge, 
Esquire, defunct, of Orange Lodge. 

Same evening, Miss F. Fudge, 'tis hint- 
ed— [Eyre," 

Niece of the above, (whose "Sylvan 
In our Gazette, last week, we printed,) 

Eloped with Pat. Magan, Esquire. 
The fugitives were track'd, some time. 

After they'd left the Aunt's abode, 
By scraps of paper, scrawl'd with rhyme, 

* The Rectory which the Eev. gentleman 
hoUls is situated" in the county of Armagh /—a 
most remarliable coincidence— and well worthy 



Found strew'd along the Western 
road ; — 
Some of them, ci-devant curl-papers, 
Others, half burnt in lightiug tapers. 
This clue, however, to theii- flight, 

After some miles was seen no more ; 
And, from inquiries made last night, 
"We find they've reach'd the Irish 
shore. 

Every word of it true, Dick — th' escape 

from Aunt's thrall — 
Western road — lyric fragments— curl- 
papers and all. [shrine. 
My sole stipulation, ere linked at the 
(As some balance between Fanny's nwm- 

hers and mine,) 
"Was that, when wo were one, she must 

give up the Nine ; [of MS. 

N'ay, devote to the Gods her whole stock 
With a vow never more against prose to 

transgress. [went to bits 

This she did, Mke a heroine ;— smack 
The whole produce sublime of her dear 

little wits — [nets — 

Sonnets, elegies, epigi-ams, odes, canzo- 
Some twisted up neatly, to form allu- 

mettes, [rise 

Some tum'd into papillotes, worthy to 
And en wreath Berenice's bright locks in 

the skies ! [in my pay) 

While the rest, honest Larry (who's now 
Begg'd, as "lover of po'thry," to read 

on the way. 

Having thus of life's poetry dared to 

dispose, [thi-ough its prose. 

How we now, Dick, shall manage to get 

With such slender materials for style, 

Heaven knows ! [Express ! 

But— I'm call'd off abruptly— a«o</ter 

Wbat the deuce can it mean?— I'm 

alarm' d, I confess. 

P.S. 
Hurrah, Dick, huiTah, Dick, ten thous- 
and hurrahs I [days. 
I'm a happy, rich dog to the end of my 
There — read the good news— and while 

glad, for my sake. 

That Wealth should thus follow in Love's 

shining wake, [elf, 

Admire also the ?MoraZ— that he, the sly 

Who has fudged all the world, should 

be now fudged himself.' 

of the attention of certain expotmders of the 
Apocalypse. 



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SON"GS FROM M.P.; OE, THE BLTTE-STOCKIFG. 



EXTRACT FROM LETTER ENCLOSED. 

With pain the mournful news I -nrite, 
Miss Fudge's uncle died last night ; 
And nmch to mine and friends' surprise, 
By will doth all his wealth devise- 
Lands, dwellings— rectories likewise — 



To his "beloved grand-niece/' Miss 

Fanny, 
Leaving Miss Fudge herself, who many 
Long years hath waited— not a penny ! 
Have notified the same to latter, 
And wait instructions in the matter. 

For self and partners, &c. &c. 



SONGS FBOM M. P.; OE, THE BLUE-STOCKING. 



SON^G. 



Yoxmo Love lived once in an humble 
"Where roses breathing, [shed. 

And woodbines wreathing 
Around the lattice their tendrils spread, 
As wild and sweet as the life he led. 
His garden flourish'd, 
For young Hope nom-ish'd 
The infant buds with beams and show 
ers ; [fed, 

But lips, though blooming, must still be 
And not even Love can live on flow- 



Alas ! that Poverty's evil eye 
Should e'er come hither. 
Such sweets to wither ! 
The flowers laid down their heads to die. 
And Hope fell sick as the witch drew 
She came one morning, [nigh. 

Ere Love had "v -arniug, 
And raised the latch, where the young 
god lay ; [by ;" 

" Oh ho !" said Love— "is it you ? good- 
So he oped the window, and flew 
away! 



To sigh, yet feel no pain, 

To'weep, yet scarce know why ; 
To sport an hour with Beauty's chain, 

Then throw it idly by. 
To loieel at many a shiine, 

Yet lay the heart on none ; 
To think all other charms divine. 

But those we just have won. 



This is love, faithless love. 
Such as kindleth hearts that rove. 

To keep one sacred flame. 

Through life unchill'd, unmoved, 
To love, in wintry age, the same 

As first in youth we loved ; 
To feel that we adore, 

Ev'n to such fond excess. 
That, though the heart would break, 
with more. 

It could not five with less 
This is love, faithful love. 
Such as saiuts might feel above. 



Spirit of Joy, thy altar lies [mme ; 

In youthful hearts that hope like 
And 'tis the light of laughing eyes. 

That leads us to thy fahy shrine. 
There if we find the sigh, the tear. 

They are not those to Sorrow known ; 
But breath so soft, and drops so clear, 

That Bliss may claim them for her 
own. 
Then give me, give me, while I weep. 

The sanguine hope that brightens wo, 
And teaches ev'n our tears to keep 

The tinge of pleasure as they flow. 
The child, who sees the dew of night 

Upon the spangled hedge at mom. 
Attempts to catch the drops of light. 

But wounds his finger with the thorn. 
Thus oft the brightest joys we seek, 

Ai-e lost, when touch'd, and tum'd to 
pain ; 
The flush they kindled leaves the cheek. 

The tears they waken long remahi. 
But give me, give me, <fcc. &Q, 



.iff'^llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllHlllllllllllillllHIIIIIIIIliilllllllllllllllllHIII"""""^ 





696 



MOOEE'S WOKKo. 



When Leila toTich'd the lute, 

Not then alone 'twas felt. 
But, when the sounds were mute, 

In memory still they dwelt. 
Sweet lute ! in nightly slumbers 
Still we heard thy morning numbers. 

Ah, how could she, who stole 
Such breath from simple wire, 

Be led, in pride of soul, 
To string with gold her lyre ? 

Sweet lute ! thy chords she breaketh ] 

Golden now the strings she waketh ! 

But where are all the tales 

Her lute so sweetly told ? 
In lofty themes she fails, 

And soft ones suit not gold. 
Kich lute ! we see thee glisten, 
But, alas ! no more we listen 1 



BOAT GLEE. 

The song that hghtens our languid way 
"When brows are glowing, 
And faint with rowing, 
Is like the spell of Hope's airy lay. 
To whose sound through life we stray. 
The beams that flash on the oar awhile. 
As we row along through waves so 
clear, 
Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile 
That shines o'er Sorrow's tear. 

Nothing is lost on him who sees | 

"With an eye that Feeling gave ; — 
For him there's a story in every breezOj 

And a picture in every wave. 
Then sing to lighten the languid way ;— 
"When brows are glowing, 
And faint with rowing : 
'Tis like the spell of Hope's airy lay. 
To whose sovmd through life we stray- 



On think, when a hero is sighing, 

"What danger in such an adorer ! 
"What woman could think of denying 

The hand that lays laurels before her ? 
No heart is so guarded around, [it ; 

But the smile of a victor would take 
No bosom can slumber so sound. 

But the trumpet of Glory will wake It. 

Love sometimes is given to sleeping. 

And wo to the heart that allows him ; 
For soon neither smiling nor weeping 



"Will e'er from such slumber arouse 
him. 
But though he were sleeping so fast, 

That the life almost seem'd to forsake 
Even then, one soul-thriUing blast [him, 
From the trumpet of Glory would 
wake him. 

CUPID'S LOTTEEY. 

A LoTTERr, a lottery. 

In Cupid's Court there used to be ; 

Two roguish eyes 

The highest prize 
In Cupid's scheming Lottery ; 

And kisses, too, 

As good as new, 
"Which weren't very hard to win. 

For he, who won 

The eyes of fun, 
"Was sure to have the kisses m. 

A Lottery, a Lottery, <fcc. 

This Lottery, this Lottery, 
In Cupid's Court went merrily, 

And Cupid play'd 

A Jewish trade 
In this his scheming Lottery ; 

For hearts, we're told, 

In shares he sold 
To many a fond believing drone, 

And cut the hearts 

So well in parts, 
That each believed the whole his own. 

Chor. — A Lottery, a Lottery, 

In Cupid's Court there used to 

Two roguish eyes [be ; 

The highest pnze 
In Cupid's scheming Lottery. 

SONG.* 

Though sacred the tie that our country 

entwineth, [brance remains, 

And dear to the heart her remem- 

Tet dark are the ties where no liberty 

shineth, [stains. 

And sad the remembrance that slavery 

Oh Liberty, bom in the cot of the peas- 
ant, 
But dying of languor in luxury's dome, 
Our vision, when absent— our glory, 
when present — [my home. 

"Where thou art, Liberty ! there is 

* Sung in the character of a Frenchman. 



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^m^ 



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THE EPICUEEAN-. 



697 



Farewell to the land ■where In childhood 

I wander'd ! [brave ; 

In vain is she mighty, in vain is she 

Unbless'd is the blood that for tyrants is 
squander'd, [of the slave. 

And Fame has no wreaths for the brow 



But hail to thee, Albion ! who meet'st 

the ccmmotion [the foam ; 

Of Europe, as calm as thy cliffs meet 

"With no bonds but the law, and no slave 

but the ocean, [home. 

Hail, Temple of Liberty ! thou art my 



THE EPICUREAN 

A TALE. 
1827. 



LORD JOHN" RUSSELL, 

THIS VOLUIIK IS LNSCUIBED, 
B7 ONE WHO ADMIRES ms CHARACTER AND TALENTS, AND IS PROUD OF ms FRIENDSHIP. 



A LETTER TO THE TRAN^SLATOR. 

FROM Esq. 

Cairo, June 19th, 1800. 

My dear Sir, 

During a visit lately paid by me 
to the monastery of St. Macarius — which 
is situated, as you know, in the Valley 
of the Lakes of Xatron— I was lucky 
enough to obtain possession of a cimous 
Greek manuscript which, in the hope 
that you may be induced to translate it, 
I herewith transmit to you. Observing 
one of the monks very busily occupied 
in tearing up into a variety of fantastic 
shapes some papers which had the ap- 
pearance of being the leaves of old 
books, I inquired of him the meaning of 
his task, and received the following ex- 
planation : — 

The Arabs, it seems, who are as fond 
of pigeons as the ancient Egyptians, 
have a superstitious notion that, if they 
place in their pigeon-houses small scraps 
of paper, written over with learned char- 
acters, the birds are always sure to 
thrive the better for the charm ; and the 
monks, who are never slow in profiting 
by superstition, have, at all times, a 
supply of such amulets for purchasers. 

In general, the fathers of the monas- 
tery have been in the habit of scribbling 



these fragments themselves ; but a dis- 
covery lately made by them, saves all 
this trouble. Having dug up (as my in- 
formant stated) a chest of old manu- 
scripts, which, beiug chiefly on the sub- 
ject of alchemy, must have been buried 
in the time ofDioclesian, "we thought," 
added the monk, "that we could not 
employ such rubbish more properly, 
than in tearing it up, as you see, for the 
pigeon-houses of the Arabs." 

On my expressing a wish to rescue 
some part of these treasures from the 
fate to which his indolent fraternity had 
consigned them, he produced the manu- 
script which I have now the pleasure of 
sending to you— the only oue, he said, 
remaining entire — and I very readily 
paid the price which he demanded for it. 

You will find the story, I thiuk, not 
altogether uninteresting ; ' and the coin- 
cidence, iu many respects, of the curi- 
ous details in Chap. VI. with the de- 
scription of the same ceremonies in the 
Romance of Scthos* will, I have no 
doubt, strike you. Hoping that you 

* The description, here alluded to, may also 
bo fouud. copied verbatim from Scthos, in the 
" Voyages d Ant^nor."— "In that philosophi- 
cal romance, called 'La Vie de Sethos,' " saya 
Warburton, " we find a much juster account 




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|ln-.I^-<it#^|>^ 



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MOOKE'S WORKS. 



may be induced to give a translation of 
this Tale to the world, 

I am, my dear Sir, 
Very truly yours, 



THE EPICUREAN. 



CHAPTER I. 

It -was in the fourth year of the reign 
of the late Emperor Yalerian, that the 
followers of Epicurus, who were at that 
time numerous iu Athens, proceeded t o 
the election of a person to fill the vacant 
Chair of their sect ;— and, by the unani- 
mous voice of the School, I was the in- 
dividual chosen for their Chief. I was 
just then entering on my twenty-fourth 
year, and no instance had ever before 
occurred, of a person so young being 
selected for that high office. Youth, 
however, and the personal advantages 
that adorn it, could not but rank among 
the most agreeable recommendations to 
a sect that included within its circle all 
the beauty as well as the wit of Athens, 
and which, though dignifying its pur- 
suits with the name of philosophy, was 
little else than a plausible pretext for 
the more refined cultivation of pleasure. 

The character of the sect, had, indeed, 
much changed since the time of its wise 
and virtuous founder, who, while he as- 
serted that Pleasure is the only Good, 
inculcated also that Good is the only 
source of Pleasure. The purer part of 
this doctrine had long evaporated, and 
the temperate Epicm-us would have as 
little recognized his own sect in the as- 
semblage of refined voluptuaries M-ho 
now usurped its name, as he would have 
known his own quiet Garden in the lux- 
urious groves and bowers among which 
the meetings of the School were now 
held. 

Many causes concurred, at this period, 
besides the attractiveness of its doc- 
trines, to render our school by far the 
most popular of any that still survived 
the glory of Greece. It may generally 
be obsei-ved, that the prevalence, iu one 
half of a community, of very rigid no- 
tions on the subject of rehgion, produces 
of old Egpytian "wisdom, than in all the pre- 
tended ' Hiatoiro du Ciel'.' "—IHv. Leg. book iv 
sect. 14. 



the opposite extreme of laxity and infi- 
delity in the other ; and this kind of reac- 
tion it was that now mainly contributed 
to render the doctrines of the Garden the 
most fashionable philosophy of the day. 
The rapid progress of the Christian 
faith had alarmed ail those, who, either 
from piety or worldliness, were interest- 
ed in the continuance of the old estab- 
lished creed — all who believed in the 
Deities of Olympus, and all who hvcd 
by them. The natural consequence was, 
a considerable increase of zeal and ac- 
tivity, throughout the constituted au- 
thorities and priesthood of the whole 
Heathen world. "VThat was wanting in 
sincerity of belief was made up in rigor ; 
— the weakest parts of the Mythoh gy 
were those, of course, most angrily de- 
fended, and any reflections, tending to 
bring Saturn, or his wife Ops, into con- 
tempt, were punished with the utmost 
severity of the law. 

In this state of afiairs, between the 
alarmed bigotry of the declining Faith, 
and the simple, sublime austerity of her 
rival, it was not wonderful that those 
lovers of ease and pleasure, who had no 
interest, reversionary or otherwise, in 
the old religion, and' were too indolent 
to inqnu'o into the sanctions of the new, 
should take refuge from the severities of 
both in the arms of a luxurious philos- 
ophy, which, leaving to others the task 
of disputing about the future, centred 
all its wisdom in the full enjoyment of 
the present. 

The sectaries of the Garden had, ever 
since the death of their founder, been 
accustomed to dedicate to his memory 
the twentieth day of every month. To 
these monthly rites had, for some time, 
been added a grand annual Festival, in 
commemoration of his birth. The feasts 
given on this occasion by my predeces- 
sors in the Chah, had been invariably 
distinguished for their taste and splen- 
dor; and it was my ambition, not mere- 
ly to imitate this example, but even to 
render the anniversary, now celebrated 
under my auspices, so lively and bril- 
liant as to efface the recollection of all 
that had preceded it. 

Seldom, indeed, had Athens witnessed 
so bright a scene. The grounds that 
formed the original site of the Garden 
had received, from time to time, consid- 



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THE EPICTJEEAK 




erable additions ; and the whoie extent 
was now laid out with that perfect taste 
which understands how to wed Nature 
with Art, without sacrificing any of her 
simplicity to the alUance. Walks, lead- 
ing through wildernesses of shade and 
fragrance— glades, opening, as if to af- 
ford a playground for the sunshine — 
temples, rising on the very spots where 
Imagination herself would have called 
them up, and fountains and lakes, in al- 
ternate motion and repose, either wan- 
tonly courting the verdure, or calmly 
sleeping in its embrace — such was the 
varietyof feature that diversified these 
fair gardens; and, animated as they 
were on this occasion, by all the living 
wit and loveliness of A tliens, it afibrded 
a scene such as my own youthful fancy; 
rich as it was then in images of luxury 
and beauty, could hardly have autici- 



The ceremonies of the day began with 
the very dawn, when, according to the 
form of simpler and better times, those 
among the disciples who had apartments 
within the Garden, bore the image of 
our Founder in procession from cham- 
ber to chaml)er, chanting verses in 
praise of what had long ceased to be ob- 
jects of our imitation — his frugality and 
temperance. 

Eound a beautiful lake, in the centre 
of the Garden, stood four white Doric 
temples, in one of which was collected 
a library containing all the flowers of 
Grecian literature ; while, in the remain- 
ing three, Conversation, the Song, and 
the Dance, held, uninterrupted by each 
other, then* respective rites. In the 
Library stood busts of all the most illus- 
trious Epicmians, both of Eome and 
Greece — Horace, Attieus, Pliny the el- 
der, the poet Lucretius, Lucian, and the 
lamented biographer of the Philoso- 
phers, lately jost to us, Diogenes Laer- 
tius. There were also the portraits, in 
marble, of all the eminent female vota- 
ries of the school — Leontium and her 
fair daughter Danae, Themista, Philse- 
nis, and others. 

It was here that, in my capacity of 
Heresiarch, on the morning of the Fes- 
tival, I received the felicitations of the 
day from some of the fairest lips of Ath- 
ens ; and, in pronouncing the customary 
oration to the memory of our Master, 



(in which it was usual to dwell upon the 
doctrines he had inculcated, ) endeavored 
to attain that art, so useful before such 
an audience, of lending to the gravest 
subjects a charm, which secures them 
listeners even among the simplest and 
most volatde. 

Though study, as may be supposed, 
engrossed but little the nights or morn- 
ings of the Garden, yet all the lighter 
parts of leamino; — that portion of its at- 
tic honey, for ^^-hich the bee is not com- 
pelled to go very deep into the flower — 
was somewhat zealously cultivated by 
us. Even here, however, the youn^ 
student had to encounter that kind oT 
distraction, which is, of all others, the 
least favorable to composure of thought ; 
and, with more than one of my fair dis- 
ciples, there used to occur such scenes 
as the following, which a poet of the 
Garden, taking his picture from life, thus 
described : — 

" As o'er the lake, in evenintr's glo-n-, 

Tliattemplo threw its leniitlieiiiug shade. 
Upon the marble steps belo\v 

There sate a fair Corinthian maid, 
Gracefully o'er some ■* olurae bending ; 

"While, by her side, the youthful Sage 
Held hacklier ringlets, lest, descending. 

They should o'ershadow all the page." 

But it was for the evening of that 
day that the richest of our luxuries were 
reserved. Every part of the Garden 
was illuminated, with the most skilful 
variety of lustre ; while over the Lake 
of the Temples were scattered wreaths 
of flowers, through which boats, filled 
with beautiful children, floated, aa 
through a liquid parterre. 

Between two of these boats a mock 
combat was perpetually carried on :— 
theirrespectlve commanders, two bloom- 
ing youths, being habited to represent 
Eros and Anteros : the former, the Ce- 
lestial Love of the Platonists, and the 
latter, that more earthly spirit, which 
usurps the name of Love among the 
Epicureans. Througliout the whole 
evening their conflict was maintained 
with various success ; the timid distance 
at which Eros kept aloof from his lively 
antagonist being his only safeguard 
against those darts of fire, with showers 
of which the other assailed him, but 
which, falling short of their mark upon 
the lake, only scorchfed the few flowers 




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(TT^- 




700 



MOOKE'S WORKS. 



on -which they fell, and were extin- 
guished. 

In another part of the Gardens, on a 
wild glade, illuminated only by the 
moon, was performed an imitation of 
the torch-race of the Panathencea by 
young boys chosen for their fleetness, 
and arrayed with wings, like Cupids ; 
while, not far off, a group of seven 
nymphs, with each a star on her fore- 
head, represented the movements of the 
planetary choir, and embodied the dream 
of Pythagoras into real motion and 
song. 

At every turning some new enchant- 
ment broke vmexpectedly on the eye or 
ear ; and now, from the depth of a dark 
grove, from which a fountain at the 
same time issued, there came a strain of 
sweet music, which, mingling with the 
murmur of the water, seemed like the 
voice of the spirit that presided over its 
flow ;— while, at other times, the same 
strain appeared to come breathing from 
among flowers, or was heard suddenly 
from underground, as if the foot had 
just touched some spring that set its 
melody in motion. 

It may seem strange that I should 
now dwell upon all these tiifling de- 
tails ; but they were to me full of the 
future ; and everything connected with 
that memorable night— even its long-re- 
pented follies — must forever live fondly 
and sacredly in my memory. The fes- 
tival concluded with a banquet, at 
which, as master of the Sect, I presided ; 
and being, myself, in every sense, the 
ascendant spirit of the whole scene, 
gave life to all around me, and saw my 
own happiness reflected in that of oth- 



CHAPTBR IL 

The festival was over;— the sounds 
of the song and dance ceased, and I was 
now left in those luxurious gardens, 
alone. Though so ardent and active a 
votary of pleasure, I had, by nature, a 
disposition full of melancholy ;— an im- 
agination that, even in the midst of 
mirth and happiness, presented sadden- 
ing thoughts, and threw the shadow of 
the future over the gayest illusions of 
the present. Melancholy was, indeed, 
twin-bom in my soul with Passion ; and 



not even in the fullest fervor of the lat- 
ter were they ever separated. From the 
first moment that I was conscious of 
thought and feeling, the same dark 
thread had run across the web ; and 
images of death and annihilation came 
to mingle themselves with even the 
most smiling scenes through which love 
and enjoyment led me. My very pas- 
sion for pleasure but deepened these 
gloomy thoughts. For, shut out, as I 
was by my creed, from a future life, and 
having no hope beyond the narrow hor- 
izon of this, eveiy minute of earthly de- 
light assumed, in my eyes, a mournful 
preciousness ; and pleasure, like the 
flower of the cemetery, grew but more 
luxuriant from the neighborhood of 
death. 

This very night my triumph, my hap- 
piness, had seemed complete. I had 
been the presiding genius of that volup- 
tuous scene. Both my ambition and 
my love of pleasiu-e had drank deep of 
the rich cup for which they thirsted. 
Looked up to as I was by the learned, and 
admired and loved by the beautiful 
and the young, I had seen, in every eye 
that met mine, either the acknowledg- 
ment of bright triumphs already won, 
or the promise of others, still brighter, 
that awaited me. Yet, even in the 
midst of all this, the same dark thoughts 
had presented themselves ; — the perish- 
ableuess of myself and allaroundme had 
recuiTcd every instant to my mind. 
Those hands I had pressed — those eyes, 
in which I had seen sparkling a spirit 
of light and life that ought never to die 
— those voices, that had spoken of eter- 
nal love — all, all I felt, were but a mock- 
ery of the moment, and would leave 
nothing eternal but the silence of their 
dust! 

Oh, were it not for this sad voice, 
Stealing amid our mirth to say, 

That all in which we most rejoice, 
Ere night may be the earth-woi-m'a prey, 

But for this bitter— only this— 

Full as the world is brimm'd with bliss. 

And capable as feels my soul 

Of draining to its depth the whole, 

I should turn earth to heaven, and be, 

If bliss made gods, a deity ! 

Such was the description I gave of my 
own feelings in one of those wild, pas- 
sionate songs, to which this mixtui-e of 



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THE EPICUREAN. 



roi 



mirth and melancholy, in a spirit so 
buoyant, uatm-ally gave birth. 

And seldom had my heart so fully 
sm-rendered itself to this sort of vague 
sadaess as at that very moment, -when, 
as I paced thoughtfully among the fad- 
ing lights and flowers of the banquet, 
the echo of my own step was all that 
now sounded, where so many gay forms 
had lately been revelling. The moon 
was still up, the morning had not yet 
glimmered, and the calm glories of the 
night still rested on all around. Un- 
conscious whither my pathway led, I 
continued to wander along, till I, at 
length, found myuclf before that fair stat- 
ue of Venus, with which the chisel of Al- 
camenes had embellished our Garden ; — 
that image of deified woman, the only 
Idol to which I had ever yet bent the^ 
knee. Leaning against the pedestal of 
the statue, I raised my eyes to heaven, 
and fixing them sadly and intently on 
the ever-burning stars, as if seeking to 
read the mournful secret in their light, 
asked, wherefore was it Man alone must 
fade and perish, while they, so much 
less wonderful, less godlike than he, 
thus still lived on in radiance unchange- 
able and forever! "Oh, that there 
were some spell, some talisman," I ex- 
claimed, " to make the spirit that burns 
within us deathless as those stars, and 
open to it a career like theirs, as bright 
and inextinguishable throughout all 
tune !" 

"WTiile thus indulging in wild and 
melancholy fancies, i felt that lassitude 
which earthly pleasure, however sweet, 
still leaves behind, come insensibly 
over me, and at length sunk at the base 
of the statue to sleep. 

But even in sleep, the same fancies 
continued to haunt me ; and a dream,* 
no distinct and vivid as to leave l)ehind 
it th3 impression of reality, thus pre- 
sented itself ^1 my mind. I found my- 
self suddenly transported to ? wide and 
desolate plain, where nothing appeared 
to breathe, or move, or live. '1 he very 
sky that hung above it looked pale and 
extinct, giving the idea, not of darkness, 
but of light that had become dead, — 
and had Ihat whole region been the re- 

* For the importance attached to dreams by 
the ancients, see Jnrtin, Remarks on Ecclesi- 
astical History, roi. i., p. 90. 



mains of some older world, left broken 
up and sunless, it could not have pre- 
sented an aspect more quenched and 
desolate. The only thing that bespoke 
life, throughout this melancholy waste, 
was a small spark of light, that at first 
glimmered in the distance, but, at 
length, slowly approached the bleak 
spot where I stood. As it drew near, I 
could see that its small but steady 
gleam came from a taper in the hand of 
an ancient and venerable man, who now 
stood, like a pale messenger from the 
grave, Ijcfore me. After a tew moments 
of awful silence, during which he look- 
ed at me with a sadness that thrilled 
my very soul, he said, "Thou, who 
seekest eternal life, go unto the shores 
of the dark Kile— go unto the shores of 
the dark Nile, and thou wilt find the 
eternal life thou seekest!" 

No sooner had he uttered these 
words than the deathlike hue of his 
cheek at once brightened into a smile 
of more than earthly promise; while 
the smaU torch he held in his hand 
sent forth a glow of radiance, by 
which siiddeuly the whole surface of 
the desert was illuminated; — the light 
spreading even to the distant horizon's 
edge, along whose line I could now see 
gardens, palaces, and spires, all as 
bright as the rich architecture of the 
clouds at sunset. Sweet music, too, 
came floating in every direction through 
the air, and, from all sides such varieties 
of enchantment broke upon me, that, 
with the excess alike of harmony and of 
radiance, I awoke. 

That infidels should be superstitious 
is an anomaly neither unusual nor 
strange. A belief in superhuman 
agency seems natural and necessary to 
the mind; and, if not sufiered to flow 
in the obvious channels, it will find a 
vent in some other. Ilcnce, many who 
have doubted the existence of a God, 
have yet imphcitly placed themselves 
under'the patronage of Fate or the stars. 
Muoi the same inconsistency I was con- 
scious of ia my own feeUngs. Though 
rejecting all belief in a Divine Provi- 
dence, I had yet a faith in dreams, th«* 
all my philosophy could not conqufc.. 
Nor was experience wanting to confii-m 
me in my delusion ; for, by some of those 
accidental coincidences, which make the 



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702 MOORE'S WOEKS. 



fortune of soothsayers and prophets, 
dreams, more than once, had been to 
me 

Oracles, truer far than oak, 
Or dove, or tripod, ever spoke. 

It was not wonderful, therefore, that 
the vision of that night— touching, as it 
did, a chord so ready to vibrate — should 
have affected me with more than ordi- 
nary power, and even sunk deeper into 
my meujory with every effort I made 
to forget it. In vain did I mock at my 
own weakness; — such self-derision is 
seldom sincere. In vain did I pursue 
my accustomed pleasures. Their zest 
was, a:i usual, forever new ; but still, in 
the midst of all my enjoyment, came 
the cold and saddening consciousness 
of mortality, and, with it, the recollec- 
tion of that visionary promise, to which 
my fancy, in deliance of reason, still 
continued to cling. 

At times indulging in reveries, that 
were little else than a continuation of 
my dream, I even contemplated the 
possible existence of some mighty se- 
cret, by which youth, if not perpetu- 
ated, might be at least prolonged, and 
that dreadful vicinity of death, within 
whose circle love pines and pleasure sick- 
ens, might be for a while averted. 
''Who kuows," I would ask, "but that 
in Egypt, that region of wonders where 
Mystery hath yet unfolded but half her 
treasures— where still remain, unde- 
ciphered, iipon the pillars of Seth, so 
many written secrets of the antediluvian 
world — who can tell but that some pow- 
erful charm, some amulet, may there lie 
hid, svhose discovery, as this phantom 
hath promised, but awaits my coming — 
some compound of the same pure atoms 
that form the essence of the living stars, 
and whose infusion into the fi-ame of 
man might render him also unfading and 
immortal !" 

Thus fondly did I sometimes specu- 
late, in those vague moods of mind, 
when the life of excitement in which I 
was engaged, acting ux)on a warm heart 
and vivid fancy, produced an intoxica- 
tion of spirit, during which I was not 
wholly myself. This bewilderment, too, 
was not a Uttle increased by the constant 
struggle I experienced between my own 
natm-al feelings, and the cold, mortal 
creed of my sect — in endeavoring to es- 



cape from whose deadening bondage 1 
bi;t broke loose into the realms of fan- 
tasy and romance. 

Even in my soberest moments, how- 
ever, that strange vision forever haunted 
me; and every effort I made to chase it 
from my recollection was unavaihng. 
The deliberate conclusion, therefore, to 
which I at last came, was, that to visit 
Egypt was now my only resource ; that, 
without seeing that land of wonders, I 
could not rest, nor, until convinced of 
my folly by disappointment, be reason- 
aide. Without delay, accordingly, I an- 
nounced to my friends of the Garden, 
the intention I had formed to pay a visit 
to the land of Pyramids. To noue of 
them, however, did I dare to confess the 
vague, visionary impulse that actuated 
me ; — knowledge being the object that I 
alleged, while Pleasure was that for 
which they gave me credit. The inter- 
ests of the School, it was feared, might 
suffer by my absence; and there wore 
some tenderer ties, which had still more 
to fear from separation. But for the 
former inconvenience a temporary rem- 
edy was provided; while the latter a 
skilful distribution of vows and sighs al- 
leviated. Being furnished with recom- 
mendatory letters to all parts of Egypt, 
I set sail in the summer of the year 257, 
A. D., for Alexandria. 



CHAPTER III. 

To one, who so well knew how to ex- 
tract pleasm-e from every moment on 
land, a sea-voyage, however smooth 
and favorable, appeared the least agree- 
able mode of losing time that could be 
devised. Often, indeed, did my imagi- 
nation, in passing some isle of those seas, 
people it with fan- forms and loving 
hearts, to which most willingly would 
I have paused to offer homage. But the 
wind blew direct towards the land of 
Mystery ; and, still more, I heard a 
voice within me, whispering forever, 
" On." 

As we approached the coast of Egypt, 
our course became less prosperous ; and 
we had a specimen of the benevolence 
of the divinities of the Nile, in the shape 
of a storm, or rather whirlwind, which 
had nearly sunk our vessel, and which 
the Egyptians on board declared to bo 




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THE EPICUEEAN". 



703 



the work of their deity, Typhon. After 
a day and uight of danger, duringwhich 
we wore driven out of our course to the 
eastward, some benigner influence pre- 
vailed above ; and, at length, as the 
morning freshly broke, we saw the beau- 
tiful city of Alexandria rising from the 
sea with its proud Palace of Kings, its 
portico offour hundred columns, and the 
fair Pillar of Pillars,* towering in the 
midst to heaven. 

After passing in review this splendid 
vision, we shot rapidly round the Rock 
of Pharos, and, in a few minutes, found 
ourselves in the harbor of Eunostus. The 
sun had risen, but tlie light on the Great 
Tower of the Eock was still burning; 
and there was a languor in the lirst 
waking movements of that voluptuous 
cit,7 — whose houses and temples lay 
shining in silence around the harbor — 
that sufficiently attested the festivities 
of the preceding night. 

We were soon landed on the quay ; 
and, as I walked through a line of pala- 
ces and shrines, up the street which 
leads from the sea to the gate of Cano- 
pus, fresh as I was from the contempla- 
tion of my own lovely Athens, I yet felt 
a glow of admiration at the scene 
around me, which its novelty, even more 
than its magniliceaee, inspired. Nor 
were the luxuries and delights which 
such a city promised, among the least 
of the considerations upon which my 
fancy dwelt. On the contrary, every- 
thing around me seemed prophetic of 
love and pleasm-e. The very "forms of 
the architecture, to my Epicm'cau ima- 
gination, appeared to call up images of 
living grace ; and even the dim seclu- 
sion of the temples and groves spoke 
only of tender mysteries to my mind. 
As the whole bright scene grew animat- 
ed around me, I felt that though Egypt 
might not enable me to lengthen life, 
she could teach the next best art — that 
of multiplying its enjoyments. 

The population of Alexandria,! at this 
period, consisted of the most motley 

* More properly, perliaps, " the Cohima of 
the Pillnrs." Vide Abdcdlatif, Eolation de 
I'Esiyptc, and the notes of M.Ao Hacy. Tlio 
ffreat portico around this column (tbrmerly 
designated Pompey's, but now known to have 
been erected in honor of Dioclesian) was still 
standing, M. de Sacy says, in the time of Sala- 
dic Vids J-orii Vdlcntia's Travels. 



miscellany of nations, religions and 
sects, that had ever been brought to- 
gether in one city. Besides the school 
of the Grecian Platouistwas seen the 
oratory of the cabalistic Jew ; while the 
church of the Christian stood, undis- 
turbed, over the crypts of the Egyptian 
Hierophant. Here, the adorer of Fire, 
from the East, laughed at the less ele- 
gant superstition of the worshipper of 
cats, from the "West. Here, Christiani- 
ty, too, had learned to emulate the pious 
vagaries of Paga,nism ; and while, on 
one side, her Ophite professor was seen 
bending his knee gravely before a ser- 
pent, on the other, a Nicosian Christian 
was heard contendin;; with no less grav- 
ity, that there could t)e no chance what- 
ever of salvation out of the pale of the 
Greek alphabet. Still worse, the un- 
charitableness of Christian schism was 
already, with equal vigor, distinguish- 
ing itself ; and I heard everywhere, on 
my arrival, of the fierce rancor and hate 
with which the Greek and Latin church- 
men were then persecuting each other, 
because, forsooth, the one fasted on the 
seventh day of the week, and the others 
fasted upon the fom'th and sixth ! 

To none, however, of these different 
creeds and sects, except in as far as 
they furnished food for ridicule, had 
I time to pay much attention. I was 
now in the most luxmious city of the 
univoise, and accordingly gave way, 
without reserve, to the various seduc- 
tions that sun-ounded me. My reputa- 
tion, both as a philosopher and a man 
of pleasm-e, had preceded my coming ; 
and Alexandria, the second Athens of 
the world, welcomed me as her own. I 
found my celebrity, indeed, act as a tal- 
isman, that opened all hearts and doors 
at my approach. The usual novitiate of 
acquaintance was dispensed witli in my 
favor, and not only intimacies, but loves 
and friendships, ripened as rapidly in my 
path, as vegetation springs up where 
the N"ile has flowed. The dark beauty 
of the Egyptian woment possessed a nov- 

f Ammianusthns speaks of the state of Alex- 
andria in his time, which wis. I believe, as 
late us tlie end of the fourth century : — ''Ne 
nunc quidcm in eadera urlie Doctriuas varioe 
silent, non apud nos exnvuit Musica iiec Har- 
monia conticuit." Lib. 22. 

t From the character of the features of tlio 
Sphinx, and a passage in Herodotus, describ- 



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704 



MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



elty in my eyoB tbat enhanced its other 
charms ; and the hue left by the sim on 
their rounded cheeks seemed but an 
earnest of the genial ardor he must have 
kindled in their hearts — 

Th' iinbrowning of the fruit, that teUs, 

How rich within the soul of sweetness dwells. 

Some weeks had now passed in such 
constant and ever-changing pleasures, 
that even the melancholy voice deep 
within my heart, though it still spoke, 
was but seldom listened to, and soon 
died away in the sound of the siren 
songs that suiTOimded me. At length, 
as the novelty of these gay scenes wore 
off, the same vague and gloomy bodings 
began to mingle with all my joys ; and 
an incident that occurred, at this time, 
during one of my gayest revels, con- 
duced still more to deepen their gloom. 

The celebration of the annual festival 
of Serapis happened to take place dur- 
ing my stay ; and I was, more than 
once, induced to mingle with the gay 
multitudes that flocked to the shrine at 
Cauopus on the occasion. Day and 
night, as long as this festival lasted, the 
great canal, which led from Alexandria 
to Canopus, was covered with boats full 
of pilgrims of both sexes, all hastening 
to avail themselves of this pious license, 

inp tlie Efjyptians ns neKayxpoi^ xai ovAorpiAe;, 

Volney, Bruce, and a few otliers, liave con- 
clnded that the ancient inhabitants of Egypt 
were negroes. But this opinion is contradicted 
by a liost of autljorities. See Castera's notes 
upon Bioivne's Travels, for tlie result of Blu- 
menbach's dissection of a variety of innmmies. 
Denon, speaking of the character of tlie heads 
siiiti'd in the ancient sepulchre and paint- 

; of Kirypt, says, " Celle des femmes ressem- 
Me ei'.c'.ure a la fig'ure des jolios femmes 
d'aiijiiurd'hui : de la rondeur, de lavoluptt5, le 
nez petit, les yeiix longs, peu on verts, '^ <fec., 
&c. He could judge, too, he says, from the 
female mummies, " que Icurs cheveux 6toient 
longs ct lisses, que le caructere de tete de la 
plupait tenoit du beau style." — " Jerapportai," 
Le adds, 'line tete de vieille femrae qui 6toit 
aussi brlle que celles de Michel-Angc, et leur 
ressembloit beaucoup." ^ 

In a " Description generate de TMbes," by 
Messrs. Jollois et DesviUiers, they say, " Toutes 
les sculptures Egyptienues, depuis les plus 
grands colosses ile Th6bes jusqu'aux plus 
petites idoles, ne rappelent en uucune raaniere 
les traits de la limire des negres . outic que les 
tetes (les luomios des catacombes de Thebes 
pr^sentent des profils droits. ' (See also M. 
Jornard's " Description of Syene and the Cata- 
racts" Baron, Larrey, on the " conformation 
physique " of the Egyptians, &c.) But the 



P'-' 



which lent the zest of a religious sanc- 
tion to pleasure, and gave a holyday to 
the follies and passions of eaith, in 
honor of heaven. 

I was returning, one lovely night, to 
Alexandria. The north wind, that wel- 
come visitor, had cooled and freshened 
the au', while the banks, on either side 
of the stream, sent forth, from groves of 
orange and henna, the most delicious 
odors. As I had left all the crowd be- 
hind me at Canopus, there was not a 
boat to be seen on the canal but my 
own ; and I was just yielding to the 
thoughts which solitude at such au hour 
inspires, when my reveries were sud- 
denly broken by the sound of some 
female voices, coming mingled with 
laughter and screams, from the garden 
of a pavilion, that stood, brilliantly il- 
luminated, upon the bank of the canal. 

In rowing nearer, I perceived that 
both the mnth and the alarm had been 
caused by the efforts of some playful 
girls to reach a hedge of jasmine which 
grew near the water, and in bending 
towards which they had nearly fallen 
into the stream. Hastening to proffer 
my assistance, I soon recognised the 
voice of one of my fair Alexandrian 
friends ; and, springing on the bank, 
was surrounded by the whole group, 
most satisfactory refutation of the opinion of 
Volney has beeu afforded within these few 
years, by Doctor Granville, who, having beeu 
lucky enough to obtain possession of a perfect 
female mummy, has, by the dissection and 
admeasurement of its form, completely estab- 
lished the fact, that the ancii-iit Egyiitiiiiis 
were of the Caucasian race, not of the Ethio- 
pian. See this gentleman's curious " Exsay on 
Egyptian MnnDiiies." read before the Royal 
Society, April 14, 18i5. 

De Pauw, the great depredator of every 
thing Egyptian, has, on the authority of a pas- 
sage in .^lian, presumed to affix to the country- 
women of Cleopatra the stigma of complete 
and unredeemed ugliness. The following lino 
of Euripides, however, is an answer to suck 
•harges : — 

N«cAou fxer alSt KaKKnrapOivoi, poai. 

In addition to the celebrated instances of 
Cleopatra, Ehodope, &c., we are told, on the 
authority of Manetho, (as given by Zoeg i 
from Georgios Syuceilus,) of a bc.iutilul queen 
of Memphis, Nitocris, of the sixth dynasty, 
who. in addition to other charms and perfec- 
tions, was (rather inconsistently with the negro 
hypothesis) ^av0ri tyiv xpoiav, i. e.,je\li.nv-]rMrod. 
See for a tribute to the beauty of the Egvp 
tian women, Montesquieu's Temple de Guide. 



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THE EPICIIEEA2?. 705 




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Trho insisted on my joining their party 
in the pavilion: and, having flung 
f.-ouud me, as letters, the tendrils of 
j ismine which they had just plucked, 
conducted me, no unwilling captive, to 
the banquet-room. 

I found here an assemblage of the 
very flower of Alexandrian society. 
The unexpectedness of the meeting ad- 
ded new zest to it on both sides ; and 
seldom had I ever felt more enlivened 
myself, or succeeded better in infusing 
life and gayety into others. 

Among tile company were some Greek 
women, who, according to the fashion 
of their country, wore veils; but, as 
usual, rather to set off than to conceal 
then- beauty, some bright gleams of 
which were constantly escaping from 
under the cloud. There was, however, 
one female, who particularly attracted 
my attention, on whose head was a chap- 
let of dark colored flowers, and who 
sat veiled and silent during the whole 
of the banquet. She took no share, I 
observed, in what was passing around ; 
the viands and the Mine went by her 
untouched, nor did a word that was 
spoken seem addressed to her car. This 
abstraction from a scene so sparkling 
with gayety, though apparently unno- 
ticed by any one but myselfj struck me 
as mysterious and strange. I inquired 
of my fair neighbor the cause of it, but 
she looked grave, and was silent. 

In the mean time, the lyre and the 
cup went round ; and a young maid 
from Athens, as if inspired bj'- the pres- 
ence of her countryman, took her lute, 
and sung to ft some of the songs of 
Greece, with a warmth of feeling that 
bore me back to the banks of the lUssus, 
and, even in the bosom of present pleas- 
urs, drew a sigh from my heart for that 
which had passed away. It was day- 
break ere our delighted party rose, and 
most unwillingly re-embarked to return 
to the city. 

We were scarce afloat, when it was 
discovered that the lute of the young 
Athenian had been left behind; and, 
with a heart still full of its sweet sounds, 
I most readdy sprang on shore to seek 
it. I hastened at once to the banquet- 
room, which was now dim and solitarj-, 
except that — there, to my utter aston- 
ishment, was still seated that silent 



figure which had awakened so much my 
curiosity duiing the evening. A vague 
feeling of awe came over me, as I now 
slowly approached it. There was no 
motion, no sound of breathing in that 
form;— not a leaf of the dark chaplet 
upon its brow stuTed. By the light of a 
dying lamp which stood on the table be- 
fore the figure, I raised, with a hesitat- 
ing hand, the veil; and saw — what my 
fancy had already anticipated — that the 
shape underneath was lifeless, was a 
skeleton ! Startled and shocked, I hur- 
ried back with the lute to the boat, and 
was almost as silent as that shape it- 
self during the remainder of the voy- 
age. 

This custom among the Egyptians of 
placing a mummy, or skeleton, at the 
banquet- table, had been for some time 
disused, except at particular ceremo- 
nies ; and, even on such occasions, it had 
been the practice of the luxurious Alex- 
andrians to disguise this memorial of 
mortality in the manner just described. 
But to me, who was wholh' unprepared 
for such a spectacle, it gave a shock from 
which my imagination did not speedily 
recover. This silent and ghastly witness 
of mirth seemed to embody, as it were, 
the shadow in my own heart. The 
features of the grave were thus stamped 
upon the idea that had long haunted 
me, and this picture of what I was to he 
now associated itself constantl}^ with 
the sunniest aspect of what I icus. 

The memory of the dream now re- 
curred to me more livelily than ever. 
The bright, assuring smile of that ven- 
erable Spirit, and his words, " Go to che 
shores of the dark Nile, and thou wilt 
find the eternal life thou seekest,'' were 
forever present to my mind. But as 
yet, alas, I had done nothing towards 
realizing the proud promise. Alexan- 
dria was not Egvpt; — the very soil on 
which it now stood was not in existence, 
when already Thebes and Memphis had 
numbered ages of glory. 

"'So," I exclaimed; "it is only be- 
neath the pyramids of Memphis, or in 
the Mystic HaUs of the Labyiinth, 
those ln)ly arcana are to be found, of 
which the antediluvian world has made 
Egypt its heir, and among which — 
blessed thought ! — the key to eternal 
life may lie." 



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706 MOORE'S WORKS. 




€lP'';|^-- 




Having formed my determination, I 
took leave of my many Alexandrian 
friends, and departed for Memphis. 



CHAPTER lY. 

Egypt was, perhaps, of all others, the 
country most calcnlated, from that mix- 
ture of the melancholy and the voluptu- 
ous which marked the character of her 
people, her religion, and her scenery, to 
affect deeply a fancy and temperament 
like mine, and keep hoth forever trem- 
blingly alive. Wherever I turned, I 
beheld the desert and the garden, min- 
gling together their desolation and 
bloom. I saw the love-bower and the 
tomb standing side by side, as if in that 
land, Pleasure and Death kept hom-ly 
watch upon each other. In the very 
luxury of the climate there was the same 
saddening influence. The monotonous 
splendor of the days, the solemn radi- 
ance of the nights— all tended to cher- 
ish that ardent melancholy, the oflFspring 
of passion and of thought, which had 
been so long the familiar inmate of my 
soul. 

When I sailed from Alexandria, the 
inundation of the ISTile was atitsfull. The 
whole valley of Egypt lay covered by 
its blood ; and, as, looking around me, 
I saw in the light of the setting sun, 
shrines, palaces and monuments, en- 
circled by the waters, I could almost 
fancy that I beheld the sinking island of 
Atalantis, on the last evening its temples 
n-ere visible above the wave. Such va- 
-ieties, too, of animation as presented 
themselves on every side ! — 

While, far as sight could reach, beneath as 

clear 
lincl blue a heaven as ever bless'd this sphere, 
Gardens, and pillar'd streets, and porphyry 

domes. 
And high-built temples, fit to bo the homes 
Of mighty gods— and pyramids, whoso hour 
Outlasts iiUtime, above the waters tower ! 

Then, too. the scenes of pomp and joy, that 
One theatre of this vast peopled lake, (make 
Where all that Love, Keligion, Commerce gives 
Of life aud motion, ever moves and lives. 

* Vide Strabo. 

t To S' ey 2aei Ttj? A0>)va!, rfv Kai Icnv co|U.t- 
^ovtrii', fSo?, fTTi.ypa(j>r)i' e^ei TOiavrrji', E-yio eifii 
irai' TO yf-yoj'O?, Kat or Kai ^tjofxevov^ Kat tov e^ov 
TTenKov ouSeis to) airc/caAin/(c>'. — Plutarch. Ue 
Isid. et Osir. 

J "De la en remontant tonjours le Nil, on 
trouve a deux cent ciuqnante pas, uu environ 



Here, up the steps of temples, from the wave 
Ascending, in procession slow and grave. 
Priests, in white garments, go, with sacred 

wands 
And silver cymba's gleaming in their hands ; 
While, there, rich barks — fresh from those 

sunny tracts 
Far off, beyond the sonndine cataracts — 
Glide with their precious lading to the sea, 
Plumps of bright birds, rhinosceros' ivory. 
Gems from the Isle of Meriie, and those grains 
Of gold, wash'd down by Abyssinian rains. 

Here, where the waters wind into a bay 

Shadowy and cool, some pilgrim^ on their way 

To Siiis or Bubastus, among beds 

Ofliil US-flowers that close above their heads. 

Push their light barks, and hid, as in a bower. 

Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hoin-; 

"Wliile haply, not far off, beneath a bank 

Of blossomiug acacias, many a prank 

Is playd in the ct)ol current by a train 

Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she, whose chain 

Around t^^•o conquerors of the world was cast, 

But, for a third too feeble, broke at last I 



Enchanted with the whole scene, I 
lingered delightedly on my voyage, vis- 
iting all those luxurious and venerable 
place?;, whose names have been conse- 
crated by the wonder of ages. At Sa'is 
I was present during her Festival of 
Lamps, and read, by the blaze of innu- 
merable lights, those subhme words on 
the temple of Neitha if—" I am all that 
has been, that is, and that will be, and 
no man hath ever lifted my veil." I 
wandered among the prostrate obelisks 
of Heliopolis,! and saw, not without a 
sigh, the sun smiling over her ruins, as 
if in mockery of the mass of perishable 
grandeur t!:at had once called itself, in 
its pride, " The City of the Sun." But 
to the Isle of the Golden Venus§ was, 
I own, my fondest pilgrimage ; — and 
there, as I rambled through its shades, 
where bowers are the only temples, I 
felt how far more worthy to form the 
shrine of a Deity are the everliving 
stems of the garden and the gi-ove, than 
the most precious columns the inani- 
mate quarry can supply. 

Everywhere new pleasm-es, new in- 
terests awaited me ; and though Mel- 
ancholy stood, as usual, forever near, 

de la Matar^e, los traces de I'ancienue H61io- 
polis, ou ville de Soleil, a qui ce lieu etoit par- 
ticuli^rement consacr^. C'est pour cotte rai- 
son qu'on I'appeloit encore I'CEil, ou la Pontaine 
du Soleil."— itr«i7i«*. 

§ "On trouve une lie appelee Venus-Dor6e, 
ou le champ d'or, avant de remonter jusqu'a 
Memphis." — Voyages de Pythagore. 



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C*^^ 





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THE EPICUREAN-. 



707 



her shadow fell but half-way over my 
vagi-autpath, leavuig the rest more wel- 
comely brilliant from the contrast. To 
relate my various adventures, during 
this short voyage, would only detain 
me from events, far, far more worthy of 
record. Amidst all this endless variety of 
attractions, the great object of my jom-- 
ney had been forgotten; — the mysteries 
of this laud of the sun still remained, to 
me, as much mysteries as ever, and as 
yet I had been "initiated in nothing but 
its pleasures. 

It was not till that memorable even- 
ing, when I first stood before the Pyra- 
mids of Memphis, and beheld them tow- 
ering aloft, like the watch-towers of 
Time, from whose summit, when about 
to expire, he will look his last— it was 
not till this moment that the great se- 
cret announced in my dream again rose, 
in all its inscrutable darkness, upon my 
thoughts. There was a solemnity in the 
sunshine resting upon those monuments 
^a stillness, as of reverence, in the air 
that breathed around them, which 
seemed to steal, hke the music of past 
times, into my heart. 1 thought what 
myriads of the wise, the beautiful, and 
the brave, had sunk into dust since 
earth first saw those wonders; and ta 
the sadness of my soul, I exclaimed, — 
"Must man alone, then, perish? must 
minds and hearts be annihilated, while 
pyramids endure ? Oh, Death, Death ! 
even upon these everlasting tablets — 
the only approach to immortality that 
kings themselves could purchase — thou 
hast written our doom awfully, and in- 
telligibly, saying, ' There is for man 
no eternal mansion, but the grave!'" 

My heart sunk at the thought ; and, 
for the moment, I yielded to that deso- 
late feeling, which overspreads the soul 
that hath no light from the future. But 
again the buoyancy of my nature pre- I 
vailed, and again, the williasj dupe of 
vain dreams, I deluded myself into the 

* For an account of the Table of Emerald, 
vide Lett res .sur I'Oru/ine des Dicux d' Egnple. 
Da Pauw suiijidsos it to be a modern fiction of 
tlie Araljs. Many writers have fancied that 
tlio art of making gold was the great secret 
that lay hid under the forms of Egyjitian the- 
ology. "La science hcrmetique, says the 
Benedictine, Pernetz, "Tart saci^rdota'l, 6toit 
la source de toutes Ics ricliesses des Rois 
d'Egypte, et Tobjct de ces mysteres si caches 
sous le voile de leur pretcnduo Keligiou." — 



belief of all that my heart most wished, 
with that happy facility which enables 
imagination to stau(' in the place oi 
happiness. "Yes," I cried, "immor- 
tality must be within man's reach ; and, 
as wisdom alone is v\-orthy of such a 
blessing, to the wise alone must the se- 
cret have been revealed. It is said, 
that deep under yonder pyramid, has 
lain for ages concealed the Table of 
Emerald,* on which the Thrice-Great 
Hermes, in times before the flood, en- 
gi-aved the secret of Alchemy, which 
gives gold at will. Wliy, then, may not 
the nnghtier, the more" god-like secret 
that gives life at will, be recorded there 
also ? It was by the power of gold, ol 
endless gold, that the kings, who now 
repose in those massy stmetures, scoop- 
ed earth to its very centre, and raised 
quarries into the air, to provide for 
themselves tombs that might outstaud 
the world. Who can tell but that the 
gift of immortality was also theirs ? who 
knows but that they themselves, tri- 
umphant over decay, stiU Jive ; — those 
mighty mansions, which we call tombs, 
being rich and everlasting palaces, with- 
in whose depths, concealed from this 
withering world, they still wander, with 
the few Elect who have been sharers of 
their gift, through a sunless, but ever il- 
luminated elysium of their own? Else, 
wherefore those structures? wherefiu-e 
that subterranean realm, by which the 
whole valley of Egypt is undermined ? 
Why, else, those labyrinths, which none 
of earth hath ever beheld— which none 
of heaven, except that God, who stands, 
with finger on his hushed lip,t hath 
ever trodden f 

While thus I indulged in fond dreams, 
the sun, already half sunk beneath th-e 
horizon, was taking, calmly and glori- 
ously, his last look of the "Pyramids— 
as he had done, evening after evening, 
for ages, till they had grown familiar 
to him as the earth itself. On the side 

Fables Ecpiptiennes. The hicroglyplis, tliat 
formerly covered the Pyramids, are snpposcd 
by some of these writers to refer to the sumo 
art. See Mutus Liber, llupellce. 

t "Enfin Harpocrate reprSsentoit aussi lo 
Soleil. 11 est vrai que c'(5toit aussi le Dieu du 
Silence; il mettoit le doigt sur la "bouche 
parcequ'on adoroit le soleil avec un respectueux 
silence, et c'est de la qu est venu le SigC des 
Basilidiens, qui tiroient leur origiue do 
I'Egypte." — Beausobre. 




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708 MOOKE'S WOEKS. 




turned to his ray they now presented a 
front of dazzling whiteness,* while, on 
the other, their great shadows, lengthen- 
ing away to the eastward, looked hke 
the first steps of Night, hastening to en- 
velope the l.ills of Araby in her shade. 

No sooner had the last gleam of the 
sun disappeared, than on every house- 
top in Memphis, gay, gilded banners 
were seen waving aloft, to proclaim his 
setting— while, at the same moment, a 
fuU burst of harmony was heard to peal 
from all the temples along the shores. 

Startled from my musing by these 
sounds, I at once recollected, that, on 
that very evening, the great festival of 
of the Moon was to be celebrated. On 
a little island, half way over between 
the gardens of Memphis and the eastera 
shore, stood the temple of that goddess, 

whose beams 
Bring llie Bweet time of night-flowers and 

drearas. 
Not the cold Dian of the North, who chains 
la vestal ice the current of young veins ; 
But she, who haunts the gay, Bubastiant 

grove, [above 

And owns she sees, from her bright heaven 
Nothing on earth to match that heaven, but 

love! 
Thus did I exclaim, in the words of 
one of their own poets, as, anticipating 
the various delights of the festival, I 
cast away from my mind all gloomy 
thoughts ; and, hastening to my little 
bark, in which I now hved the life of a 
Nile-bird, on the waters, steered my 
to the island-temple of the Moon. 



CHAPTER T. 

The rising of the Moon, slow and ma- 
jestic, as if conscious of the honors that 
awaited her upon earth, was welcomed 
with a loud acclaim from every emi- 
nence, where multitudes stood watch- 
ing for her first light. And seldom had 
that light risen upon a more beautii'ul 
scene. The city of Memphis — still 
grand, though no longer the unrivalled 
Memphis that had borne away from 

*"By reflecting the sun's rays," says Clarke, 
speaking of the Pyramids, "they appeared 
white as snow." 

t For Bubastis, the Dinnaof the Egyptians, 
vide JablonsH, lib. iii. cap. 4. 

J Vide Amailhoti,''^ HMoiredela Navigation 
et du Gornmerce des Egyptiens sous les Ptole- 
mies." See also, for a description of the vari- 



Thebes the crown of supremacy, and 
worn it uudisjntted through ages — now, 
softened by the mild moonlight that har- 
monized with her decUne, shone forth 
among her lakes, her pyramids, and hei 
shrines, like one of those dreams of hu- 
man glory that must ere long pass away. 
Even already ruin was visible around 
her. The sands of the Libyan desert 
were gaining upon her like a sea; and 
there, among solitary columns and 
sphinxes, already half sunk from sight. 
Time seemed to stand waiting, till all 
that now flourished around him should 
faU beneath his desolating hand like the 
x"est. 

On the waters all was gayety and life. 
As far as eye could reach, the lights ot 
ianumerabie boats were seen studding, 
like rubies, the surface of the stream. 
Vessels of every kind — from the light 
coracle,^ built for shooting down the 
cataracts, to the large yacht that glides 
slowly to the sound of flutes — all were 
afloat for this sacred festival, filled with 
crowds of the young and gay, not only 
from Memphis and Babylon, but from 
cities still farther removed from the fes- 
tal scene. 

As I approached the island, I could 
see, glittering through the trees on the 
bank, the lamps of the pilgrims hasten- 
ing to the ceremony. Landing in the 
direction which those lights pointed out, 
I soon joined the crowd; and, passing 
through a long alley of sphinxes, whose 
spangling marble gleamed out from the 
dark sycamores around them, reached 
in a short time the grand vestibule of 
the temple, where I found the cere- 
monies of the evening already com- 
menced. 

In this vast hall, which was surround- 
ed by a double range of columns, and 
lay open over-head to the stars of heav- 
en, I saw a group of young maidens, 
moving in a sort of measured step, be- 
tween walk and dance, round a small 
shrine, upon which s:;ood one of those 
sacred birds, § that, on account of the 

ons kinds of boats used on the Nile, Maillet, 
torn. i. p. 98. 

§ Vide Maiirice, Appendix to " Ruins of 
Babylon." Another reason, he says, for their 
Worship of the Ibis, "founded on their love of 
geometry, was (according to Plutarch) that 
the space between its legs, when parted asun- 
der, as it walks, together with its beak, foi-ms 




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UIIIIIUIIIIIIIIIUIIUIIIIflllllUIIIIIIIIIIillillDllllilli 




THE EPICUREAN 



709 



variegated color of their Avings, are 
dedicated to the worship of the moon. 
The vestibule was dimly lighted — there 
being but one lamp of naphtha hung on 
each of the great pillars that encu-cled 
it. But, having taken my station be- 
side one of those pillars, I had a clear 
view of the young dancers, as in succes- 
sion they passed me. 

The drapery of all was white as 
snow ; and each wore loosely, beneath 
the bosom, a dark -blue zone, or bande- 
let, studded, like the skies at midnight, 
with small silver stars. Through their 
dark locks was wreathed the white lily 
of the JSTilo— that sacred flower being ac- 
counted no less welcome to the moon 
than the golden blossoms of the beau- 
flower* are known to be to the sun. As 
they passed under the lamp, a gleam of 
light flashed from their bosoms^ which, 
I could perceive, was the reflection of a 
small mirror, that, in the manner of the 
women of the East, each of the dancers 
wore beneath her left shoulder. 

There was no music to regulate their 
steps; but, as they gracefully went 
round the bird on the shrine, some to 
the beat of the castanet, some to the 
shrill ring of a sistrumf— which they 
held uplifted in the attitute of their own 
divine Isis— continued harmoniously to 
time the cadence of their feet; while 
others, at every step, shook a small 
chain of silvei", whose sound, mingling 
with those of the castanets and sistrums, 
produced a wild, but not unpleasmg 
harmony. 

They seemed all lovely; but there 
was one— whose face the light had not i 
yet reached, so downcast she held it— | 
who attracted, and, at length, riveted 
all my looks and thoughts. I know not 
why, but there was a something in those 
hali'-seen features — a charm in the very 
shadow that hung over their imagined 
beauty — which took my fancy more than 
all the out-shining loveliness'of her com- 
panions. So enchained was I by this 

a complete equilateral triancle." F-otn the 
examination of the embalmed birds, found in 
the Catacombs of Saccara, there seems to be 
no doubt that the Ibis was the same kind of 
bird as that described by Bruce, under the 
Arabian name of Abou Hanncs 

* " Lafieuren estmille fois plusodorif6rante 
que celles de nos feves d'Europe, quoique leur 
parfum nous paroisse si a{,'re,".blc. Comme on ' 



coy mystery, that her alone, of all the 
group, could I either see or think of— 
I her alone I watched, as, with the same 
downcast brow, she glided gently aud 
aerially roundthealtar,asif her presence, 
like that of a spii-it, was something to 
be felt, not sieen. 

Suddenly, while I gazed, the loud 
crash of a thousand cymbals was heard ; 
— the massy gates of the Temple flew 
open, as if by magic, and a flood of 
radiance from the illuminated aisle filled 
the whole vestibiile ; while, at the same 
instant, aa if the light aud the sounds 
were born together, a peal of rich har- 
mony came mingling with the radiance. 

It was then — by that light, which 
shone full upon the young maiden's fea- 
tures, as, starting at the sudden blaze, 
she raised her eyes to the portal, and as 
quickly let fall their lids again— it was 
then I beheld, what even my owu ar- 
dent imagination, in its most vivid 
dreams of beauty, had never pictured. 
Not Psyche herself, when pausn\g on 
the threshold of heaven, while its "first 
glories fell on her dazzled lids, could 
have looked more purely beautiful, &r 
blushed with a more innocent shame. 
Often as I had felt the power of looks, 
none had ever entered into my soul so 
deeply. It was a new feeling — a new 
sense — coming as suddenly upon me as 
that radiance into the vestibule, and, at 
once, filliug my whole being ; — and had 
that bright vision but lingered another 
moment before my eyes, I should in my 
transport have wholly forgotten who I 
was and where, and thi-own myself, in 
prostrate adoration, at her feet. 

But scarcel^^ had that gush of har- 
mony been heard, when the sacred bird, 
which had, till now, been standing mo- 
tionless as an iuuige, sp-./ead wide his 
wings, and flew iuto the Temple; while 
his graceful young worshippers, with a 
fleetness like his own, followed — and 
she, who had left a dream in my heart 
never to be forgotten, vanished along 

en seme beaueoup dans les terrea voisines du 
Caire, du c6te do loccidpnt. c'est quclque ehoso 
de charmant que I'liirembfiume que I'onrcsijire 
le soir sur les terrasses, quand le vent do I'ouest 
vient h, souffler. et y apporte cette odeur admir- 
able." — Maillet. 

t "Isis est genius," says Servius, ".SIgpTti. 
qui per sistri motum, quod gerit iu dextra, Kill 
accessus recessusgue significat." 




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no 



MOOEE'S "VrOEKS. 



■with the rest. As she went rapidly past 
the pillar against which I leaned, the ivy 
that eucircled it* caught in her drapery, 
and disengaged some ornament, which 
fell to the ground. It was the small 
mirrorf which I had seen shiniugonher 
bosom. Hastily and tremulously I 
picked it up, and hm'ried to restore it ; 
but she was already lost to my eyes in 
the crowd. 

In vain did I try to follow;— the 
aisles were aheady tilled, and numbers 
of eager pilgrims pressed towards the 
portal. But the servants of the Temple 
denied all further entrance, and still, as 
I presented myself, their white wands 
barred the way. Pei-plexed and irritated 
amid tbat crowd of faces, regarding all 
as enemies that impeded my progress, 
I stood on tiptoe, gazing into the busy 
aisles, and with a heart beating as I 
caught, from time to time, a ghmpse of 
some spangled zone, or lotus wreath, 
whicli led me to fancy that I had dis- 
covered the fan- object of my search. 
But it was all in vain; — in every direc- 
tion files of sacred Bymphs were mov- 
ing, but nowhere could I discover her 
whom alone I sought. 

In this state of breathless agitation 
did I stand for some time— bewildered 
with tne confusion of faces and lights, 
as well as with the clouds of incense 
that rolled around me— till, fevered and 
impatient, I could endure it no longer. 
Forcing my way out of the vestibule 
into the cool an-, I hun-ied back through 
the alley of sphinxes to the shore and 
flung myself into my boat. 

There lies, to the north of Memphis, t 
a solitary lake, (which, at this season of 

* The ivy w:is consecrated to Osiris, Vide , 
Biodor. Sic. 1. 10. 

t " Quelques-unes," says Dupuis, describinfc 
the processions of Isis, "portoient desmiroirs 
attaches a leurs (Jpaules, afln de multiplier et 
de porter dans tons les scmis les imag-es de la 
l)6essL'."—0nginc d<-s Ciiltes. torn. viii. p. 847. 
A mirror, ik M|.poin-.s, was also one ot the em- 
blems in the nij steries of 15acchus. 

I ' Tout prouve c^iie la territoire de Sakkarah 
6toit la Necropolis au sud de Memphis, et le 
faubourg oppose a ceiuici oil sont les pyra- 
mides d'e Gizeh, une f.ntve Vilte des Morts, qui 
terminoit Memnhis au nord." —Denon. 

There is nothing known with certainty as to 
the site of Memphis, but it will be perceived 
that the description of its position given by the 
Epicurean corresponds, in almost every par- 
ticular, with that which M. Maillet (the French 
c«usul, for many years, at Cairo) has, iu his 



the year, mingles with the rest of the 
waters,) upon whose shores stands the 
N"ecropoKs, or City of the Dead — a place 
of melancholy grandeur, covered over 
with shrines and pyramids, where many 
a kingly head, proud even in death, has 
lain awaiting through long ages the res- 
urrection of its glories. Through a 
range of sepulchral grots underneath, 
the humbler denizens of the tomb are 
deposited — looking out on each succes- 
sive generation that visits them, with 
the same face and features§ they wore 
centuries ago. Every plant and tree, 
consecrated to death, from the asphodel- 
flower to the mystic plantain, lends its 
sweetness or s-nadow to this place of 
tombs ; and the only noise that disturbs 
its eternal calm, is the low humming 
sound of the priests at prayer, when a 
newinhabitantis added to the Silent City. 
It was towards this j)lace .of death 
that, in a mood of mind, as usual, half 
gloomy, half bright, I now, almost un- 
consciously, dn-ected my bark. The 
form of tiie young Piiestess was con- 
tinually before me. That one bright 
look of hers, the very remembrance of 
which was worth all the actual smiles 
of others, never for a moment left my 
mind. Absorbed in such thoughts, I 
continued to row on, scarce knowing 
whither I went, tiU, at length, startled 
to find myself within the shadow of the 
City of the Dead, I looked up, and be- 
held, rising in succession before me, 
pyramid beyond pyramid, |j ea eh tower- 
ing more loitfly than the other — while 
all were out-topped in grandeur by one, 
upon whose summit the bright moon 
rested as on a pedestal. 

work on Egypt, left us. It must bo always 
borne in mind, too. that of the distances be- 
tween the respective places here mentioned, 
we have no longer any accurate means of 
judging. 

§"Par-l&, iionseulement on conservoit les 
corps d'une famille entiere, mais en descen- 
daut dans ces lieux souterrains, oi'i ils fitoieut 
d^posfs, on pouToit se renresenter eu un in- 
stant tons ses aneeires depuis plusieurs milliers 
d'ann6es tels h, peu pres qu'ils etoient de leur 
vivnut." — MaUlvt 

II "Mnltas ohm pyramidas fui'sse le ruinis 
arguitur." Zoega — Vansleb, ■who \ishei more 
tfian ten of the small j)j^ramids, is of opinion 
that there m-ust have originally been a hun- 
dred in this place- 
See, on the subject of the lake to the north> 
ward of Memphis, Shaw's Travels, p. 302. 



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MIIIIIIIIIUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIillllllllllllllllLilll'HilllillinilHIIIIHIUflllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllliy 

THE EPICUEEAN". 




711 



Drawing nearer to the shore, which 
■was sufficiently elevated to raise this 
silent city of tombs above the level of 
the inundation. I rested my oar, and al- 
lowed the boat to rock idly upon the 
water, while, in the mean time, my 
thoughts, left equally without direction, 
were allowed to fluctuate as idly. How 
vague and various were the di'eams that 
then floated through my mind — that 
bright vision of the temple still min- 
gling itself with all ! Sometimes she 
stood before me, like an aerial spirit, as 
pure as if that element of music and 
light, into which I had seen her vanish, 
was her only dwelling. Sometimes, an- 
imated with passion, and kindling into 
a creature of earth, she seemed to lean 
towards me -with looks of tenderness, 
which it were worth worlds, but for one 
instant, to inspire; and again -as the 
dark fancies, that ever haunted me, 
recurred —I saw her cold, parched, and 
blackening, amid the gloom of those 
eternal sepulchres before me ! 

Turning away, with a shudder, fro'.n 
the cemetery at this thought, I heard 
the sound of an oar plying swiftly 
through the water, and, in a few mo- 
ments, saw, shooting past me towai'ds 
the shore, a small boat, in which sat 
two female figures, muflied up and 
veiled. Having landed them not far 
from the spot where, under the shadow 
of a tomb on the bank, I lay concealed, 
the boat again departed, with the same 
fleetness, over the flood. 

l^ever had the prospect of a lively ad- 
venture come more welcome to me than 
at this moment, when my busy fancy 
was employed in weaving such chains 
for my heart, as tlii-eatened a bondage, 
of all others the most difficult to break. 
To become enamored thus of a creature 
of my own imagination, was the worst, 
because the most lasting, of follies. It 
is only reality that can afl'ord any 
chance of dissolving such spells, and the 
idol I was now creating to myself must 
forever remain ideal. Any pursuit, 
therefore, that seemed likely to divert 
me from such thoughts — to bring back 
my imagination to earth and reality, 
firom the vague region in which it had 
been wandering, was a relief far too sea- 
sonable not to be welcomed with eager- 



I had watched the course which the 
two figures took, and, having hastily 
fastened my boat to the bank, stepped 
gently on shore, and, at a little distance, 
followed them. The windings through 
which they led were intricate ; but, by 
the bright light of the moon, I was en- 
abled 10 keep their forms iu view, as, 
with rapid step, they glided among the 
monuments. At length, in the s:hado of 
a small pyramid, whose peak barely sur- 
moimted the plane-trees that grew nigh, 
thev vanished fi-om my sight. I hastened 
to the spot, but there was not a sign of 
life around ; and, had my creed extend- 
ed to another world, I might have fan- 
cied these forms were spirits, sent down 
from thence to mock me— so instanta- 
neously had they disappeared. I 
searched thi-ough the neighboring grove, 
but all there was still as deatli. At 
length, in examining one of the sides of 
the pyramid, which, for a few feet from 
the ground, was furnished with steps, I 
found midway between peak and base, 
a part of its smface, which, although 
presenting to the eye an appearance of 
smoothness, gave to the touch, I 
thought, indications of a concealed open- 
ing. 

After a variety of efforts and experi- 
j ments, I, at last, more by accident t'han 
skill, pressed the spring that command- 
ed this hidden aperture. In an instant 
the portal slid aside, and disclosed a 
naiTow stau'way within, the two or three 
first steps of which were discernible by 
the moonlight, while the rest were all 
lo>;t in utter darkness. Though it was 
difficult to conceive that the 'lersous 
whom I had been pursuing would have 
ventured to pass through this gloomy 
opening, yet to account for their disap- 
pearance otherwise was still more diffi- 
cult. At all events, my curiosity Wiis 
now too eager in the chase to relinquish 
it ; — the spirit of adventm-e, once raised, 
could not be so easily laid. Accord- 
ingly, having sent up a gay prayer to 
that bliss-loving Queeu whose eye alone 
was upon me, I passed through the 
portal, and descended into the pyramid. 



CHAPTER YI. 

At the end of the stairway I found 
myself in alow, narrow passage, through 



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712 



llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllltll Illllllllll liiiiiiiillllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllilllUIIIIIIIIII Ulllllllllll 

MOORE'S WOEKS. 



■which, without stooping almost to the 
earth, it was impussible to proceed. 
Though leading through a multiphcity 
of dark winding-:, this "way seemed but 
little to advance my progress — its course, 
I perceived, being chiefly circular, and 
gathering, at every turn, but a deeper 
intensity of darkness. 

"Can anything," thought I, "of human 
kind sojourn here?"— and had scarcely 
asked myself the question, when the 
path opened into a long gallery, at the 
farthest end of which a gleam of light 
was visible. This welcome glimmer ap- 
peared to issue from some cell or alcove, 
in which the right-hand wall of the 
gallery terminated, and, breathless with 
expectation, I stols gently towards it. 

Arrived at the end of the gallery, a 
scene presented itself to my eyes, for 
which my fondest expectations of ad- 
ventm-e could not have prepared me. 
The place from which the light proceed- 
ed was a small chapel, of whose interior, 
from the dark recess in which I stood, I 
could take, unseen myself, a full and 
distinct view. Over the walls of this 
oratory were painted some of those va- 
rious symbols, by which the mystic wis- 
dom of the Egyptians loves to shadow 
out the History of the Soul ; the winged 
globe with a serpent— the rays descend- 
ing from aliove, like a glory— and the 
Theban beetle, * as he comes forth after 
the waters have passed away, and the 
first sunbeam falls on his regenerated 
wings. 

In the middle of the chapel, on a low 
altar of granite, lay a lifeless female 
form, enshrined within a case of crystalf 

* " On voit e.ii Egypte, apr6s la retraite du 
Nil et la f>5condatioii lies terres, le liiuon con- 
vert d'une multitude do scarabees. Uu pareil 
plienomtno a du sembler aux Ea;yptieus le plus 
propre a peindre uue nouvelle existence." — 
3f . joinbard. 

Partly lor the same reason, and partly for 
another, still more I'ancil'ul, the early Chris- 
tiaus used to apply tills emblem to Christ. 
"Bonus illo scarabicus uieus," says St. Augus- 
tine," " non ea tantum do causa quod uniseni- 
tus, quod ipsemct sui auctor mortalium speciem 
induerit, sed quod iii^hac nostra faeco sese volu- 
taverit et ex hac ipsa nasci volueiit." 

t "Les Esyptiens ont fait aussi, pour cou- 
server leurs morts, des caisses do verre." — Pe 
Pavto. He mentions, also, in another place, 
a sort of transparent substance, which the 
Ethiopians used for the same purpose, and 
which was frequently mistaken by the Greeks 
for glass. 



— as it is the custom to preserve the 
dead in Ethiopia — and looliing as freshly 
beautiful as if the soul had but a few 
hours departed. Among the emblems 
of death, t on the front of the altar, Avere 
a slender lotus branch broken in two, 
and a small bird just winging its flight 
from the spray. 

To these memorials of the dead, how- 
ever, I paid but little attention ; for 
there was a living object there upon 
which my eyes were now intentlj' fixed. 

The lamp, liy which the whole of the 
chapel was illuminated, was placed at 
the head of the pale image in the 
shrine ; and between its light and me 
stood a female form, bending over the 
monument, as if to gaze upon the silent 
features within. The position in which 
this figure was placed, intercepting a 
strong light, afforded rjc, at first, but 
au imperfect and shadowy view of it. 
Yet even at this mere outline I felt my 
heart beat high— and memory had no 
less share, as it proved, in this feehug 
than ima.cdnation. For, on the head 
changing its position, so as to let a gleam 
fall upon the features, I saw, with a 
transport which had almost led me to 
betray my lurking-place, that it was she 
— the young worshipper of Isis — the 
same, the very same, whom I had seen, 
brightening the holy place where she 
stood, and looking like an inhabitant of 
some purer world. 

The movement, by which she had 
now afforded me an opportunity of rec- 
ognising her, was made in raising from 
the shrine a small cross§ of silver, which 
lay directly over the bosom of the life- 

+ " TJn pr^tre, qui brise la tige d'une fleur, 
des oiseaux qui s'euvolent, sout les emblemcs 
de la mort et do lame qui se stpare du corps." 
—TJc:wa. 

Theseus employs the same image in the 
Phiedra :— 

Opv(? yap ui; Tis ex \epiav at/xii'TO? ei, 
IlTjSijja' 6s a6oii iriKpov opixrjcraa-a. ^ot. 

§ A cross was, among the Egyptians, the 
emblem of a future life. 

" The singular appearance of a Cross so fre- 
quently recurring among tlie hieroglyphics of 
Egypt, had excited the curiosity of the Chris- 
tians at a very early period of ecclesiastical 
history ; and as some of the Priests, who were 
acqua'intcd with the meaning of the hiero- 
glyphics, became converted to Christianity, 
the secret transpired. ' The converted hea- 
thens,' says Socrates Scholasticus, ' explained 



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m^x . m/—' 






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THE EPICUREAN". 



713 



less figure. Bringing it close to her 
lips, she kissed it with a religious fer- 
vor ; then, turning her eyes mom-nfuEy 
upwards, held them fixed with a degree 
of inspired earnestness, as if, at that mo- 
ment, in direct communion with Heav- 
en, they saw neither roof, nor any other 
earthly barrier, between them and the 
skies. 

What a power is there in innocence ! 
whose very helplessness is its safeguard 
— in whose presence even Passion him- 
self stands abashed, and turns worship- 
per at the very altar which he came to 
despoil ! She, who, but a short hour be- 
fore, had presented herself to my imag- 
ination as something I could have risked 
immortality to win — she, whom gladly, 
from the iloor of her own lighted temi)le, 
in the very face of its proud ministers, 
I would have borne away in triumph, 
and dared all punishments, divine and 
human, to make her mine — that very 
creature was now before me, as if thrown 
by fate itself, into my power— standing 
there, beautiful and aloue, with nothing 
but her innocence for her guard ! Yeti 
no — so touching was the purity of the 
whole scene, so calm and august that 
protection which the dead extended over 
the living, that every earthly feeling was 
forgotten as 1 gazed, and love itself be- 
came exalted into reverence. 

But, entranced as I felt in witnessing 
such a scene, thus to enjoy it by stealth 
seemed to me a wrong, a sacrilege — 
and, rather than let her eyes encounter 
the flash of miue, or distm-b, by a whis- 
per, that sacred silence, in which Youth 
and Death held communion through 
undying Love, I would have siiftered 
my heart to break, without a murmur, 
wli^re I stood. Gently, as if life itself 
depended on my every movement, I stole 
away from that tranquil and holy scene 
— leaving it still holy and tranqail as I 
had found it — and, gliding back through 

the symbol, and declared that it signified L?fe 
to Coiue.' ■' — Clarke. 

Li|)siiis, therefore, is mistaken in supposing 
the Cross to have been an emblem peculiar to 
the Clu-istiiins. See, ontliis subjoot, //'iJistoice 
des Jiiifs, liv. vi. c. Ki. 

It is singular enough that while the Cross 
■was thus hold sacred amoujr the Egyptians, 
not only the custo u of mai-king tlie forehead 
with the si^n of t le Cross, but Baptism and 
the consecration ol the bread in the Jiucharist, 
were imitated ia *iic mysterious ceremonies of 



the same passages and windings by which 
I had entered, reached again the nar- 
row stairway, and reascended into light. 

The sun had just risen, and, from the 
summit of the Arabian hills, was pour- 
ing down his beams into that vast val 
ley of waters— as if proud of last uight'a 
homage to his own divine lsi.s, now fad- 
ing away in the superior splendor of her 
Lord. My first impulse was to fly at 
once from this dangerous spot, and in 
new loves and pleasures seek forgetful- 
ness of the wondrous scene I had just 
witnessed. " Once," I exclaimed, "out 
of the c'.cle of this enchantment, I 
know too well my own susceptibility to 
new impressions, to feel any doubt that 
I shall soon break the spell that is now 
around me.'' 

But vain were all my cfi'orts and re- 
solves. Even while shearing to fly 
that spot, I found my steps still linger- 
ing fondly round the pyramid— my eyes 
still t!irued towards the portal which 
severed this enchantress from the world 
of the living. Hour after hour did I 
wander through that City of Silence, 
till, already, it was mid-day, and, un- 
der the sun's meridian eye, the mighty 
pyramid of pyramids stood, like a great 
spirit, shadowless.* 

Again did those wild and passionate 
feelings, which, for the moment, her 
presence had subduediuto reverence, re- 
turn to take possession of my imagina- 
tion and my senses. T even reprorx'hed 
myself for the awe that had held me 
spell-bound before her. "What," 
thought I, "would my companions of 
the Garden say, did they know that 
their chief — he" whose path Love had 
strewed with trophies — was now pining 
for a simple Egyptian girl, in whose 
presence he had not dared to utter a sin- 
gle sigh, and who had vanquished the 
victor, without even knowing her tri- 
umph \" 

M.ithva.—TcrUdl. dc Proscriptinm IlereHcnrum. 

Zoega is of opinion tlmt tlie Cross, said to 
have been for the first timn found, on the de- 
struction of tlie temple of Scrapis, by the 
Christians, could not have been the crux ansata; 
ns nothing is more common than this emblem 
on all the Egyptian monuments. 

* It was an idea entertained among the 
ancients th.at the Pyramids were so constructed 
C'mecanica const ructione," says Aiainiamu 
JilarcelUnus) as never to cast anj- shadow. 




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714 



MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



A blush came over my cheek at the 
humiUating thought, and I determined, 
at all risks, to await her oomiug. That 
she should be au inmate of those gloomy 
caverns seemed inconceivable ; nor did 
there appear to be any egress out of 
their depths but by the pyramid. Again, 
therefore, like a sentinel of the dead, did 
T pace up and down among those tombs, 
contrasting mournfully the burning 
fever in my own veins with the cold 
quiet of those who lay slumbering 
around. 

At length the intense glow of the sun 
over my head, and, still more, that ever 
restless agitation in my heart, became 
too much for even strength like mine to 
endure. Exhausted, I threw myself 
dowu at the base of the pyramid- 
choosing my place dhectly under the 
portal, where, even should slumber sur- 
prise me, my heart, if not my ear, might 
still keep watch, and her footstep, light 
as it was, could not fail to awake me. 

After many an ineffectual struggle 
against drowsiness, I at length sunk 
into sleep— but not into forgetful ness. 
The same image still haunted me, in 
every variety of shape, with which imag- 
ination, assisted by memory, could in- 
vest it. jSTow, like the goddess ]^c'itha, 
.upon her throne at Sais, she seemed 
to sit, with the veil just raised from that 
brow, which till then no mortal had ever 
beheld — and now, like the beautiful en- 
chantress Khodope, I saw her rise 
from out the pyramid in which she had 
dwelt for ages.- 

"Fair Rhodope,* as story tells, 
The bright uueartlilj' iiymph who dwells 
'Mid sunless gold and jewels hid, 
The Lady of the Pyramid !" 

So long had my sleep continued, that, 
when I awoke, I found the moon again 
resplendent above the horizon. But all 
around was looking tranquil and hfeless 
as before; nor did a print on the grass be- 
tray that any foot had passed there since 
my own. Eefreshed, however, by my 
long rest, aud with a fancy still more 
excited by the mystic wonders of which 
I had been dreaming, I now resolved to 

* !From the story of Rhodope, Zoega thinks, 
" videntur Arabes ansam arripuisse ut in una 
ex pyramidibus, genii loco, habitare dicerent 
mulierem nudam iusignis pulchritudinis qufe 
aspecto sue hominei insanire faciat." — De Usu 



revisit the chapel in the pyi'amid, and 
put an end, if possible, to this strange 
mystery that haunted me. 

Having learned, from the experience 
of the preceding night, the inconven- 
ience of encountering tho^e labyrinths 
without a light, I now hastened to pro- 
vide myself with a lamp from my boat. 
Tracking my way back with some diffi- 
culty to the shore, I there found not 
only my lamp, but also some dates and 
diied fruits, of which I was always pro- 
vided with store, for my roving life up- 
on the waters, and which, after so many 
hours of abstinence, were now a most 
welcome and necessary relief. 

Thus prepared, I again ascended the 
pyramid, and was proceeding to search 
out the secret spring, when a loud, dis- 
mal noise was heard at a distance, 
to which all the melancholy echoes of 
the cemetery gave answer. The sound 
came, I knew, from the Great Temple 
on the shore of the lake, and was the 
sort of shriek which its gates— the Gates 
of Obliviout as they are called — always 
used to send forth from their hinges, 
when opening at night, to receive the 
newly-lauded dead. 

I ha^l, more than once before, heard 
that sound, aud always with sadness ; 
but, at this moment, it thrilled through 
me like a voice of ill omen, and I al- 
most doubted whether I should not 
abandon my enteq^rise. The hesitation, 
however, was but momentary ;— even 
while it passed through my mind I had 
touched the spring of the portal. In a 
few seconds more, I was again in the 
passage beneath the pyramid; and, 
being enabled by the light of my lamp 
to follow the windings more rapidly, 
soon found myself at the door of the 
small chapel in the gallery. 

I entered, still awed, thoiigh there was 
now, alas, naught living within. The 
young Priestess had vanished like a 
!5pirit into the darkness ; and all the rest 
remained as I had left it on the preced- 
ing night. The lamp still stood burning 
uj)on the crystal shi-ine ; the cross was 
lying where the hands of the young 
Obeliscorum. See also L'Dgypte de Murtadi, 
par Vattier. 

t " A pud Memphina seneas quasdam portas, 
qupB Lethes et Cocyti (hoc est oblivionis et 
lamentationis) appellantur, aperiri, gravem 
asperumque edentes sonum."— Zoe^^a. 



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THE EPICUEEAN". 



715 



mourner had placed it, and the cold im- 
age, -within the shrine, wore still the 
same tranquil look, as if resigned to the 
solitude of death — of all lone things the 
lonchest. Eememberiug the lips that 
I had seen kiss that cross, and kind- 
ling Trith the recollection, I raised it pas- 
sionately to my OTvn ; — but the dead 
eyes, I thought, met mine, and, awed 
and saddened in the midst of my ardor, 
I replaced the cross upon the shi-ine. 

I had now lost every clue to the ob- 
ject 04' my pursuit, and, with all that sul- 
len satisl'action which certainty, even 
when unwelcome, brings, was about to 
retrace my steps slowly to earth, when, 
as I held forth my lamp, on leaving the 
chapel, I perceived that the gallery, in- 
stead of terminating here, took a sudden 
and snake-like bend to the left, which 
had before eluded my observation, and 
which seemed to give promise of a path- 
way still farther int» those recesses. 
Keanimatcd by this discovery, which 
opened a new source of hoj^)e to my 
heart, I cast, for a moment, a hesitating 
look at my lamp, as if to inquire vrhether 
it would be faithful thi'ough the gloom 
I was a-bout to encounter, and then, 
without further consideration, rushed 
eagerly forward. 

CHAPTEK VII. 

The path led, for a while, through 
the same sort of narrow windings as 
those which I had before encountered 
in descenuing the stairway ; and at 
length opened, in a similar manner, into 
a straight and steep gallery, along each 
side of ^\hich stood, closely ranged and 
upright, a file of lifeless bodies,* whose 
glassy eyes appeared to glare upon me 
preternaturaliy as I passed. 

Arri\-ed at the end of this gallery, I 
found my hopes, for the second time, 
vanish; as the path, it was manifest, 
extended no farther. The only object I 
was able to discern, by the glimmering 
of my lamp, which now burned, every 
minute, fainter and fainter, was the 
mouth of a huge well, that lay gaping 
before me — a reservoir of darkness, 
black and imfathomable. It now cross- 

_ * See, for the custom of burying the dead up- 
right, ("post fimus staiitiii busto corpora," as 
Statius describes it.) Dr. Clarke's preface to 
the 2d sectiou of his fifth volume, xhey used 



ed my memory that I had once heard of 
such wells, as being used occasionally 
for passages by priest.^;. Leaning down, 
therefore, over the edge, I examined 
anxiously all M-ithin, in order to see if it 
afforded the means of effecting a descent 
into the chasm ; but the sides, I could 
perceive, were hard and smooth as 
glass, being varnished all over with that 
sort of dark pitch, which the Dead Sea 
throws out upon its slimy shore. 

After a more attentive scrutiny, how- 
ever, I observed, at the depth oi a few 
feet, a sort of u-on step, projecting dimly 
from the side, [and, below it, another, 
which, though hardly perceptible, was 
just snfBcient to encourage an adventur- 
ous foot to the trial. Though all hope 
of tracing the yoimg Prie.stess was now 
at an end — it being impossible that fe- 
male foot should have ventmed on this 
descent— yet, as I had engaged so far 
in the adventure, and there was, at 
least, a mystery to be unravelled, I de- 
termined, at all hazards, to explore the 
chasm. Placing my lamp, therefore, 
(which was hollowed at the bottom, sc 
as to be worn like a helmet,) firmly 
upon my head, and having thus both 
hands at hberty for exertion, I set my 
foot cautiously on the iron step, and de- 
scended into the well. 

I found the same footing, at regular 
intervals, to a considerable depth ; and 
had akeady counted near a hundred of 
these steps, when the ladder altogether 
ceased, and I could descend no farther. 
In vain did I stretch dov>n my foot m 
search of support— the hard "^ slippery 
sides were all that it encountered. At 
length, stooping my head, ho as to let 
the light fall below, I observed an open- 
mg or window directly abt.vc the step 
on which I stood; and, taking for 
granted that the way must lie in that 
direction, contrived to clamber, with no 
smaU difficulty, through the aperture. 

I now foimd myself on a rude and 
narrow stairway, the steps of which 
were cut out of the liviug rock, and 
woimd spirally downward in the same 
direction as the well. Almost dizzy 
with the descent, which seemed as if it 

to insert precious stones in the place of the 
eyes. " Les yeux 6toient formes d tmeraudcs, 
de turquoises," ifcc— Vide Masoudy, quoted by 
^atremire. 



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716 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



would never end, I, at last reached the 
bottom, where a pah- of massy h'on 
gates wore closed directly across my 
path, as if wholly to forbid any further 
progress. Massy and gigantic, however, 
as they were, I found, to my surprise, 
that the hand of an infant might have 
opened them with ease — so readily did 
their stupendous folds give way to my 
touch. 

" Liiilit as a lime-bush, that receives 
Some wauderiiig bird among' its leaves." 
No sooner, however, had I passed 
through, than the astounding din, with 
which the gates clashed together again,* 
was such as might have awakened 
death itself. It seemed as if every eehof 
throiighout that vast, subterranean 
world, fi-om the Catacombs of Alexan- 
dria to Thebes's Yalley of Kings, had 
caught up and repeated the thundering 
sound. 

Startled as I was by the crash, not 
even this supernatural clangor could 
divert my attention from the sudden 
light that now broke around me— soft, 
warm, and welcome, as are the stars of 
his own South to the eyes of the ma- 
riner who has long been wandering 
through the cold seas of the ISTorth. 
Looking for the som-ce of this splendor 
I saw, through an archway opposite, a 
long illuminated alley, stretching away 
as far as the eye could reach, and 
fenced, on one side, with thickets of odor- 
iferous shrubs; while along the other 
extended a line of lofty arcades, from 
which the light, that tilled the wht)le 
area, issued. As soon, too, as the din of 
the deep echoes had subsided, there 
stole gradually on my ear a strain of 
choral music, which appeared to come 
mellowed and sweetened in its passage, 
through many a spacious hall within 
those shining arcades ; while among the 
voices I coitld distinguish some female 
tones, which, towering high and clear 

* The following verses of Claudian are sup- 
posed to have beeu meant as a description of 
those imitations of the noise of earthquake and 
thunder, which, by means of the Ceraunoscope, 
and other such contrivances, were practiced in 
the shows of the Mysteries : 

Jam mihi cemunter trepidia delubra mover! 
Scdibus, etclaram dispergere culmina lucem, 
Adventum testata Dei. Jam magnus ab imis 
Auditur fremitus terris, templumque remugit 
Cecropiinn. liapU I'roserp. lib. i. 



above all the rest, formed the spire, as 
it were, into which the harmony tapered 
as it rose. 

So excited was my fancy by this sud- 
den enchantment, that— though never 
had I caught a sound from the fair 
Egyptian's lips— I yet persuaded myself 
that the voice I now heard was hers, 
sounding highest and most heavenly of 
all that choir, and calling to me, like 
a distant spirit from its sphere. Ani- 
mated by this thought, I iJew forward 
to the archway, but found, to my mui'- 
tification, that it was guarded by a 
trellis-work, whose bars, though invis- 
ible at a distance, resisted all my efforts 
to force them. 

While occupied in these ineffectual 
struggles, I perceived, to the left of the 
archway, a darlc cavernous opening, 
which seemed to lead in a direction 
parallel to the lighted arcades. Not- 
withstanding, however, my impatience, 
the aspect of this passage, as I looked 
shudderingly into it, chilled my very 
blood. It was not so much darkness, as 
a sortof livid and ghastly twilight, from 
which a damp, like that of death-vaults 
exhaled, and through which, if my eyes 
did not deceive me, pale, phantom-like 
shapest were, at that very moment, 
hovering. 

Looking anxiously round to discover 
some less formidable outlet, I saw, over 
the vast folding gates through which I 
had just passed, a blue, tremulous, 
flame, which, after playing for a few 
seconds over the dark ground of the 
pediment, settled gradually into charac- 
ters of light, and formed the following 
words : — 

Ton Trho would try 

Ton terrible track, 
To live, or to die, 

But ne'er to look back — 

Tou, who aspire 
To bo purified there, 

t See, for the echoes in the pyramids, PZtt- 
tarch lie Plaeitia I'hilosoph. 

X "Co moment heureux (de I'Autopsie) 6toit 
prepare pin- des seines effniyaiites, par les 
alternatives de craiute et de joie, de lumiere et 
de t^nebres, par la lueur des eclairs, par le 
bruit terrible de la foudre, qu'on imitoit, et 
par des apparitions do spectres, des illusions 
magiques, qui frappoient les ycux et les ore- 
illes tout ensemble."— Dxtpwis. 




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THE EPICUREAIJ". 



m 



By the terrors of Fire, 
Of Water, aud Air- 

If danger, and pmn, 

Aud death, you (' 
Ou — for again 

Into ligiit you shall rise; 

Kise into light 

With that Secret Divine, 
Xow slirouded from sight 

By the Veils of the Shrine ! 

But if 

Here the letters faded a-way into a dead 
blank, more awfully intelligible than the 
most eloquent words. 

A new hope now flashed across me. 
The dream of the Garden, which had 
been for some time almost forgotten, 
returned freshly to my mind. "Am I, 
then," I exclaimed, " in the path to 
the promised mystery? and shall the 
great secret of Eternal Life indeed be 
mine ?" 

' ' Yes ! " seemed to answer out of the 
air, that spirit-voice, which still was 
heard at a distance crowning the choir 
with its single sweetness. I hailed the 
omeu with transport. Love and Immor- 
tality, both beckoning me onward — who 
would give even a thought to fear, with 
two such bright hopes in prospect? 
Having invoked and blessed that un- 
known enchantress, whose -steps had 
led me to this abode of mystery and 
knowledge, I instantly plunged into the 
chasm. 

Instead of that vague, spectral twi- 
light which had at first met my eye, I 
now found, as I entered, a thick dark- 
ness, which, though far less horrible, 
was, at this moment, still more discon- 
certing, as mv lamp, which had been, for 
some time, almost itseless, was now fast 
expiring. Eesolved, however, to make 
the most of its last glsam, I hastened, 
with rapid step, through this gloomy re- 
gion, which appeared to be wider 
aud more open to the air than any I 
had yet passed. JSTor was it long before 
the sudden appearance of a bright blaze 
in the distance announced to me that 
my first great Trial was at hand. As I 
drew nearer, the flames before me bm-st 

*"Ce8 considerations me portent & pcnscr 
que, dans les mysteres, ces pheuomenes f toient 
be.iucoup mieux executeus, et sans comparai- 
son plus terribles a I'uide do quelque compo- 
sition pyrique, qui est rcstee cachue, comme 
celle dufeu Gr^geois."— i»e Paww. 



high and wide on all sides ;— and the 
awful spectacle that then presented it- 
self was such as might have daunted 
hearts far more accustomed to dangers 
than mine. 

There lay before me, extending com- 
pletely across my path, a thicket, or 
grove, of the most combustible trees of 
Egypt — tamarind, pine, and Arabian 
balm; while around their stems and 
branches were coiled seq^ents of fire, * 
which, twisting themselves rapidly from 
bough to bough, spread the contagion 
of their own wild-fire as they went, aud 
involved tree after tree in one general 
blaze. It was, indeed, rapid as the 
bm-uing of those reed-beds of Ethiopia, t 
whose fight is often seen brightening, at 
night, the distant cataracts of the Nile. 

Through the middle of this blazing 
grove, I could now perceive my only 
pathway lay. There was not a moment, 
therefore, to be lost — for the conflagra- 
tion gaiued rapidly on either side, and 
ah'eady the uaiTowing path between 
was strewed with vivid fire. Casting 
away my now useless lamp, and holding 
my robe as some sfight protection over 
my head, I ventured, with trembling 
limbs, into the blaze. 

Instantly, as if my presence had given 
new life to the flames, a fresh outbreak 
of combustion arose on aU sides. The 
trees clustered into a bower of fire above 
my head, while the sei-pents that hung 
hissing from the red branches shot show- 
ers of sparkles down upon me as I passed. 
Never were decision and activity of 
more avail: — one uunute later, and I 
must have perished. The narrow open- 
ing, of which I had so promptly availed 
myself, closed instantly behind me ; and 
as' I looked back, to contemplate the or- 
deal which I had passed, I saw that the 
whole grove was already one mass of 
fire. 

Rejoiced to have escaped this first 
trial, I instantly plucked from one of 
the pine-trees a bough that was but just 
kindled, aud, with this for my only 
guide, hastened breathlessly foi-ward, 
I had advanced but a few i)aces, when 

f"Il n'y a point d'autre moyen que do 
porter le feu dans ces forfits de roseaux, qui 
repaiident nlors dans tout le pais une luuiiero 
aussi considerable que cello du jour meme."— 
Maillet, torn. i. p. 6a. 




718 



lllllllllllllllllllltllUIIU'llUIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIi.iiiiillllllllllllllllllllIllllllllllllllllllllllllllllHIIIIIIIIIIII^ 

MOORE'S WORKS. 




the path turned suddenly off, leading 
downwards, as I could perceive by the 
glimmer of my brand, into a more con- 
fined region, through which a chilling 
air, as it' from some neighboring waters, 
blew over my brow. ]S'or had I pro- 
ceeded farin this course, when the sound 
of torrents* — mixed, as I thought, from 
time to time, with shrill wailings, re- 
sembling the cries of persons in danger 
or distress— fell morrnfully upon my 
ear. At every step the noise of the 
dashing waters increased, and I now 
perceived that I had entered an immense 
rocky cavern, through the middle of 
which, headlong as a winter-torrent, the 
dark flood, to whose roar I had been 
listening, poured its waters ; while upon 
its surface floated grim spectre-like 
shapes, which, as they went by, sent 
forth those dismal shrieks I had heard — 
as if in fear of some awful precipice 
towards whose brink they were hm-ry- 
ing. 

I saw plainly that across that torrent 
must be my course. It was, indeed, 
fearful ; but in courage and perseverance 
now lay my only hope. What awaited 
me on the opposite shore, 1 knew not ; 
for all there was immersed in impene- 
trable gloom, nor could the feeble light 
which I carried send its glimmer half 
so far. Dismissing, however, all thoughts 
but that of pressing onward, I sprung 
from the rock on which I stood into the 
flood, trusting that, with my right hand, 
I should be able to buffet the cm-rent, 
while, with the other, as long as a gleam 
of my brand remained, I might hold it 
aloft to guide me safely to the shore. 

Long, formidable, and almost hope- 
less was the struggle I had now to main- 
tain ; and more than once, overpowered 
by the rush of the waters, I had given 
myself up,t as destined to follow those 
pale, death-like apparitions, that still 
went past me, hurrying onward, with 
mournful cries, to tiud their doom in 
some invisible gulf beyond. 

At length, just as my strength was 
nearly exhausted, and the last remains 

* The Nile, Pliny tells us, was admitted into 
the Pyramid. 

t " On exer^oit," says Dupuis, "les recipi- 
endaircs, pendant plusicurs jours, k traverser, 
k la nage, uno {rrands 6tenaue d'eau. On les 
y jettoit, et ee n'etnit qu'avec peine qu'ils s'en 
retiroient. Ou appliquoit le fer et lo feu sur 



of the pine branch were dropping from 
my hand, I saw, outstretching towards 
me into the water, a light double balus- 
trade, with a flight of steps between, as- 
cending, almost perpendicularly, from 
the wave, till they seemed lost m a 
dense mass of clouds above. This 
glimpse — for it was nothing more, as my 
light expfred in giving it — lent new 
spring to mj' courage. Having now 
both hands at liberty, so desperate were 
my eflbrts, that, after a few mmutes' 
struggle, I felt my brow strike against 
the stairway, and, in an instant, my 
feet were on the steps. 

Rejoiced at my escape from that peril- 
ous flood, though I knew not whither 
the stairway led, I promptly ascended 
the steps. But this feeling of confidence 
was of short duration. I had not 
mounted far, when, to my horror, I per- 
ceived that each successive step, as my 
foot left it, broke away from beneath 
me, leaving me in mid-air, with no other 
alternative than that of still mountmg 
by the same momentary footing, and 
with the appalling doubt whether it 
would even endure my tread. 

And thus did I, for a few seconds, 
continue to ascend, with nothing be- 
neath me but that awful river, in which 
— so tranquil had it now become — I 
could hear the plash of the falling frag- 
ments, as every step in succession gave 
way from under my feet. It was a 
most fearful moment — but even still 
worse remained. I now found the bal- 
ustrade, by which I had held during my 
ascent, and which had hitherto appeared 
to be firm, growing tremulous in my 
hand, white the step, to which I was 
about to trust myself, tottered under 
my foot. Just then, a momentary flash, 
as if of lightning, broke around me ; and 
I saw, hanging out of the clouds, so as 
to be barely within my reach, a huge 
brazen ring. Instinctively I stretched 
forth my arm to seize it, and, at the same 
instant, both balustrade aud steps gave 
way beneath me, and I was left swing- 
ing by my hands in the dark void. As 



leurs membres. On les faisoit passer a trarers 
lesflammes." 

The aspirants were often in considerable 
danger, and Pythagoras, we are told, nearly 
lost his lif". in the trials. Vide liecherchea sur 
les Initiations, par liobin. 




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THE EPICUKEAK 



'19 



if, too, this massy rin^, which I grasped, 
was by some magic power linked with 
all the winds in heaven, no sooner had 
I seized it than, like the touching of a 
spring, it seemed to give loose to every 
variety of gusts and tempests, that ever 
strewed the sea-shore with wrecks or 
dead ; and, as I swung about, the sport 
of this elemental strife, every new burst 
of its fury threatened to shiver me, like 
a storm-sail, to atoms ! 

Kor was even this the worst;— for, 
stm holding, I know not how, by the 
ring, I felt myself caught up, as if by a 
thousand whirlwinds, and then round 
and round, like a stone-shot in a sling, 
continued to be whirled in the midst of 
all this deafening chaos, tiU my brain 
grew dizzy, my recollection became con- 
fused, anil I almost fancied myself on 
that wheel of tne infernal world, whose 
rotations Eternity alone can number ! 

Human strength could no longer sus- 
tain such a trial. I was on the point, at 
last, of loosing my hold, when suddenly 
the violence of the storm moderated; 
• — my whirl through the air gradually 
ceased and I felt the ring slowly descend 
with me, till— happy as a shipwrecked 
mariner at the first touch ot land— I 
found my feet once more upon firm 
ground. 

At the same moment, a light of the 
most delicious softness filled the whole 
air. Music, such as is heard in dreams, 
came floating at a distance ; and as my 
eyes gradually recovered their powers of 
vision, a scene of glory was revealed to 
them, almost too bright for imagination, 
and yet fiving and real. As far as the 
sight could reach, enchanting gardens 
were seen, opening away through long 
tracts of light and verdure, and sparkling 
everywhere with fountains, that circu- 
lated, like streams of life, among the 
flowers. N'ot a charm was here want- 
ing, that the fancy of poet or prophet, 
in theur warmest pictures of Elysium, 
have ever yet dreamed or promised. 
Vistas, opening into scenes of indistinct 
grandeur — streams, shining out at inter- 
vals, in their shadowy course— and laby- 
rinths of flowers, leading, by mysterious 
windings, to green, spacious glades full 
of splendor and repose. Over all this, 
too, there fell a light, from some imseen 
source, resembling nothing that illu- 



mines our upper world— a sort of golden 
moonlight, mingling the warm radiance 
of day with the calm and melancholy 
lustre of night. 

Nor were there wanting inhabitants 
for this sunless Paradise, Through all 
the bright gardens were seen wandering, 
with the serene air and step of happy 
spirits, groups both of young and old, 
of venerable and of lovely forms, bearing, 
most cf them, the Nile's white flowers 
on their heads, aud branches of the 
eternal palm in their hands ; while, over 
the verdant turf, fair children and maid- 
ens went dancing to aerial music, whose 
source was, like that of the Light, invis- 
ible, but which filled the whole air with 
its mystic sweetness. 

Exhausted as I was by the painful 
trials I had undergone, no sooner did I 
perceive those fair groups iu the dis- 
tance, than my weariness, both of frame 
and spirit, was forgotten. A thought 
crossed me that she, whom I sought, 
might haply be among them ; and, not- 
withstanding the feeling of awe, with 
which that unearthly scene inspired me, I 
was about to fly, on the instant, to ascer- 
tain my hope. But while in the act of 
making the efi"ort, I felt my robe gently 
pulled, and turning round, beheld an 
aged man before me, whom, by the sa- 
cred hue of his garb, I knew at once to 
be a Hierophant. Placing a branch of 
the consecrated palm in my hand, he 
said, in a solemn voice, "Aspirant of 
the Mysteries, welcome !''— then, regard- 
ing me for a few seconds with grave at- 
tention, added, iu a tone of courteous- 
ness and interest, " The victory over the 
body hath beeu gained !— Follow me, 
young Greek, to thy resting-place." 

I obeyed the command in silence — 
and the Priest, turning away from this 
scene of splendor, into a secluded path- 
way, where the light graduallj^ faded as 
we advanced, led me to a small pavil- 
ion, by the side of a whispering stream, 
where the very spirit of slumber seemed 
to preside, and, pointing silently to a bed 
of diied poppy-leaves, left me to re- 



CHAPTER Till. 

Though the sight of that splendid 
scene, whose glories opened upon me 




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720 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



like a momentaiy glimpse into another 
world, had, for an instant, reanimated 
my strength and spirit, yet, so com- 
pletely was my whole frame subdued by 
fatigue, that, even had the form of the 
young Priestess herself then stood be- 
fore me, my limbs would have sunk in 
the effort to reach her. l!f o sooner had 
1 fallen on my leafy couch, than sleep, 
like a sudden death, came over me ; and 
I lay, for hours, in that deep and mo- 
tionless rest, which not even a shadow 
of life disturbs. 

On awaking, I saw, beside me, the 
same venerable personage, who had 
welcomed me to this subterranean 
world on the preceding night. At the 
foot of my couch stood a statue of Gre- 
cian workmanship, representing a boy, 
with wings, seated gracefully on a lotus- 
flower, and having the forefinger of his 
right hand pressed to his lips. This ac- 
tion, together with the glory round his 
brows, denoted, as I already knew, the 
God of Silence and Light.* 

Impatient to know what further trials 
awaited me, I was about to speak, 
when the Priest exclaimed, anxiously, 
"Hush 1" — and, pointing to the statue 
at the foot of ihe couch, said, — "Let 
the spell of that Spirit be upon thy lips, 
young stranger, till the AvisUom of thy 
instructors shall think fit to remove it. 
JSTot unaptly doth the same deity pre- 
side over silence and Light ; since it is 
only out of the depth of contemplative 
silence, that the great light of the soul. 
Truth, can arise I" 

Little used to the language of dicta- 
tion or instruction, I was now preparing 
to rise, when the Priest again restrained 
me ; and, at the same moment, two 
boys, beautiful as the young Genii of 
the stars, entered the paviUon. They 
were habited in long garments of the 

* " Enliii Harpocrate etoit assis sur le lotus, 
qui est la plante du Soleil." Hist, des Jiiifs. 

t For Ihe two cups used in the mysteries, see 
mutohe des Juifs, liv. ix. c. 16. 

; Osiris under the name of Serapis, was 
supposed to rule over the subterranean world ; 
and performed the office of Pluto, in the my- 
tholo2:yof the Egyptians. "They believed," 
says 'iJr. Prichard, •"• tliat Sepis presided over 
tlie region of departed souls, during the period 
of their absence, when languishing without 
bodies, and that the dead were deposited in his 
palace." Analysis of the Egyptian Mythology. 

^"Frigidam illam aquam post mortem, 
tanquam Hebes poculum, expetitam." Zoega, 



purest white, and bore each a small 
golden chalice in his hand.! Advancing 
towards me, they stopped on opposite 
sides of the couch, and one of them, 
presenting to me his chaHce of gold, 
said, in a tone between singing and 
speaking, — 

" Drinli of this cup— OsirisJ sips 
The same iu his halls below ; 
And the same ho gives to cool the lips 
Of the DeadJ who downward go. 

" Drink of this cup— the water within 
Is fresh from Lethe's stream ; 
'Twill make the past, with all its sin, 
And all its pain and sorrows seem 
Like a long-forgotten dream ! 

" The pleasure, whose charms 
Are steepd in wo ; 
The knowledge, that harms 
The soul to know ; 

" The hope, that, bright 
As the lake of the waste, 
Allures the siglit, 
But mocks the taste ; 

" The love, that binds 
Its innocent wreath, 
"Where the serpent winds. 
In venom, beneath ; — 

" All that, of evil or false, by thee 
Hath ever been known or seen. 
Shall melt away in this cup, and be 
Forgot, as it "never had been!" 

Unwilling to throw a slight on this 
strange ceremony, I leaned forward, 
with all due gravity, and tasted the 
cup ; which I had no sooner done than 
the young cup-bearer, on the other 
side,|| invited my attention ; and,_iu his 
turn, presenting the chalice which he 
held, sung, with a voice still sweeter 
than that of his companion, the follow- 
ing strain : 

"Drink of this cup- when Isis led 

Her boy, of old, to the beaming sky. 

She mingled a draught divine.t and said 

• Drink of this cup, thou'lt never die !' 

—The Lethe of the Egyptians was called 
Ameles. See Dupuis, toih. viii. p. 651. 

II '■ Enfin on disoit qu'il y avoit deux coupes. 
Tune en haut et I'antre en bas. Celui qui 
buvoit de la coupe d"en bas, avoit tou^ours 
soif, ses d6sirs s'augementoit an lieu de s'etein- 
dre ; mais celui qui buvoit de la coupe en haut, 
(Jtoit rempli et content. Cette premiere coupe 
6toit la connoissance de la Nature, qui ne satis- 
fait jamais pleineraent ceux qui en sondent les 
mysteres ; et la seconde coupe, dans laquoUe on 
devoit boire pour n'avoir jamais soif, C'toit la 
connoissance des mystferes du Ciel." Mist, des 
Jui/s. liv. ix. chap. 16. 

IJThe TTj? aSoi-ao-tas ^apy^aKov which, accord- 



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THE EPICUREAK 




-21 



" Thus do I say and sin<; to thee, 

Heir oftliat boundless heaven on hish, 

Thou.n-ii frail, and fall'n, and lost thou be, 

Uriuk of this cup, thou'lt never die !" 

■^ell as I had hitherto kept my phi- 
losophy on its guard agaiust the illii- 
&ions ^vith which, I knew, this region 
abounded, the young cup-bearer had 
here touched a spring of imagination, 
over which my philosophy, as has been 
seen, had but'little control. No sooner 
had the words, "thou shalt never die," 
strack on my ear, than the dream of the 
Garden came fully to my mind ; and, 
starting half-way from the couch, I 
stretched forth my hands to the cup. 
But, recollecting myself instantly, and 
fearing that I had betrayed to others a 
weakness fit only for my own secret in- 
dulgence, I sunk back again, with a 
smile of affected indifference on my 
conch — while the young minstrel, but 
little interrupted by my movement, still 
continued his strain, of which I heard 
but the concluding words : — 

" And Mfmory, too, with her dreams shall 
Dreams of a former, happier day, [come, 
"When Heavfii was still the Spirit's home. 
And her wings had not yet fallen away ; 
" Glimpses of priory, ne'er forgot, 

That tell, like gleams ou a sunset sea, 
What once huth oeen, what now is not. 
But, oh ! what again shall brightly be." 

Though the assurances of immortal- 
ity contained in these verses would at 
any other moment — vain and visionary 
as I thought them — have sent my fancy 
wandering into reveries of the future, 
the effort of self-control I had just made 
enabled me to hear them with indif- 
ference. 

Having gone through the form of 
tasting his second cup, I again looked 
anxiously to the Hierophant, to ascer- 
tain whether I might be permitted to 
rise. His assent having been given, the 
young pages brought to my couch a 
robe and tunic, wliich, like their own, 
were of linen of the purest white ; and 
having assisted to clothe me in this sa- 
cred garb, they then placed upou my 
head a chaplet of myrtle, in which the 

ing to Diodonis Siculus, Isis prepared for her 
son Orus. — Lib. i. 

* Ilnr. Apoll.—The grasshopper was also 
consecrated to the sun, as being musical. 

t The isle Antirrhodus, near Alexandria. 
Maillet. 

t Vide Athen. Deipnos. 



symbol of Initiation, a golden grasshop- 
per,* was seen shining out from among 
the dark leaves. 

Though sleep had done much to re- 
fresh my frame, something more was 
still wanting to restore its strength, 
and it was not without a smile at my 
own reveries reflected, how much more 
welcome than even the young pagers 
cup of immortality was the unpretend- 
ing, but real, repast now set before me 
— li-esh fruits from the Isle of Gardensf 
in the Nile, the delicate flesh of the 
desert antelope, and wine from the 
Yineyard of the Queens at Anthylla,t 
which one of the pages fanned with a 
palm -leaf, to keep it cool. 

Having done justice to these dainties, 
it was with pleasure I heard the propo- 
sal of the Priest, that we should wall? 
forth together, and meditate among the 
scenes without. I had not forgotten 
the splendid Elysium that last night 
welcomed me — those rich gardens, that 
soft unearthly music and light, and, 
above all, those fair forms I had seen 
wandering about— as if, in the very 
midst of happiness, still seeking it. The 
hope, which had then occurred to me, 
that, among those bright groups might 
haply be found the young maiden I 
sought, now returned with increased 
strength. I had little doubt that my 
guide was leading me to the same Ely- 
sian scene, and that the form so fit to 
inhabit it, would again appear before 
my eyes. 

But far different, I found, was the re- 
gion to which he now conducted me ; — 
nor could the whole world h:ive pro- 
duced a scene more gloomy, or more 
strange. It wore the appearance of a 
small, solitary valley, enclosed, on ev- 
ery side, by rocks, which seemed to 
rise, almost perpendicularly, till they 
reached the very sky ; — for it was, in- 
deed, the blue sky that I saw shining be- 
tween their summits, and whoso light, 
dimmed thus and nearly lost in its long 
descent, formed the melancholy daylight 
of this nether world. $ Down the side 

§"0n s'titoit meme avist"', depiiis la pre- 
miere construction do ces demeuri's. do percer 
en plusiours cndroits .jusqu'au haut les terres 
qui les couvroient ; non pas, h la veri6, pour 
tircr an jour qui n'auroit jamais C't6 suftisant, 
maia pour veccvoir uu air aalutaire," &c. 
Sethoi. 



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722 



MOOEE'S WOKKS. 



of these rocky walls descended a cata- 
ract, -whose source was upon earth, and 
on whose waters, as they rolled glassilj^ 
over the edge above, a gleam of radi- 
ance rested, showing how brilliant and 
pure was the sunshine they had left be- 
hind. From thence, gi-adually growing 
darker, and frequently broken by alter- 
nate chasms and projections, the stream 
fell, at last, in a pale and thin mist— 
the phantom of what it had been on 
earth — into a small lake that lay at the 
base of the rock to receive it. 

N'othing was ever so bleak and sad- 
dening as the appearance of this lake. 
The usual ornaments of the waters of 
Egypt were not wanting to it : the tall 
lotus here uplifted her silvery flowers, 
and the crimson flamingo floated over 
the tide. But they looked not the same 
as in the world above ; — the flower had 
exchanged its whiteness for a livid hue, 
and the wings of the bird hung heavy 
and colorless. Every thing wore the 
same half-living aspect; and the only 
sounds that disturbed the mournful 
stillness were the wailing cry of a heron 
among the sedges, and that din of the 
falling waters, in their midway struggle, 
above. 

There was, indeed, an unearthly sad- 
ness in the whole scene, of which no 
heart, however light, could resist the 
influence. Perceiving how much I was 
affected by it, " Such scenes,'' remarked 
the Priest, " are best suited to that 
solemn complexion of mind, which be- 
comes him who approaches the Great 
Mystery of futurity. Behold" — and, in 
saying thus he pointed to the opening 
over our heads, through which, though 
the sun had but just passed his meri- 
dian, I could perceive a star or two 
twinkling in the heavens — "in the same 
manner as from this gloomy depth we 
can see those fixed stars,* which are in- 
visible now to the dwellers on the bright 

* " On roynit en pleiii jour par ces ouver- 
tures IiiS tto'iles. ct meiiie quelqucs planetes en 
leur plus granile latitude septentrionale ; et les 
pretres avoieat bieiitOt profits de co pli^nom- 
ene, pour observer h diverses heures le passage 
dos 6toiles." S^thos.—Strabo mentions certain 
caves or ])its, constructed for the purpose of 
astronomical observations, which lay in the 
Heliopolitan prefecture, beyond Heliopolis. 

t Serapig, Sol Inferus.— Athenodorus, scrip- 
tor votiistus, apud Clenientum Alexandrium in 
Protreptico, ait " simu lacra Serapidis con- 



earth, even so, to the sad and self-hum- 
bled spirit, doth many a mystery of 
heaven reveal itself, of which they, who 
walk in the light of the proud world, 
know not !" 

He now led me towards a rustic seat 
or alcove, beside which stood an image 
of that dark Deity,tthat God without a 
smile, who presides over the silent king- 
dom of the Dead.j: The same livid and 
lifeless hue was upon his features, that 
hung over every thing iu this dim val- 
ley, and, with his right hand, he pointed 
directly downwards, to denote that his 
melancholy kingdom lay there. A plan- 
tain§ — that favorite tree of the genii of 
Death — stood behind the statue, and 
spread its branches over the alcove, in 
which the Priest now seated himself, 
and made a sign that I should take my 
place by his side. 

After a long pause, as if of thought 
and preparation, — "iTobly," said he, 
"young Greek, hast thou sustained the 
first trials of Initiation. "What still re- 
mains, though of vital import to the sou!,l 
brings with it neither pain nor peril to 
the body. Having now proved and 
chastened thy mortal frame by the 
three ordeals of Fire, of Water, and of 
Air, the next task to which we are called 
is the purification of thy spirit — the ef- 
fectual cleansing of that inward and im- 
mortal part, so as to render it fit for the 
reception of the last luminous reveal- 
ment, when the Yeils of the Sanctuary 
shall be thrown aside, and the Great 
Secret of Secrets unfolded to thy view ! 
—Towards this object, the primary and 
most important step is, instruction. 
What the three pui-ifving elements thou 
hast passed through have done for thy 
body, instruction will effect for " 

""But that lovely maiden !" I ex- 
claimed, bursting from my silence, hav- 
ing fallen, during his speech, into a 
deep revery, in which I had forgotten 

spicua esse colore caernleo et nig-ricante." 
Maorobius, in verbis descriptis, § C, docet nos 
apud ^gyptios "simulacra soils infera fingi 
colore ccermeo.'' Jablonski. 

\ Osiris. 

§ This tree was dedicated to the Genii of the 
Shades, from its being an emblem of repose 
and cooling airs. " Cui imminet musai folium, 
quod ab Isido infera geniistjue ci addictis raanii 
geri solitum, umbram requiemque et auras fri- 
gidas subindigitare A-idetm-." Zoega, 



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THE EPICUKEAif. 



r23 



him, myself, the Great Secret, every 
thing — but her. 

Startled by this profane interruption, 
he cast a look of alarm towards the 
statue, as if fearful lest the God should 
have heard my words. Then, turning 
to me, in a tone of mild solemnity, "It 
is but too plain, "said he, " that thoughts 
of the upper world, and of its vain, shad- 
owy delights, still engross thee far too 
much to allow the lessons of Truth to 
siu'k profitably into thy heart. A few 
hours of meditation amid this solemn 
sceuery — of that wholesome medita- 
tion, which pm-ifies, by saddeuiug — 
may haply dispose thee to receive, 
with due feelings of reverence, the holy 
and iuiperishable knowledge we have in 
store lor thee. "With this hope I now 
leave thee to thy own thoughts, and to 
that God, before whose calm and mourn- 
ful eye all the vanities of the world, from 
which thou comest, wither !" 

Thus saying, he turned slowly away, 
and passing behind the statue, towards 
which he had pointed during the last 
sentence, suddenly, and as if by enchant- 
ment, disappeared from my sight. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Being now left to my own solitary 
thoughts, I was fully at leisure to re- 
flect, with some degi-ee of coolness, 
upon the inconveniences, if not dangers, 
of the situation into which my love of 
adventure had hurried me. However 
prompt my imagination was always to 
kindle, in its own ideal sphere, I have 
ever found that, when brought into con- 
tact with realitjs it as suddenly cooled ; 
— like those meteors, that appear to be 
stars, while in the air, but the moment 
they touch earth, are extinguished. And 
such was the feehng of disenchantment 
that now succeeded to the wild dreams 
in which I had been indulging. As long 
as Fancy had the field of the futm-e to 
herself, even immortality did not seem 
too distant a race for her. But when 
human instraments interposed, the il- 
lusion all vanished. From mortal lips 
the promise of immortality seemed 
a mockery, and even imagination had 
no wings that could carry beyond the 
grave. 



Nor was this disappointment the only 
feeling that pained and haunted me ; — 
the imprudence of the step, on which I 
had ventured, now appeared in its full 
extent before my eyes. I had hero 
thrown myself into the power of the 
most artful priesthood in the world, 
wi;;hout even a chance of being able to 
escape from their toils, or to resist any 
machinations with which they might 
beset me. It appeai'ed evident, fi'om 
the state of preparation in which 1 had 
found aU that wonderful apparatus, by 
which the terrors and splendors of In- 
itiation are produced, that my descent 
into the pyramid was not unexpected. 
Numerous, iudeed, and active as were 
the spies of the Sacred College of Mem- 
phis, it could little be doubted that aU 
my movements, since my arrival, had 
been watchfull3- tracKed ; and the many 
hours I had employed in wandering and 
exploring around the pyramid, betrayed 
a curiosity and spirit of adventure 
which might well suggest to these wily 
priests the hope of inveigUng au Epicu- 
rean into their toils. 

I was well aware of their hatred to 
the sect of which I was Chief; — that 
they considered the Epicureans as, 
next to the Christians, the most formi- 
dable enemies of their craft and power. 
'' How thoughtless, then," I exclaimed, 
"to have placed myself in a situation, 
where I am equally helpless against 
fraud and violence, and must either pre- 
tend to bo the dupe of their impostm-es, 
or else submit to become the victim of 
their vengeance !" Of these alterna- 
tives, bitter as they both wore, the lat- 
ter appeared by far the more welcome. 
It was with a blush that I even looked 
back upon the mockeries I had al- 
ready yielded to ; and the prospect of 
being put through still further ceremo- 
nials, and of being tutored aud preached 
to by hypocrites whom I so much de- 
spised, appeared to me, in my present 
mood of mind, a trial of patience, com- 
pared to which the flames and whirl- 
winds I had already encountered were 
pastime. 

Often and impatiently did I look up, 
between those rocky walls, to the br'ght 
sky that appeared to rest upon tLieir 
summits, as, pacing round and round, 
through every part of the valley, I en- 




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724 



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MOOKE'S "WORKS. 



deavored to find some outlet from its 
gloomy precincts. But vain -were all 
my endeavors; — that rocky bamer, 
^'hich seemed to end but in heaven, in- 
terposed itself everywhere. Neither did 
the image of the young maiden, though 
constantly in my mind, now bring with 
it the least consolation or hope. Of what 
avail was it that she perhaps was an 
inhabitant of this region, if I could 
neither behold her smile, nor catch the 
sound of her voice— if, while among 
preaching priests I wasted away my 
hours, her presence was, alas, diliusing 
its enchantment elsewhere. 

At length, exhausted, I lay down by 
the brink of the lake, and gave myself 
up to all the melancholy of my i'ancy. 
The pale semblance of daylight, which 
had hitherto glimmered around, grew, 
every moment, more dim and dismal. 
Even the rich gleam, at the summit of 
the cascade, had faded; and the sun- 
shine, like the water, exhausted in its 
descent, had now dwindled into a ghostly 
glimmer, far worse than darkness. The 
bhds upon the lake, as if about to die 
with the dying light, sunk down then- 
heads ; and, as I ]t)oked to the statue, 
the deepening shadows gave such an 
expression to its mournful features as 
chilled my veiy soul. 

The thought of death, ever ready to 
present itself to my imagination, now 
came, with a disheartening weight, such 
as I had never before felt. 1 almost 
fancied myself already in the dark ves- 
tibule of the grave— removed, forever, 
from the world aljove, and with nothing 
but the blank of an eternal sleep before 
me. It had happened, I knew, fre- 
quently, that the visitants of this mys- 
terious realm were, after their descent 
from earth, never seen or heard of ; — 
being condemned, for some failure in 
their initiatory trials, to pine away their 
lives in those dark dungeons, with 
which, as well as with altars, this region 
abounded. Such, I shuddered to think, 
might probably be my own destiny; 
and so appalling was the thought, that. 

* For a full account of the doctrines which 
are here represented as haviiiij been taught 
to the iuitiiited iu the EiJ:yptian mysteries, the 
reader niiiy consult Uupuis. Prichard's Ana- 
lysis of the Hjiyptian Mythology, Ac, &c. 
'li'on d6couvroit I'origine de Tame, sa chute 
BUT la terre, a travera les spheres et les elemens, 



even the courage by which I had been 
hitherto sustained died within me, and 
I was already giving myself up to help- 
lessness and despair. 

At length, after some hom-s of this 
gloomj^ musing, I heard a rusthng iu 
the sacred gi'ove behind the statue ; aud 
soon after, the sound of the Priest's 
voice — more welcome than 1 had ever 
thought such voice could be— ))rought 
the assurance that I was not yet wholly 
abandoned. Finding his way to me 
through the gloom, he now led me to 
the same spot, on which we had parted 
so many hours before ; and addressing 
me in a voice that retained no trace of 
displeasure, bespoke my attention, while 
he should reveal to me some of those 
divine truths, by whose infusion, he 
said, into the soul of man, its pm-iiica- 
tion can alone be effected. 

The valley had now become so dark, 
that we could no longer, as v^'e sat, 
discern each other's faces. There was 
a melancholy in the voice of my in- 
structor that well accorded with the 
gloom around us : aud, saddened and 
subdued, I now listened with resigna- 
tion, if not with interest, to those sub- 
lime, but, alas, I thought, vain tenets, 
which, with all the warmth of a tnie 
believer, this Hierophant expounded to 
me. 

He spoke of the pre-existence of the 
soul*— of its abode, from all eternity, in 
a place of splendor and bliss, of which 
whatever we have most beautiful in our 
conceptions here is but a dim transcript, 
a clouded remembrance. In the blue 
depths of ether, he said, lay that 
" Country of the Soul "—its boundary 
alone visible iu the line of milky light, 
which, as by a barrier of stars, sepa- 
rates it from the dark earth. " Oh, 
realm of purity ! Home of the yet 
unfallen Spirit !— where, in the days 
of her first innocence, she wandered ; 
ere yet her beauty was soiled by the 
touch of earth, or her resplendent wings 
had withered away. Methinks I see," 
he cried, " at this moment those fields 

et son retour au lieu de son origine .... 
e'etoit ici la partie la plus metaphysque, et que 
ne pourroit guere entendre Ic commun des 
Initios, mais aont on lui donnoit le spectacle 
par des figures et des spectres allegoriques." 
Du23uis. 




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THE EPICTTREAN^. 



725 



of radiance* — I look back, through the 
mists of life, iuto that luminous world, 
where the souls that have never lost then- 
high, heavenly rank, still soar without a 
stain, above the shadowless stars, and 
there dwell together in infinite perfection 
and bliss I" 

As he spoke these words, a burst of 
pure, brilliant light,! like a sudden 
opening of heaven, broke through the 
valley ; and, as soon as my eyes were 
able to endm-e the splendor, such a 
vision of glory and loveliness opened 
upon them, as took even my skeptical 
spirit by surprise, and made it yield, at 
once, to the potency of the spe-Il. 

Suspended, as I thought, in air, and 
occupying the whole of the opposite 
region of the valley, there appeared an 
immense orb of light, within which, 
through a haze of radiance, I could see 
distinctly fair gi-oups of young female 
spirits, who, in silent, but harmonious 
movement, like that of the stars, wound 
slowly through a variety of fanciful 
evolutions ; seeming, as they linked and 
unlinked each other's arms, to form a 
living labyrinth of beauty and grace. 
Though their feet appeared to gldde along 
a field of light, they had also wings, of 
the most brilliant hue, which like rain- 
bows over waterfalls, when played with 
by the breeze, reflected, every moment, 
a new variety of glory. 

As I stood, gazing with wonder, the 
orb, with all its ethereal inmates, began 
gradually to recede into the dark void, 
lessening, as it went, and becoming 
more bright, as it lessened; — till, at 
length, distant, to all appearance, as a 
retiring comet, tins little world of Spirits, 
in one small point of intense radiance, 
shone its last and vanished. "Go," 
exclaimed the rapt Priest, " ye happy 
souls, of whose dwelling a glimpse is thus 
given to our eyes, — go, wander in your 
orb, through the boundless heaven, nor 

* See Tieausohre, lib. iii. c. A, for the "tcrre 
bienheureuso ct lumiiieiise." which tlie Mani- 
cheans supiiosud God to inhabit. Plato, too, 
speaks (in Pha;d.) of a pure land lying in tho 

pure sky {rr)v y^v Kadapav €y KaBapu) KfLaSai 

ovpavM,) tlie abode of divinity, of iiinoccuce, 
andohife." 

t The power of producing a sudden and 
dazzliug effusion of light, which was one of the 
arts emploj-ed by the contrivers of the ancient 
Mysteries, is thus de.scribed in a few words by 
Apuleius, who Avas himself admitted to witness 



ever let a thought of this perishable 
world come to mingle its dross with 
your divine natm-e, or allui-e you uown 
earthward to that mortal fall'by which 
spirits, no less bright and admirable, 
have been ruined ! " 

A pause ensued, during which, still 
under the influence of wonder, I sent 
my fancy wandering after the inhabit- 
ants of that orb— almost wishing myself 
credulous enough to beUeve in a heaven, 
of which creatm-es, so much like those I 
had worshipped on earth, were inmates. 

At length, the Priest, with a mournful 
sigh at the sad contrast he was about 
to draw between the happy spirits we 
had just seen and the fallen ones of 
earth, resumed again his melancholy 
History of the Soul. Tracing it gra- 
dually, from the first moment of earth- 
ward desiret to its final eclipse iu the 
shadows of this world, he dwelt upon 
every stage of its darkening descent, 
with a pathos that sent sadness into the 
very depths of the heart. The first 
downward look of the spirit towards 
earth — the tremble of her wings on the 
edge of Heaven— the giddy slide, at 
length, down that fatal descent — and 
the Lethean cup, midway in the sky, of 
which when she has once tasted, Hea- 
ven is forgot — through all these grada- 
tions he traced mournfully her fall, 
to that last stage of darkness, when 
wholly immersed in this world, her ce- 
lestial nature becomes changed, she no 
longer can rise abov3 earth, nor even re- 
member her former home, except by 
glimpses so vague, that, at length, mis- 
taking for hope what is onl}-, alas ! re- 
collection, she believes those gleams to 
be a light from the Futm-e, not tho 
Past. 

" To retrieve this ruin of the once- 
blessed Soul — to clear away from around 
her the clouds of earth, and, restoring 
her lost wings, § facihtate their return 

the Isiac ceremonies at Corinth : — ' Nocto 
media vidi solemcandidocoruscautem lumine." 

Jin the original construction of this work, 
there was an episode introduced here, (vvhicli 
I have since published in a more estciuled 
Conn,) illustrating tho doctrine of the fall of tlio 
soul by the Oriental fable of the Loves of tho 
Angels. 

§ In the language of Plato. Hierocles, <fec., 
to '• restore to the soul its wings," is the niaiu 
object both of religion and philosophy. 

Damascitis, iu his life of Isidorus, Buys, " Ex 




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726 



MOORE'S "WORKS. 



to Heaven— such," said the reverend 
man, " is the great task of our religion, 
and sucli the triumph of those divine 
Mysteries, in whose inmost depths the 
life and essence of that holy religion lie 
treasm-ed. However sunk, and changed, 
and clouded may he the Sj^mt, yet as 
long as a single trace of her original 
light remains, there is still hope 
that " 

Here the voice of the Priest was in- 
terrupted by a strain of mournful music, 
of which the low, distant breathings had 
been, for some minutes, audible, but 
which now gained upon the ear too 
thrillingly to let it listen to any more 
earthly sound. A faint light, too, at 
that instant broke through the valley — 
and I could perceive, not far from the 
spot where we sat, a female figure, 
veiled, and crouching to earth, as if 
subdued by sorrow, or under the influ- 
ence of shame. 

The feeble light, by which I saw her, 
came fi'om a pale, moonlight meteor 
which had gradually formed itself in the 
air as the music approached, and now 
shed over the rocks and the lake a gUm- 
mer as cold as that by which the Dead, 
in their own kingdom, gaze upon each 
other. The music, too, which appeared 
to rise from out of the lake, full of the 
breath of its dark waters, spoke a de- 
spondency in every note which no lan- 
guage could express;— and as I listened 
to its tones, and looked upon that fallen 
Spirit, (for such, the holy man whis- 
pered, was the form before us, ) so en- 
tirely did the illusion of the scene take 
possession of me,* that, with almost 
painful anxiety, I now awaited the re- 
sult, 

If or had I gazed long before that form 
rose slowly Irom its drooping position ; 
—the air around it grew bright, and the 



antiquissimis Philosophis Pythagorutn et Pla- 
toiiem Isidorus lit Deos coiuit, et corum ani- 
man (tlataa ense dixit quas in locum super- 
cojlestLMn iiique campura veritatis et pratum 
elevatus, divinis putarit ideis pasci."— Apwd 
Flwt. Bihliothec. 

* In tracii\K the early connection of spec- 
tacles with the ceremonies of religion, Yoltairc 
says, "II y a bien plus ; les vSritables grandes 
tragedies, les representations imposantes et 
terribles, 6toient les mysteres sacrSs, qu'on 
cel6broit dans les plus vastes temples du moude, 
en presence des seuls Initifisj c'iStoit la quo 



pale meteor overhead assumed a more 
cheerful and Uviug light. The veil, 
which had before shrouded the face of 
the figure, became every minute more 
transparent, and the features, one by 
one, gradually disclosed themselves. 
Having tremblingly watched the prog- 
ress of the apparition, I now started 
from my seat, and half exclaimed, "it 
is she \" In another minute this veil 
had, hke a thin mist, melted away, and 
the young priestess of the Moon stood, 
for the third time, revealed before my 
eyes! 

To rush instantly towards her was my 
first impulse — but the arm of the Priest 
held me firmly back. The fresh light, 
which had begun to flow in from all 
sides, collected itself in a flood of glory 
around the spot where she stood. In- 
stead of melancholy music, strains of 
the most exalted rapture were heard; 
and the young maiden, buoyant as the 
inhabitants of the fairy orb, amid a blaze 
of light like that which fell upon her in 
the Temple, ascended slowly into the 
air. 

" Stay, beautiful vision, stay !" I ex- 
claimed, as, breaking from the hold of 
the Priest, I flung myself prostrate on 
the ground — the only mode by which I 
could express the admiration, even to 
worship, with which I was filled. But 
the vanishing spirit heard me not:— re- 
ceding into the darkness, like that orb 
whose heavenward track she seemed to 
follow, her form lessened by degrees 
away, till she was seen no more : while, 
gazing tiU the last luminous speck had 
disappeared, I allowed myself uncon- 
sciously to be led away by my reverend 
guide, who, placing me once more on 
my bed of poppy-leaves, left me there 
to such repose as it was possible, after 
such a scene, to enjoy. 



les abits, les decorations, les machines ^toient 
propres au sujet ; et le sujet 6toit la vie pr6- 
sente et la vie future."— i)es divers Change- 
mens arrives a I'Art tragique. 

To these scenic representations in tlio Egyp- 
tian mysteries, there is evidently an allusion m 
the vision of Ezekiel, where the Spirit shows 
him the abominations wliicli the Israelites had 
learned in Egypt;— "Then said ho unto me. 
Son of man, hast thou seen what the ancients 
of the house of Israel do in the dark, every 
man in the chambers of his imagery ?" Chap, 
viii. 



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IIIIIIIIIIUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIllllllllllllllllllllillllllllllllllinlllllllllllllllllllillllUrHlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllillllllllllllllllllUUIII^ 

THE EPICTJRBAN-. 727 



CHAPTER X. 

The apparition with which I had been 
blessed in that Valley of Visions — for so 
the place where I had witnessed these 
wonders was called — brought back to 
my heart all the hopes and fancies in 
which, during my descent from earth, 
I had indulged. I had now seen once 
more that matchless creature, who had 
been my guiding star into this mysteri- 
ous realm ; and that she was destined 
to be, iu some way, connected with the 
further revelations that awaited me, I 
saw no reason to doubt. There was a 
sublimity, too, in the doctrines of my 
reverend teacher, and even a hope in 
the promises of immortality held out by 
him, which, in spite of reason, won in- 
sensibly both upon my fancy and my 
pride. 

The Future, however, was now but of 
secondary consideration ;— the Present, 
and that deity of the Present, woman, 
were the objects that engrossed my 
whole soul. It was, indeed, for the 
sake of such beings alone that I consid- 
ered immortality desirable, nor, without 
them, would eternal life have appeared 
to me to be worth a single prayer. To 
every fiu'ther trial of my patience and 
faith, I now made up my mind to sub- 
mit without a murmur. Some kind 
chance, I fondly persuaded myself, 
might yet bring me nearer to the object 
of my adoration, and enaljle me to ad- 
dress, as mortal woman, one who had 
hitherto been to me but as a vision, a 
shade. 

The period of my probation, however, 
was nearly at an end. Both fi-ame and 
spirit had now stood the trial ; and as 
the crowning test of the purification of 
the latter was that power of seeing into 
the world of spirits with which I had 
proved myself, in the Valley of Visions, 
to be endowed, there now remained, to 
complete my Initiation, but this one 
night more, when, in the Temple of Isis, 
and in the presence of her unveiled im- 
age, the last grand revelation of the Se- 

* " Bernanl. Comte de la MarcheTr6visane, 
instrait par la lecture ties livres aiicicns, <lit, 
que Hermes trouva sept tables dans la valine 
d'Hebron, sur lesquolles 6toient jirav^s les 
principes des arts libSraux." Fables Egyp- 
tienncs. See Jablonxki de stelis Herm. 

1 For an account of the ajiimal worship of the 
Egyptians, see De Pauw, tomii. 



cret of Secrets was to be laid open to 
me. 

I passed the morning of this day in 
company with the same venerable per- 
sonage who had, from the first, presided 
over the ceremonies of my instruction ; 
and who, to insphe me with due rever- 
ence for the power and magnificence of 
his religion, now conducted me through 
the long range of illuminated galleries 
and shrines, that extend under the site 
upon which Memphis and the Pyramids 
stand, and form a counterpart under 
ground to that mighty city of temples 
upon earth. 

He then descended with me, still low- 
er, into those winding crypts, where lay 
the Seven Tables of stone, * found by 
Hermes in the valey of Hebron. " On 
these tables,'' said he, " is written all 
the knowledge of the antediluvian race 
— the decrees of the stars from the be- 
ginning of time, the annals of a stiU ear- 
lier world, and all the marvellous se- 
crets, both of heaven and earth, which 
would have been, 

' but for this key, 
Lost in the Universal Sea.' " 

Eetnming to the region from which 
we had descended, we next visited, in 
succession, a series of small shrines rep- 
resenting the various objects of adora- 
tion throughout Egypt, and thus furnish- 
ing to the Priest an occasion of explain- 
ing the mysterious nature of animal 
worship, and the refined doctrines of 
theology that lay veiled imder its forms. 
Every shrine was consecrated to a par- 
ticular faith, and contained a living im- 
age of the deity which it adored. Be- 
side the goat of Mendes,t with his reful- 
gent star upon his breast, I saw the 
crocodile, as presented to the eyes of its 
idolater at Arsinoe, with costly gemst in 
its loathsome ears, and rich bracelets of 
gold encircling its feet. Here, floating 
through a tank in the centre of a tem- 
ple, the sacred carp of Lepidotum show- 
ed its silvery scales ; Avhile, there, the 
Isiac serpents^ trailed languidly over 

I Herodotus (Euterp.) tells us that the people 
about Thebes and Lake Mferis kept a number 
of tarae crocodiles, which they worshipiied, 
and dressed them out with gems and gulden 
ornaments in their ears. 

{. '• On aufruroit bien de serpens isiaqucs, 
lorsqu'ils godtoient I'otfrande et se trainoient 
lentemcut autour 'le I'autel." i>e Pauw. 




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728 



MOOEE'S "W^OEKS. 



the altar, with that sort of movement 
which is thought most favorable to the 
aspirations of their votaries. In one of 
the small chapels we found a beautiful 
child, employed in feeding and watch- 
ing over those golden beetles, which 
are adored for their brightness, as em- 
blems of the sun; while, in another, 
stood a sacred ibis upon its pedestal, so 
like, in plumage and attitude, to the 
bird of the young Priestess, that most 
gladly would I have knelt down and 
worshipped it for her sake. 

After visiting all these various shrines, 
and hearing the reflections which they 
suggested, I was next led by my guide 
to the Great Hall of the Zodiac, on 
whose ceiling was dehneated, in bright 
and undying colors, the map of the lir- 
mameut, as it appeared at the first dawn 
of time. Here, in pointing out the 
track of the sun among the spheres, he 
spoke of the analogy that exists between 
moral and physical darkness — of the 
sympathy with which all spiritual crea- 
tures regard the sun, so as to sadden 
and decliue when he sinks into his win- 
try hemisphere, and to rejoice when he 
resumes his own empire of light. 
Hence, the festivals and hymns, with 
which most of the nations of the earth 
are wont to welcome the resurrection of 
his orb in spring, as an emblem and 
pledge of the reascent of the soul to 
heaven. Hence, the songs of sorrow, 
the mournful ceremouiei* — like those 
Mysteries of the Night, f upon the Lake 
of Sa'is — in which they brood over its 
autumnal descent into the shades, as a 
type of the Spu-it's fall into this world of 
death. 

In discourses such as these the hours 
passed away ; and though there was 
nothing in the light of this sunless region 
to mark to the eye the decline of 
day, my own feelings told me that the 
uignt drew near;— nor, in spite of my in- 
credulity, could I refrain from a slight 
flutter of hope, as that promised mo- 
ment of revelation drew nigh, when the 
Mystery of Mysteries was to be made 
all my own. This consummation, how- 
ever, was less near than I expected. 
My patience had still further trials to 



the different periods of the sun's progress, in 



encounter. It was necessary, I now 
found, that, during the greater part of 
the night, I should keep watch in the 
Sanctuary of the Temple, alone and in 
utter darkness— thus preparing myself, 
by meditation, for the awful moment, 
when the kradiation from behind the 
sacred Veils was to burst upon me. 

At the appointed hour, we left the 
Hall of the Zodiac, and proceeded 
through a long line of marble galleries, 
where the lamps were more thtiily scat- 
tered as we advanced, till, at length, we 
found ourselves in total darkness. Here 
the Priest, taking me by the hand, and 
leading me down a flight of steps, into 
a place where the same deep gloom pre- 
vailed, said, with a voice tremljliug, as if 
fi-om excess of awe, — " Thou art now 
within the Sanctuary of our goddess, Isis, 
and the veils, that conceal her sacred 
image, are before thee !" 

After exhorting me earnestly to that 
train of thought which best accorded 
with the spirit of the place where I 
stood, and, above all, to that full and 
unhesitating faith, with which alone, he 
said, the manifestation of such mysteries 
should be approached, the holy man 
took leave of me, and reasceuded the 
steps ; — while, so spell-bound did I feel 
by that deep darkness, that the last 
sound of his footsteps died upon my ear, 
Ijefore I ventured to stir a limb fi-om 
the position in which he had left me. 

The prospect of the long watch I had 
now to look forward to was dreadful. 
Even danger itself, if in au active form, 
would have been far preferable to this 
sort of safe, but dull, probation, by 
which patience was the only virtue put 
to the proof. Having ascertained how 
far the space around me was free from 
obstacles, I endeavored to beguile the 
time by pacing up and down within 
those limits, till I became tired of the 
monotonous echoes of my own tread. 
Finding my way, then, to what I felt to 
be a massive pillar, and leaning wearily 
against it, I sm-rendered myself to a 
train of thoughts and feelings", far difler- 
ent from those with which the good 
Hierophant had hoped to inspire me. 

"If these priests," thought I, "pos- 



the spring, and in the autumn, see Dupuis and 
* For an account of the various festivals at Prichard. 



t Vide Athenag. Leg. pro Christ., p. 138. 




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THE EPICUKEA^. 729 



sess really the secret of life, why are 
tbey themselves the victims of death 1? 
■why siuk into the grave with the cup of 
immortality in their hands? But no, 
safe boasters, the eternity they so lav- 
ishly promise is reserved for another, 
a future world — that ready resom'ce of 
all priestly promises— that depository of 
the airy pledges of all creeds. Another 
world ! —alas ! ^^here doth it lie ? or, what 
spirit hath ever come to say that Life 
is there V 

The conclusion at which, half sadly, 
half passionately, I arrived, was that, 
life heing but a dream of the moment 
never to come again, every bliss so 
vaguely promised for hereafter ought 
to be secm-ed by the wise man here. 
And, as no h3aven I had ever heard of 
from these visionary priests opened half 
such certainty of happiness as that 
smile which I beheld last night — 
" Let me," I exclaimed, impatiently, 
striking the massy pillar till it rung, "let 
me but make tbat beautiful Priestess my 
own, and I here willingly exchange for 
her every chance of immortality, that the 
combined wisdom of Egypt's Twelve 
Temples can offer me !" 

No sooner had I uttered these words, 
than a tremendous peal, like that of 
thunder,* rolled over the Sanctuary, and 
seemed to shake its very walls. On 
every side, too, a succession of blue, vivid 
flashes pierced, like lances of light, 
through the gloom, revealing to me, at 
intervals, the might}^ dome in which 
I stood — its ceiling of azure, studded 
with stars— its colossal columns, tower- 
ing aloft,— and those dark, awful veils, 
whose massy drapery hung from the 
roof to the floor, covering the rich 
glo-.ies of the Shrine beneath their folds. 

So weary had I grown of my tedious 
watch, that tbis stormy aud fitful illu- 
mination, during which the Sanctuary 
sceuied to rock to its base, was by no 
means an unwelcome interruption of the 
monotonous trial my patience had to 
suffer. After a short interval, however, 
the flashes ceased;— the sounds died 
away, like exhausted thunder, thro^^^h 
the abyss, and darlniess and silence, liie 
that of the grave, succeeded. 



Eesting my back once more against 
the pillar, and flxing my eyes upon that 
side of the Sanctuary from which the 
' promised irradiation was to burst, I 
I now resolved to await the awful mo- 
I ment in patience. Kesigued, and al- 
i most immoveable, I had remained thus 
for nearly another hour, when suddenly 
along the edges of the mighty Veils, I 
perceived a thin rim of light, as if from 
some brilliant object under them ;— re- 
sembling that border which encircles a 
cloud at sunset, Avhen the rich radiance 
from behind is escaping at its edges. 

This indication of concealed glories 
grew every instant more strong ; till, at 
last, vividly marked as it was upon the 
darkness, the narrow fringe of lustre al- 
most pained the eye — giving promise of 
a fidness of splendor too bright to be 
endured. My expectations were now 
wound to the highest pitch, and all the 
skepticism, into which I had been cool- 
ing down my mind, was forgotten. The 
wonders that had been presented to me 
since my descent from earth — that 
glimpse into Elysium on the first night 
of my coming— those visitants from the 
land of Spirits in the mysterious valley 
—all led me to expect, in this last anil 
brightest revelation, such visions of 
glory and knowledge as might tran- 
scend even fancy itself, nor leave a 
doubt that they belonged less to earth 
than heaven. 

While, with an imagination thus ex- 
cited, I stood waiting the result, an in- 
creased gush of light still more awaken- 
ed my attention ; and I saw with an in- 
tenseness of interest, which made my 
heart beat aloud, one of the corners of 
the mighty Ved raised slowly from the 
floor. I now felt that the Great Secret, 
whatever it might be, was at hand. A 
vague hope even crossed my mind — so 
wholly had imagination now resumed 
her empire— that the splendid promise 
of my dream was on the very point of 
being realized ! 

With surprise, however, and, for the 
moment, with some disappointment, I 
perceived, that the massy comer of the 
Veil was but lifted sutflcrently from the 
ground to allow a female figure to 



ancient mysteries, Dc Pauio, torn. i. p. 3^3. 



See, for sorao curious remarks on the mode The machine with -which these effects vrcro 
of imitating thunder and li,i;htninjj in the produced ou the stage was called a Cerauno- 
"" ^^' "~ * '~ • ■' """ eope. 




^30 



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IIIIIIIHIIIIilllllMIIIIIIIIIIIINIIIIIIIIIllllHlllllllllkiiiiiiiiilllllJllliiiiliiiiiiiiiijiiyiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii^ 

MOOEE'S WOKKS. 




emerge from ander it— and then fell 
over its mystic splendors as utterly dark 
as before. By the strong light, too, 
that issued when the drapery was raised, 
and illuminated the protiie of the emerg- 
ing figure, I either saw, or fancied that 
I saw, the same bright leatures that had 
already so often mocked me with their 
momentary charm, and seemed destin- 
ed, indeed, to haunt my fancy as un- 
avaUiugly as even the fond, vain dream 
of Immortality itself. 

Dazzled as I had been by that short 
gush of splendor, and distrusting even 
my senses, when under the influence of 
so much excitement, I had but just be- 
gun to question myself as to the reality 
of my impression, when I heard the 
sounds of light footsteps approaching 
me through the gloom. In a second or 
two more, the figure stopped before me, 
and, placing the end of a riband gently 
in my hand, said, in a tremulous whis- 
per, "Follow, and be silent." 

So sudden and strange was the ad- 
venture, that, for a moment, I hesitated 
— fearing that my eyes might possibly 
have been deceived as to the object 
they had seen. Casting a look towards 
the Veil, which seemed bursting with 
its luminous secret, I was almost doubt- 
ing to which of the two chances I should 
commit myself, when I felt the riband 
in my hand pulled softly at the other 
extremity. This movement, like a 
touch of magic, at once decided me. 
W^ithout any further deliberation, I 
yielded to the silent summons, and fol- 
lowing my guide, who was already at 
some distance before me, found myself 
led up the same flight of marble steps, by 
which the Priest had conducted me into 

* In addition to the accounts which the 
ancients have left us of the ]irodig-ious excava- 
tions in all [inns of Ejiyiit— the fifteen hundred 
chambers under the Labyrintli— the subterra- 
nean stables of the Thebuid, containing a 
thousand horses— the crypts of Upper Egypt 
passing under the bed of the Nile, &c. &c.— 
the stones and traditions current among the 
Arabs still preserve the memoi-y of those 
wonderful substructions. " Un Arabe,'' says 
Paul Lucas, "qui 6toit avec nous, m'assura 
qu'etant entre autrefois dans le Labyrinthe, il 
avoit marchS dans les chambres souterraiiies 
jasq^u'en un lieu oil il y avoit une grand place 
enviroiinde de plnsieurs niches qui ressembloit 
k de petites boutiques, d'oii Ton entroit dans 
d'autres allees et dans chambres, sans pouvoir 
en trouver la fin." In speaking, too, of the 
arcades along the Nile, near Cossier, "Es me 



the Sanctuary. Arrived at their sum- 
mit, I felt the pace of my conductress 
quicken, and giving one more look to 
the Veiled Shrine, whose glories we left 
burning uselessly behindus, hastened 
onward into the gloom, fuU of confi- 
dence in the belief, that she, who now 
held the other end of that clue, was one 
whom I was ready to follow devotedly 
through the world. 



CHAPTER XI. 

"With such rapidity was I hurried 
along by my unseen guide, full of won- 
der at the" speed with which she ven- 
tured through these labyrinths, that I 
had but little time left"^ for reflection 
upon the strangeness of the adventure 
to which I had committed myself. My 
knowledge of the character of the Mem- 
phian priests, as well as some fearful 
rumors that had reached me, concerning 
the fate that often attended unljelievers 
in their hands, awakened a momentary 
suspicion of treachery in my mind. But, 
when I recalled the face of my guide, 
as I had seen it in the small chapel, 
with that divine look, the very memory 
of which brought purity into the heart, 
1 found my suspicions all vanish, and 
felt shame at having harbored them but 
an instant. 

In the mean while, our rapid course 
continued without any interruption, 
through windings even more capriciously 
intricate* than any I had yet passed, 
and whose thick gloom seemed never to 
have been broken l)y a single glimmer 
of fight, lly unseen conductress was 
stillat some distance before me, and the 
slight clue, to which I clung as if it 

dirent m^me que ces souterraines 6toient si 
profondes qu'il y en avoient qui uUoieut a trois 
journtSes de la, et qu'ils conduisoiunt dans un 
pays oil Ton voyoit de beaux jardins, qu'on y 
Ironvoit de belles maisons," &c. &c. 

See also in M. Qiiatremere's Memoires sur 
VEgypie, tom. i. p. 14'J, an account of a subter- 
ranean reservoir, said to have been discovered 
ut Kais, and of the expedition uudertaten by a 
party of persons, in a long narrow boat, for the 
purpose of exploring it. " 1-eur voyage avoit 
ete de six jours, dont los quatre premiers furont 
employes a pcnetrcr les borcis ; les deux autres 
a revenir an lieu d'oii ils 6toient partis. Pen- 
dant tout cet intervalle ils ne purent atteindre 
I'extrdmitS du bassin. L'6mir Ala-eddin-Tam- 
boga, gouverneurde Behnesa, ^crivit ces details 
au'sultan, qui en fut extremement surpris." 




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THE EPICUKEAK 



731 



were Destiny's own thread, was still 
kept, by the speed of her course, at full 
stretch between us. At length, sud- 
denly stopping, she said, in a breathless 
(Thisper, " Seat thyself here ;" and, at 
the same moment, led me by the hand 
to a sort of low car, in which, obeying 
her brief command, I lost not a moment 
in placing myself, while the maiden, no 
less promptly, took her seat by my side. 

A sudden click, like the touching of a 
spring, was then heard, and the car — 
which, as I had felt in entering it, 
leaned half-way over a steep descent- - 
on being let loose froir. its statiovj, shot 
down, almost perpendicularly, into the 
darkness, with a rapidity, Vhich, at 
first, nearly deprived me of breath. The 
wheels sM smoothly and noiselessly 
in grooves, and the impetus, which the 
car acquired in descending, was sutS- 
cient, 1 perceived, to carry it up an em- 
inence that succeeded — from the sum- 
mit of which it again rushed down 
another declivity, even still more long 
and precipitous than the former. In 
this manner we proceeded, by alternate 
falls and rises, till, at length, from the 
last and steepest elevation, the car de- 
scended upon a level of deep sand, 
where, after running for a few yards, it 
by degi-ees lost its motion, and stopped. 

Here the maiden, alighting again, 
placed the riband in my hands— and 
again I followed her, though with more 
slowness and difficiilty than before, as 
our way now led up a flight of damp 
and time-worn steps, whose ascent 
seemed to the wearied and insecm-e 
foot interminable. Perceiving with 
what languor my guide advanced, I was 
on the point of making an offer to as- 
sist her progi-ess, when the creak of an 
opening door above, and a faint gleam 
ot light which, at the same moment, 
shone upon her figure, apprized me that 
we were at last anived within reach of 
sunshine. 

Joyfully I followed through this open- 
ing, and, by the dim light, could dis- 
cern, that we were now in the sanctu- 
ary of a vast, ruined temple — having en- 
tered by a secret passage under the 

* The position here given to Lake Moeris, in 
making it the immediate boundary of the city of 
Memphis to the south, corresjurnds exactly 
with the site assigned to it by Maillet:— 
"Memphis avoit encore k son midi un raste 



pedestal, upon which an image of the 
idol of the place once stood. The first 
movement of the young maiden,after clos- 
ing agaiu the portal under the pedestal, 
was, without even a single look towards 
me, to cast herself down upon her knees, 
with her hands clasped aud uplift'xl, ay 
if in thanksgiving or prayer. But sht; 
was unable, evidently, to sustain her- 
self in this position ;— her strength coula 
hold out no longer. Overcome by agi- 
tation and fatigue, she sunk senseless 
upon the pavement. 

Bewildered as I was myself, by the 
strange tjvents of the night, I stood for 
some i^inutes looking upon her in a 
state of helplessness and alarm. But, 
reminded, by my own feverish sensa- 
tions, of the reviving effects of the air, 
I raised her gently in my arms, and 
crossing the corridor that surrounded 
the sanctuary, found my way to the 
outer vestibule of the Temple. Here, 
shading her eyes from the sun, I placed 
her, reclining upon the steps, where the 
cool north-wind, then blowing freshly 
between the pillars, might play, with 
free draught, over her brow. 

It was, indeed— as I now saw, with 
certainty — the same beautiful and mys- 
terious girl, who had been the cause of 
my descent into that subterranean 
world, and who now, under such strange 
and unaccountable circumstances, was 
my guide back again to the realms of 
day. I looked around to discover where 
we were, and beheld such a scene of 
grandeur, as, could my eyes have been 
then attracted to any object but the pale 
form reclining at my side, might well 
have mduced them to dwell on its splen- 
did beauties. 

I was now standing, I found, on the 
small island in the centre of Lake 
Moeris ;* and that sanctuary, where we 
had just emerged from darkness, formed 
part of the ruins of an ancient temple, 
which was, (as I have since learned,) 
in the grander days of Memphis, a place 
of pilgrimage for worshippers from all 
parts of Egypt. The fan- Lake, itself, 
out of whose waters once rose pavilions, 
palaces, and even lofty pyramids, wag 
reservoir, par oil tout ce qui pent servir k la 
commodite et a Tagr^ment de la vie lui 6toit 
voitnrS abondamraont de toutes les parties de 
I'Egvpte. C"e lac qui la terminoit do ce c6te- 
Ik," '&.C. &,c.— Tom. ii. p. 7. 



njitiiiiniiHiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiinniniiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiniii 




732 



iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiyiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiyih^ 
MOORE'S WORKS. 




still, though dirested of many of these 
■wonders, a scene of interest and splen- 
dor such as the whole world could not 
equal. While the shores still sparkled 
with mansions and temples, that bore 
testimony to the luxury of a living 
race, — the voice of the Past, speaking out 
of unnumbered ruins, whose summits, 
here and there, rose blackly above the 
wave,* told of times long fled, and gen- 
erations long swept away, before whoso 
giant remains all the glory of the pres- 
ent stood humbled. Over the southern 
bank of the Lake hung the dark relics 
of the Labyrinth;— its twelve Royal 
Palaces, repre.iunting the mansions of 
the Zodiac — its thundering portalsf and 
constellated halls, having left uothmg 
now behind but a few frowning ruins, 
which, contrasted with the soft groves 
of acacia and olive around them, seemed 
to rebuke the luxm-iant smiles of na- 
ture, and threw a melancholy grandeur 
over the whole scene. 

The efiects of the air, in reanimating 
the young Priestess, were less speedy 
than I had expected ; — her eyes were 
still closed, and she remained pale end 
insensible. Alarmed, I now rested her 
head (which had been, for some time, 
supported by my arm) against the base 
of one of the columns, with my cloak 
for its pillow, while I hastened to pro 
cure some water from the Lake. The 
temple stood high, and the descent to 
the shore was precipitous. But, my 
Epicurean habits having but httle im- 
paired my activity, I soon descended, 
with the lightness of a desert deer, to 
the bottom. Here, plucking from a lofty 
bean tree, whose flowers stood, shining 
like gold, above the water, one of those 
large hollowed leaves that serve as 
cupst for the Hebes of the iNTile, I filled 
it from the Lake, and hunied back with 
the cool draught towards the Temple. 
It was not, however, without some diflS- 
culty that I at last succeeded in bear- 
ing my rustic chalice steadily up the 
steep ; more than ouco did an unlucky 



* " On voit sur la rive orientale des nntiqui- 
t6s qui sont presqne enti^reiuoiit eoua lea eaux." 
— Bclzoni. 

t '• Quornndam antem domorum (in Laby- 
rintho) talis est situs, nt adaperientibus fores 
tonitruum intus terribile existat." — Pliny. 

J Strabo, Accordiug to tiie Frencli trans- 



slip waste all its contents, and as often 
did I return impatiently to reflll it. 

During this time, the young maiden 
was fast recovering her animation and 
consciousness; and, at the moment 
when I appeared above the edge of the 
steep, was just rising from the steps, 
with her hand pressed to her fcn-ehead, 
as if confusedly recalling the recollec- 
tion of what had occurred. No sooner 
did she observe me, than a short cry of 
alarm broke fi-om her lips. Looking 
anxiously round, as though she sought 
for protection, and half-audibly uttering 
the words, " Where is he f she made 
an effort, as I approached, to retreat 
into the Temple. 

Already, however, I was by her side, 
and taking her hand, as she turned 
away from me, gently in mine, asked, 
" Whom dost thou seek, fair Priestess V 
— thus, for the first time, breaking the 
silence she had enjoined, and in a tone 
that might have reassured the most 
timid spirit. But my words had no 
efiect in calming her apprehension. 
Trembling, and with her eyes still avert- 
ed towards the Temple, she continued 
in a voice of suppressed alarm, — ' ' Where 
can he be ? — that venerable Athenian, 
that philosopher, who " 

"Here, here," I exclaimed, anxiously, 
interrupting her— "behold him still by 
thy side— the same, the very same, who 
saw thee steal from under the Veils of 
the Sanctuary, whom thou hast guided 
by a clue through those labyrinths below, 
and who now only waits his command 
from those lips, to devote himself 
through life and death to thy service." 
As I spoke these words, she turned slow- 
ly round, and looking timidly m my 
face, while her own burned with blush- 
es, said, in a tone of doubt and wonder, 
"Thou !'' and then hid her eyes in her 
hands. 

I knew not how to interpret a recep- 
tion so unexpected. That some mistake 
or disappointment had occurred was 
evident ; but so inexplicable did the 



Intor of Strabo, it was the fruit of the faba 
^Sfjyptiaca, not the leaf, that was useii for 
tliis purpose. '■ Lo Ki^aipiov," he says, •'dcvoit 
s'entendre de la capsule ou fruit de cette plante, 
dont les Eijyptiens se servoieut coinme d'lin 
A'ase, imaginant que I'eau du Kil y devcuoit 
delicieuse." 



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iiiiiiiiiiiiiini:iiiiiniiiniir;:iiiiiiii'iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii[iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiwiiiiiiiiii^^ 




THE EPICUEBAN'. 



733 



whole adventure appear to me, that it 
was in vain to think of unravelling any 
part of it. Weak and agitated, she now 
tottered to the stops of the Temple, and 
there seating herself, with her Ibrohead 
against the cold marble, seemed for 
some moments absorbed in the most 
anxious thought; while silent and 
watchful I awaited her decision, though, 
at the same time, with a feeling which 
the result proved to be prophetic— that 
my destiny was, from thenceforth, linked 
inseparably with hers. 

The inward sti-uggle by which she 
was agitated, though violent, was not of 
long continuance. Starting suddenly 
from her seat, with a look of terror to- 
wards the Temple, as if the fear of 
immediate pursuit had alone decided 
her, she pointed eagerly towards the 
East, and exclaimed, "To the Nile, 
without delay !"— clasping her hands, 
after she had thus spoken, with the 
most supphant fervor, as if to soften the 
abruptness of the mandate she had 
given, and appealing to me at the same 
time, with a look that would have 
taught Stoics themselves tenderness. 

I lost not a moment in obeying the 
welcome command. With a thousand 
wild hopes uatm-ally crowding upon my 
fancy, at the thoughts of a voyage, 
under such auspices, I descended rap- 
idly to the shore, and haihng one of 
those boats that ply upon the Lake for 
hne, aiTanged speedily for a passage 
down the canal to the Nile. Having 
learned too, from the boatmen, a more 
easy path up the rock, I hastened back 
to the Temple for my fair charge ; and, 
without a word or look, that could 
alarm, even by its kindness, or distm'b 
the innocent confidence which she now 
evidently reposed in me, led her down 
by the winding path to the boat. 

Every thing around looked sunny and 
smUing as we embarked. The morning 
was in its first freshness, and the path 
of the breeze might clearly be traced 
over the Lake, as it went wakening up 
the waters from their sleep of tiie night. 
The gay, golden-winged birds that 
haunt these shores, were, in every direc- 
tion, skimming along the Lake ; while, 



lib. vi. 3-3. 

t Called Tliiilameges, from the pavilion on 
the deck.— Vide Utrabo. 



with a graver couaaiousness of beauty, 
the swan and the pehcan were seen 
dressing their wldte plumage in the 
min-or of its wave. To add to the live- 
liness of the scene, there came, at inter- 
vals, on the breeze, a sweet tinkling oi 
musical instruments from boats at a 
distance,, employed thus early in pur- 
suing the fish of these waters,* that 
allow themselves to be decoyed into the 
nets by music. 

The vessel I had selected for our 
voyage was one of those small pleasm-e- 
boats or yachtsf — so much in use among 
the luxurious navigators of the Nile — 
in the centre of winch rises a pavilion 
of cedar or cypress wood, adorned 
richly on the outside, with religious em- 
blems, and gayiy fitted up, within, for 
feasting and repose. To the door of 
this paviUon I now led my companion, 
and, after a few words of kindness— 
tempered cautiously with as much 
reserve as the deep tenderness of my 
feeling towards her would admit— left 
her to coiu't that restoring rest, which 
the agitation of her spmts so much re- 
quh-ed. 

For myself, though repose was hardly 
less necessary to me, the state of fer- 
ment in which I had been so long kept, 
appeared to render it hopeless. Having 
thrown myself on the deck of the vessel, 
under an awning which the sailors had 
raised for me, I continued, for some 
hours, in a sort of vague day-dream 
— sometimes passing in review the 
scenes of that subterranean di'ama, and 
sometimes, with my eyes fixed in 
di'owsy vacancj^ receiving passively the 
impressions of the bright scenery 
through which we passed. 

The banks of the canal were then 
luxm-iautly wooded. Under the tufts of 
the light and towering palm were seen 
the orange and the citron, interlacing 
their boughs: while, here and there, 
huge tamarisks thickened the shade, 
and, at the very edge of the bank, the 
wiUow of Babylon stood bending its 
graceful branches into the water. Oc- 
casionally, out of the depth of these 
groves, there shone a small temple or 
pleasure-house ; while, now and then, 
an openmg in their line of foliage al- 
lowed the eye to wander over extensive 
fields, all covered with beds of those 




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iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiyiiunaiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiK 



r34 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



pale, sweet roses,* for which this dis- 
trict of Egypt is so celebrated. 

The activity of the moruiug hour was 
visible in every direction. JJ'lights of 
doves and lapwings were fluttering 
among the leaves; and the white heron, 
which had been roosting all night in 
some date-tree, now stood sunning its 
wings upon the green bank, or floated, 
like livmg silver, over the flood. The 
flowers, too, both of land and water, 
looked all j.ust freshly awakened ;— and, 
most of all, the superb lotus, which, 
having arisen along with the sun from 
the wave, was now holding up her 
chalice ibr a full draught of his light. 

Such were the scenes that now suc- 
cessively presented themselves, and 
mingled with the vague reveries that 
floated through my mind, as our boat, 
with its high, capacious sail, swept 
along the flood. Though the occur- 
rences of the last few days could not but 
appear to me one continued series of 
wonders, yet by far the gi-eatest marvel 
of all was that she, whose first look had 
sent wildfire into my heart — whom I 
had thought of ever since with a restless- 
ness of passion, tbat would have dared 
all danger and wrong to obtain its 
object — she was now at this moment 
resting sacredly within that pavihon, 
while guarding her, even from myself, 
I lay motionless at its threshold. 

Meanwhile, the sun had reached his 
meridian height. The busy hum of the 
morning had died gradually away, and 
all around was sleeping in the hot still- 
ness of noon. The Nile- goose, having 
folded up her splendid wings, was lying 
motionless on the shadow of the syca- 
mores in the water. Even the nimble 
lizards upon the bankf appeared to 
move less nimbly, as the light fell on 
their gold and azure hues. Overcome 
as I was with watching, and weary with 
thought, it was not long before 1 yielded 
to the becalming influence of the hour. 
Looking fixedly at the pavilion— as if 
once more to assure myself that I was 
in no dream or trance, but that the 
young Egyptian was really there— I felt 



* As April is the aeason for gathering these 
roses {see Malte-Brun's Economical Calendar,) 
the Epicurean could not, of course, mean to say 
that he saw them actually in flower. 



my eyes close as I gazed, and in a few 
minutes sunk into a profound sleep. 



CHAPTER XII. 

It was by the canal through which 
we now sailed, t that, in the more pros- 
perous days of Memphis, the commerce 
of Upper Egypt and Nubia was trans- 
ported to her magnificent Lake, and 
from thence, having paid tribute to the 
queen of cities, was poured forth again, 
through the Nile, into the ocean. The 
course of this canal to the river was not 
direct, but ascending in a southeasterly 
direction towards the Said; and in 
calms, or with adverse winds, the 
passage was tedious. But as the breeze 
was now blowing freshly from the north, 
there was every prospect of our reaching 
the river before nightlaU. Rapidly, too, 
as our galley swept along the flood, its 
motion was so smooth as to be hardly 
felt ; and the quiet gurgle of the waters, 
and the drowsy song of the boatman at 
the prow, were the only sounds that 
disturbed the deep sflence which pre- 
vailed. 

The sun, indeed, had nearly sunk be- 
hind the Libyan hills, before the sleep, 
into which these sounds had contributed 
to lull me, was broken ; and the first 
object on which my eyes rested, in wak- 
ing, was that fak young Priestess — 
seated within a porch which shaded the 
door of the pavilion, and bending in- 
tently over a small volume that lay un- 
rolled on her lap. 

Her face was but half-turned towards 
me ; and as she, once or twice, raised 
her eyes to the wai-m sky, whose light 
fell, softened through the trellis, over 
her cheek, I found all those feeUugs of 
reverence, which she had inspired me 
with in the chapel, return. There was 
even a purer and holier charm around 
her countenance, thus seen by the nat- 
ural light of day, than in those dim and 
unhallowed regions below. She was 
now looking, too, direct to the glorious 
sky, and her pure eyes and that heaven, 
so worthy of each other, met. 

f "L'or et I'azur brillent en bandes longl- 
tudinalea eur leur corps entier, et leur queue 
est du plus beau bleu celeste." Sonnini. 

I " Un canal." says Maillet, " tr^s-profoud et 
tres-large y voituioit les eaux du Nii." 




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i!iiii;ii;ii[iiiii!ii:ii:i::;:!;i:;i!;i;iii.ii!i:ii;ii;i;iiiii:iiiiiiiiiiii 



c*";^w_,-^ 



^■Mms^- 



iiiiiniiiiiiniiHiiMiiiiiiHiiniiiiiii'JifliiniiniiiiiiTIiriiiiiiiiiiKiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuNiiiiiiiiiKiiiiiiiiiiiin 
THE EPICUKEAN". 




735 



^fter contemplating her for a few 
monaents, with little less than adoration, 
I rose gently from ray resting-place, and 
approached the pavilion. But the mere 
movement had startled her from her 
devotion, and, blushing and confused, 
she covered the volume with the folds 
of her robe. 

In the art of winning upon female 
confidence, I had long, of course, been 
schooled ; and, now that to the lessons 
of gallantly the inspiration of love was 
added, my ambition to please and to in- 
terest could hardly fail, it may be sup- 
posed, of success. I soon found, how- 
ever, how much less fluent is the heart 
than the fancy, and how very different 
may be the operations of making love 
and feeling it. In the few words of 
greeting now exchanged between us, it 
was evident that the gay, the enterpris- 
ing Epicurean was little less embar- 
rassed than the secluded Priestess; — 
and, after one two ineffectual efforts to 
converse, the eyes of both turned bash- 
fully away, and we relapsed into si- 
lence. 

Prom this situation — the result of ti- 
midity on one side, and of a feehng al- 
together new on the other — we were, at 
length, relieved, after an interval of es- 
trangement, by the boatmen announcing 
that the Xde was in sight. The coun- 
tenance of the young Egyptian bright- 
ened at this intelligence ; and the smile 
■with which I congratulated ber upon 
the speed of our voyage was responded 
to by another from her, so full of grati- 
tude, that already an instinctive sympa- 
thy seemed established between us. 

We were now on the point of enter- 
ing that sacred river, of whose sweet 
waters the exile drinks in his dreams — 
for a draught of whose flood the royal 
daughters of the Ptolemies,* when far 
away, on foreign thrones, have been 
knoirn to sigh in the midst of their 
splendor. As our boat, with slackened 
sail, was gliding into the current, an in- 
quuy from the boatmen, whether they 
should anchor for the night in the I^ile, 

* '• Anciennement on portoit les eaux du Nil 
jasqua dcs contrees fort 61oi{pites, ct surtout 
chez Il's princesses du pang des Ptolom^cs, 
mariees dans des families 6trang6res." — De 
Pamv. 

The water thus conveyed to other lands was, 
as we may collect from Juvenal, chiefly in- 



first reminded me of the ignorance in 
which I stiU remained, with respect to 
the motive or destination of our voyage. 
Embarrassed by their question, I di- 
rected my eyes towards the Priestess, 
whom I saw waiting for my answer with 
a look of anxiety, which this silent ref- 
erence to her wishes at once dispelled. 
Unfolding eagerly the volume with 
which I had seen her so much occupied, 
she took from between its folds a small 
leaf of papyrus, on which there appeared 
to be some faint lines of drawiug, and 
after looking upon it thoughtfully for a 
few moments, placed it, with an agi- 
tated hand, in mine. 

In the mean time, the boatmen had 
taken in their sail, and the yacht drove 
slowly down the river with the current ; 
while, by a light which had been kindled 
at sunset on the deck, I stood examining 
the leaf that the Priestess had given me 
— her dark eyes fixed anxiously on my 
countenance all the wtdle. The lines 
traced upon the papyrus were so faint as 
to be almost invisible, and I was for 
some time whoUy unable to form a con- 
jecture as to their import. At length, 
however, I succeeded in making out 
that they were a sort of map, or out- 
lines — traced slightly and unsteadily 
with a Memphian reed — of a part of 
that mountainou.s ridge by which Upper 
Egypt is bounded to the east, together 
with the names, or rather emblems, of 
the chief towns in its immediate neigh- 
borhood. 

It was thither, I now saw clearly, 
that the young Priestess wished to pur- 
sue her course. Without further delay, 
therefore, I ordered the boatmen to set 
our yacht before the wind, and ascend 
the cWent. My command was promptly 
obeyed: the white sail rose again into 
the region of the breeze, and the satis- 
faction that beamed in every feature of 
the fair Egyptian showed that the 
quickness with which I had attended to 
her wishes was not unfelt by her. The 
moon had now risen ; and though the 
current was against us, the Etesian 
tended for the use of tlio Temples of Isis, es- 
tablished in those countries. 

Si Candida jusserit lo, 
Ibit ad ^jrypti finem, calidaquc pctitas 
A Meroe portabit aquas, ut spargat iu axle 
Isidis. antique quije proxima surgit ovili. 




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•Vv3_ 




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736 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



Tvind of the season blew strongly up the 
river, and we were soon floating before 
it, thi-ough the rich plains and groves of 
tlie Said. 

The love with which this simple girl 
had inspired me, was partly, perhaps, 
from the mystic scenes and situations in 
which I had seen her, not immingled 
with a tinge of superstitious awe, under 
the influence of which I felt the natural 
buoyancy of my spirit repressed. The 
few words that had passed between us 
on the subject of our route had some- 
what loosened this spell; and what I 
wanted of vivacity and confidence was 
more than compensated by the tone of 
deep sensibihty which love had awak- 
ened in their place. 

"We had not proceeded far, before the 
ghttering of lights at a distance, and the 
shooting up of fireworks, at intervals, 
into the air, apprized us that we were 
then approaching one of those night- 
fairs, or marts, which it is the custom, 
at this season, to hold upon the Nile. 
To me the scene was familiar; but to my 
young companion it was evidently a 
new world ; and the mixture of alarm 
and delight with which she gazed, from 
under her veil, upon the busy scene into 
which we now sailed, gave an air of 
innocence to her beauty, which still 
more heightened its every charm. 

It was one of the widest parts of the 
river ; and the whole surface, from one 
bank to the otiier, was covered with 
boats. Along the banks of a green 
island, in the middle of the stream, lay 
anchored the gaUeys of the principal 
traders — large floating bazaars, bearing 
each the name of its owner,* emblazoned 
in letters of flame, upon the stern. 
Over their decks were spread out, in 
gay confusion, the products of the loom 
and needle of Egypt— rich cai-pets of 
Memphis, and likewise those variegated 

* " Le nom du maitre y (?toit 6crit, pendant 
la nuit, en lettres de fan."— ilaillet. 

t Called Alassontes. For their brittleness 
Martial is an authority : — 
Tolle, puer, calioes, tepidiriue toreumatta Nili, 
Et mihi secura pocula trade manu. 

" Sans parler ici des coupes d'un verre port6 
jusqu'a la purete du crystal, ni do cellos qu'on 
appeloit Alassontes, et qu'ou suppose avoir 
repr6sent6 des figures dont les coulcui's change- 
oient suivant I'aspect sous lequel on les re- 
gardoit, k peu pres eomme ce qu'on nomme 
vnlgairement gort/e-de-pigeon," &c. — De Pauw. 



veUs, for which the female embroiderers 
of the Nile are so celebrated, and to 
which the name of Cleopatra lends a 
traditional charai. In each of the other 
galleys was exhibited some branch of 
Egyptian workmanship — vases of the 
fragrant porcelain of On — cups of that 
fraU crystal, t whose hues change like 
those of the pigeon's plumage— enam- 
elled amulets graven with the head of 
Anubis, and necklaces and bracelets oi 
the black beans of Abyssinia, t 

While Commerce was thus displaying 
her various luxuries in one quarter, 
in every other, the spirit of Pleasure, 
in all its countless shapes, swarmed 
over the waters. Nor was the 
festivity confined to the river alone; 
as ahmg the banks of the island, 
and on the shores, illuminated mansions 
were seen glittering through the trees, 
from whence sounds of music and mer- 
riment came. In some of the boats 
were bands of minstrels, who, from 
time to time, answered each other, like 
echoes, across the wave ; and the notes 
of the lyre, the flageolet, and the sweet 
lotus-wood flute, § were heard, in the 
pauses of revelry, dying along the 
waters. 

Meanwhile, from other boats stationed 
in the least lighted places, the workers 
of fire sent forth their wonders into the 
air. Bm-sting out suddenly from time 
to time, as if in the very exuberance of 
joy, these sallies of flame appeared to 
reach the sky, and there, breaking into 
a shower of sparkles, shed such a splen- 
dor around, as brightened even the 
white Arabian hills — making them shine 
as doth the brow of Mount Atlas at 
night,|| when the fire from his own bo- 
som is playing around its snows. 

The opportunity this mart afi"orded 
irs, of providing oirrselves with some less 
remarkable habiliments than those in 

I The bean of the Glycine, which is so boun- 
tiful as to be strung into necklaces andbnicc- 
lets, is generally known by the name of tho 
black beau of Abyssinia."— Xiebuhr. 

§ See M. Tilloteau on the musical instru- 
ments of the Egyptians. 

II Solinus speaks of the eno-n-y summit of 
Mount Atlns glittering with ilames .'it nii;ht. 
lu the account of the Periplus of llanno, as 
well as in that of Endoxus, we read, that as 
those navigators were coasting this part of 
Africa, torrents of light were seeu to fall on 
the sea. 



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'm^>^^ 




1^ ii{iiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiniiiiiiHiiiiiii/iiHiiiiai^iiiaiiiiuiiiiiu<iuiiiiiiiiiiiiii:iiiiiiuiiiiuiuiiiiiuiiiii»iii^^ 
THE EPICURE AJf. 



r37 



Tvhich we had escaped from that nether 
world, was too seasonable not to be 
pladly taken advantage of by both. For 
myself, the strange mystic garb which 
I "wore was sufficiently concealed by my 
Grecian mantle, which I had fortunate- 
ly thrown around me on the night of my 
watch. But the thin veil of my com- 
panion was a far less efficient disguise. 
She had, indeed, flung away the golden 
beetles Aom her hair; but the sacred 
robe of her order was still too visible, 
and the stars of the bandalet shone 
brightly thi-ough her veil. 

Most gladly, therefore, did she avail 
herself of this opportunity of a change ; 
and, as she took from out a casket— 
which, with the volume 1 had seen her 
reading, appeared to be her only treas- 
ure — a small jewel, to give in exchange 
for the simple garments she had chosen, 
there fell out'j^ at the same time, the 
very cross of silver which I had seen her 
kiss, as may be remembered, in the 
monumental chapel, and which was af- 
terwards pressed to my own lips. This 
link between us, (for such it now ap- 
peared to my imagination,) called up 
agaiu in my heart all the burniug feel- 
ings of that moment ; — and, had I not ab- 
ruptly turned away, my agitation would 
have but too plainly betrayed itself. 

The object, for which we had delayed 
in this gay scene, having been accom- 
plished, the sail was again spread, and 
we proceeded on our course up the river. 
The sounds and the lights we had left 
behind died gradually away, and we 
now floated along in moonlight and 
silence once more. Sweet dews, wor- 
thy of being called " the tears of Isis,"* 
fell refreshingly through the air, and 
every plant and flower sent its fragrance 
to meet them. The wind, just strong 
enough to bear us smoothly against the 
current, scarce sth-red the shadow of the 
tamarisks on the water. As the inhab- 
itants from all quarters were collected 
at the night-fab*, the Nile was more than 
usually still and sohtary. Such a si- 
lence, indeed, prevailed, that, as we 

' "Per lacrymas, vero, Isidis intelligo efflu- 
via quajdam Lunse, quibus tantam vira videu- 
tur tribuisse ^gjpti." Jablonski. — lie is of 
opinion tliat the superstition of the Nucta, or 
miraculous drop, is a relic of the veneration 
paid to the dews, as the tears of Isis. 

t Travels of Captain Mangle*. 



glided near the shore, we could hear the 
rustlmg of the acacias, t as the chame- 
leons ran up then- stems. It was, alto- 
gether, such a night as only the climate 
of Egypt can boast, when the whole 
scene around lies luUed in that sort of 
bright tranquillity, which may be imag- 
ined to light the slumbers of those hap- 
py spnits, who are said to rest in the 
Valley of the Moon,}: on their way to 
heaven. 

By such a hght, and at such an hour, 
seated, side by side, on the deck of that 
bark, did we pursue our course up the 
lonely Nile — each a mystery to the 
other — our thoughts, our objects, our 
very names a secret; — separated, too, 
till now, by destinies so different ; the 
one, a gay voluptuary of the Garden of 
Athens ; the other, a secluded Priestess 
of the Temple of Memphis ; — and the 
only relation yet established between us 
being that dangerous one of love, pas- 
sionate love, on one side, and the most 
feminine and confiding dependence on 
the other. 

The passing adventure of the night- 
fair had not only dispelled a little of our 
mutual reserve, but had luckily fur- 
nished us with a subject on which we 
could converse without emban-assmeut. 
From this topic I took care to lead her, 
without any interruption, to others — 
being fearful lest our former silence 
should return, and the music of her 
voice again be lost to me. It was only, 
indeed, by thus indirectly unburdening 
my heart that I was enabled to avoid 
the disclosure of all I thought and felt ; 
and the restless rapidity with which I 
flew from subject to subject was but an 
eflbrt to escape from the only one in 
which my heart was really interested. 

"How bright and happy," said I— 
pointing up to Sothis, the fair Star of the 
Waters,§ which was just then shining 
briUiantly over om- heads— "How bright 
and happy this worid ought to be, if, as 
your Egyptian sages assert, yon pure 
and beautiful luminary was its birth- 
star !"|| Then, still leanmg back, and 

; Plutarch. Dupuis, torn. x. The lifani- 
cheans held the same belief.— See Beauiobre, p. 
565. 

§ 'YSpayuiyov is the epithet applied to this 
star by Plutarch, de Ma. 

II 'H 2u)Sea)9 avaToAr) yefccrea)? Karapxavaa. 
nj; tis Toi KOIJIJ.OV. — Porphyr. de Antra Nymph. 



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MOOEE'S WORKS. 



letting my eyes wander over the firma- 
ment,, as if seekingto disengage them from 
the fasciuatiou which they dreaded — 
"To the etudy/' I exclaimed, "for 
ages, of skies hke this, may the pensive 
and mystic character of your nation be 
ti-aced. That nuxtm-e of pride and 
melancholy which naturally arises at 
the sight of those eternal hghts shming 
out of darkness; — that sublime, but sad- 
dened, anticipation of a Future, which 
steals sometimes over the soul in the 
silence of such an hour, when, though 
Death appears to reign in the deep still- 
ness of earth, there are yet those bea- 
cons of Immortality burning in the 
sky." 

Pausmg, as I uttered the word "im- 
mortahty," with a sigh to think how 
little my heart echoed to my lips, I 
looked in the face of my companion, 
and saw that it had lighted up, as I 
spoke, into a glow of holy animation, 
such as Faith alone gives;— such as 
Hope herself wears, when she is dream- 
ing of heaven. Touched by the con- 
trast, and gazing upon her with mourn- 
ful tenderness, I found my arms half 
opened, to clasp her to my heart, while 
the words died away inaudibly upon my 
lips,— "Thou, too, beautiful maiden! 
must thou, too, die forever ?" 

My self-command, I felt, had nearly 
deserted me. Rising abruptly from my 
seat, I walked to the middle of the deck, 
and stood, for some moments, uncon- 
sciously gazing upon one of those fires, 
which— according to the custom of all 
who travel by night on the Nile— our 
boatmen had kindled, to scare away the 
crocodiles from the vessel. But it was 
iu vain that I endeavored to compose 
my spirit. Every effort I made but 
more deeply convinced me, that, till 
the mystery which hung round that 
maiden should be solved— tiU the secret, 
■uith which my own bosom labored, 
should be disclosed— it was fruitless to 
attempt oven a semblance of tranquillity. 

My resolution was therefore taken ;— 
to lay open, at once, the feelings of my 
own heart, as far as such revealmeut 
might be hazarded, without starthng tlie 
timid innocence of my companion. Thus 
resolved, I resumed my seat, with more 
composure, by her side ; and taking 
from my bosom the small mirror which 



she had dropped in the Temple, and 

which I had ever since worn suspended 
round my neck, presented it with a trem- 
bhiig hand to her view. The boatmen 
had just kindled one of then night-fires 
near us, and its light, as she leaned for- 
ward to look at the mirror. Ml upon her 
face. 

The quick blush of surprise with which 
she recognised it to be hers, and her loolc 
of bashful yet eager inquiry, m raising 
her eyes to mine, were appeals to which 
I was not, of course, tardy in answer- 
ing. Beginning with the 'first moment 
when I saw her in the Temple, and pass- 
ing hastily, but with words that bmTied 
as they went, over the impression which 
she had then left upon my heart and 
fancy, I proceeded to describe the par- 
ticulars ol my descent into the pyra- 
mid— my surprise and adoration at the 
door of the chapel — my encounter with 
the Trials of Initiation, so mysteriously 
prepared for me, and all the various vis- 
ionary wonders I had witnessed in that 
region, till the moment when I had seen 
her stealing from under the Veils to ap- 
proach me. 

Though, m detailing these events, I 
had said but little of the feelings they 
had awakened m me — though my lips 
had sent back many a sentence, unut- 
tered, there was still enough that could 
neither be subdued nor disguised, and 
which, like that light from under the 
veils of her own Isis, glowed through 
every word that I spoke. When I told 
of the scene in the chapel — of the silent 
interview which I had witnessed be- 
tween the dead and the living— the 
maiden leaned down her head and wept, 
as from a heart full of teai-s. It seemed 
a pleasure to her, however, to hsteu ; 
and, when she looked at me again, 
there was an earnest and aifectionate 
cordiality in her eyes, as if the knowl ■ 
edge of my having been present at that 
mournful scene had opened anew som-ce 
of sympathy and intelligence between 
us. So neighboring are the fountains of 
Love and Sorrow, and so imperceptibly 
do they often mingle their streams. 

Little, indeed, as I was guided by art 
or design, in my manner and conduct 
towards this innocent girl, not all the 
most experienced gailautry of the Gar- 
den could have dictated a policy half so 




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unUlllllllllllUllllllllilllllllillllllllllUHIIIIllllHMIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIHllllIlllllllllllliyillllllllllUIIIHIIH^ 




THE EPICUREAN. 



739 



seductive as that which my new master, 
Love, uow taught me. The same ar- 
dor, which, if shown at once, and with 
out reserve, might probably have 
startled a heart so little prepared for it, 
being now checked and softened by the 
timidity of real love, won its way with- 
out alarm, and, when most diihdent of 
success, was then most surely on its 
way to triumph. Like one whose slum- 
bers are gradually broken by sweet 
music, the maiden's heart was awakened 
without being disturbed. She followed 
the course of the charm, unconscious 
whither it led, nor was even aware of 
the flame she had lighted in another's 
bosom, till startled by the reflection of 
its glimmering in her own. 

Impatient as I was to appeal to her 
generosity and sympathy, for a similar 
proof of confidence to that which I had 
just given, the night was now too far 
advanced for me to impose upon her 
such a task. After exchanging a few 
words, in which, though little met the 
ear, there was, on both sides, a tone and 
manner that spoke far more than lan- 
guage, we took a lingering leave of each 
other for the night, with every prospect, 
I fondly hoped, of being still together in 
our dreams. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

It wag so near the dawn of day when 
we parted that we found the sun sink- 
ing westward when we rejoined each 
other. The smile, so frankly cordial, 
with which she met me, might have 
been taken for the greeting of a long- 
mellowed friendship, did not the blush 
and the ca^it-down eyelid that followed 
betray symptoms of a feeling newer and 
less calm. For myself, lightened as I 
was, in some degree, by the avowal 
which I had made, I was yet too con- 
scious of the new aspect thus given to 
our intercourse, not to feel some little 
alarm at the prospect of returning to 
the theme. We were both, therefore, 
alike willing to allow our attenticm to be 
diverted, by the variety of strange ob- 
jects that presented themselves on the 

* Vide Wn/ord en Egypt and the Nile, Asi- 
atic Researches. 
t " A I'epoque de la crue le Nil Vert charria 



way, from a subject that evidently both 
were alike unwilling to approach. 

The river was now all stirring with 
commerce and life. Every instant wj 
met with boats descending the current, 
so wholly independent of aid from sail 
or oar, that the mariners sat idly on the 
deck as they shot along, either singing 
or playing upon their double-reeded 
pipes. The greater number of these boats 
came laden with those large emeralds, 
from the mine in the desert, whose 
colors, it is said, are brightest at the full 
of the moon ; while some brought car- 
goes of frankincense fi-om the acacia 
groves near the Red Sea. On the decks of 
others, that had been, as we learned, to 
the Golden Mountains* beyond Syene, 
were heaped blocks and fragments of 
that sweet- smelling wood,t which is 
yearly washed down, by the Green Nile 
of aSTubia, at the season of the floods. 

Our companions up the stream were 
far less numerous. Occasionally a boat, 
returning lightened from the fair of last 
night, shot rapidly past us, with those 
high sails that catch every breeze from 
over the hills ; — while, now and then, we 
overtook one of those barges fuU of 
bees,t that are sent at this season to 
colonize the gardens of the south, and 
take advantage of the first flowers after 
the inundation has passed away. 

For a short time, this constant varie- 
ty of objects enabled us to divert so far 
our conversation as to keep it from 
lighting upon the one, sole subject, 
round which it constantly hovered. But 
the effort, as might be expected, was 
not long successful. As evening ad- 
vanced, the whole scene became more 
solitary. We less frequently ventured 
to look upon each other, and our inter- 
vals of silence gi-ew more lon^. 

It was near sunset, when, m passing 
a small temple on the shore, whose 
porticoes were now full of the evening- 
light, we saw issuing from a thicket of 
acanthus near it, a train of young maid- 
ens gracefully linked together in the 
dance by stems of the lotus held at 
arms' length between them. Their ti-esses 
were also wreathed with this gay em- 
blem of the season, and in such profu- 



les planches d'un bois qi 
blable a cella de I'eucens.' 
1 MaiUeU 



a une odour 
Quatremirt. 



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'1^ \:y V.3/ --^f^^ 

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740 



MOOEB'S WOEKS. 



sion Tvere its white flowers twisted 
around their waists and arms, * that they 
might have been taken,, as they lightly 
bounded along the bank', for Kymphs of 
the Nile, then freshly risen from their 
bright gardens under the wave. 

After looking for a few minutes at this 
sacred dance, the maiden tmned away 
her eyes, with a look of pain, as if the 
remembrances it recalled were of no. 
welcome nature. This momentary re- 
trospect, this glimpse into the past, ap- 
peai-ed to offer a sort of clue to the 
secret for which I panted ; — and accord- 
ingly I proceeded, as gradually and deli- 
cately as my impatience would allow, 
to avail myself of the opening. Her 
own frankness, however, relieved me 
from the embarrassment of much ques- 
tioning. She appeared even to feel that 
the confidence I sought was due to me ; 
and beyond the natural hesitation of 
maidenly modesty, not a shade of re- 
serve or evasion appeared. 

To attempt to repeat, in her own 
touching words, the simple story which 
she now related to me, would be like 
endeavoring to note down some iin- 
premeditated strain of music, with 
all those fugitive graces, those fe- 
licities of the moment, which no art 
can restore, as they first met the ear. 
Prom a feeling, too, of humility, she had 
omitted in her short narrative, several 
particulars relating to herself, which I 
afterwards learned ; — while others, not 
less important, she but slightly passed 
over, from a fear of offending the preju- 
dices of her heathen hearer. 

I shall, therefore, give her story, not 
as she, herself, sketched it, but as it 
was afterwards filled up by a pious and 
venerable hand— far, far_ more worthy 
than mine of being associated with the 
memory of such pmity. 

STORY OF ALETHE. 

"The mother of this maiden was the 
beautiful Theora of Alexandria, who, 
though a native of that city, was de- 
scended from Grecian parents. When 
very young, Theora was one of the 



* " On les voit comme jadis cneillir dans les 
champs des tii,^es du lotus, signes du d6borde- 
ment et presajres de I'aboudance ; ils s'envelop- 
pent les bras et le corps avee les longues tiges 



seven maidens selected to note down 
the discourses of the eloquent Origen, 
who, at that period, presided over the 
School of Alexandria, and was in all the 
fulness of his fame both among Pagans 
and Chiistians. Endowed richly with 
the learning of both creeds, ho brought 
the natm-al light of philosophy to illus- 
trate the mysteries of faith, and was 
then only proud of his knowledge of the 
wisdom of this world, when he found it 
minister usefully to the triumph of di- 
vine truth. 

"Although he had courted in vain the 
crown of martyi-dom, it Avas held, 
through his whole life, suspended over 
his head ; and, in more than one perse- 
cution, he had shown himself cheerfully 
ready to die for that holy faith which he 
lived but to testify and uphold. On one 
of these occasions, his tormentors, hav- 
having habited him like an Egyptian 
priest, placed him upon the steps of the 
Temple of Serapis, and commanded 
that he should, in the manner of the Pa- 
gan ministers, present palm-branches to 
the multitude who went up into the 
shrine. But the com-ageous Christian 
disappomted their views. Holding 
forth the branches with an unshrinking 
hand, he cried aloud, 'Come hither, 
and take the branch, — not of an Idol 
Temple, but of Christ.' 

"So indefatigable was this learned 
Father in his studies, that, while com- 
posing his Commentary on the Scrip- 
tures, f he was attended by seven scribes 
or notaries, who relieved each other in 
recording the dictates of his eloquent 
tongue ; while the same number of 
young females, selected for the beauty 
of their penmanship, were employed in 
an-anging and transcribing the precious 
leaves. 

"Among the scribes so selected, was 
the fair young Theora, whose parents, 
though attached to the pagan worship, 
were" not unwilling to protit by the ac- 
complishments of their daughter, thus 
occupied in a task, which they looked 
on as purely mechanical. To the maid 
herself, however, her employment 

fleuries, et parconrent les rues," &c. — De-scrip 
Hon des Tombeaux des Jiois.par M. Costaz. 

t It was duriuff the composition of his great 
critical work, the Hexapla, that Origen em- 
ployed these female scribes. 




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THE BPICUEEA27". 



741 



brought far other feelings and conse- 
quences. She read anxiously as she 
wrote, and the divine tniths, so elo- 
quently illustrated, found their Avay, by 
degrees, from the page to her heart. 
Deeply, too, as the written words affect- 
ed her, the discourses from the hps of 
the great teacher himself, which she had 
frequent opportunities of hearing, sunk 
still more deeply into her mind. There 
was, at once, a sublimity and gentleness 
in his views of rehgion, whicli, to the 
tender hearts and lively imaginations 
of women, never failed to appeal with 
convincing power. Accordingly, the 
list of his female pupils was numerous ; 
and the names of Barbara, Juliana, 
Herais, and others, bear honorable tes- 
timony to his influence over that sex. 

"To Theora the feehng, with which 
his discourses inspired her, was like a 
new soul — ^a consciousness of spiritual 
existence, never before felt. By the 
eloquence of the comment she was 
awakened into admiration of the text; 
and when, by the kindness of a Catechu 
men of the school, who had been struck 
by her innocent zeal, she, for the first 
time, became possessor of a copy of the 
Scriptures, she could not sleep for think- 
ing of her sacred treasure. "With a mix- 
ture of pleasure and fear she hid it from 
all eyes, and was like one who had re- 
ceived a divine guest under her roof, and 
felt fearful of betraying its divinity to 
the world. 

" A heart so awake would havo been 
with ease secured to the faith, had her 
opportunities of hearing the sacred word 
continued. But circumstances arose to 
deprive her of this advantage. The 
mild Origen, long harassed and thwart- 
ed in his labors by the tyranny of 
Demetrius, Bishop of Alexandria, was 
obliged to relinquish his school and fly 
from Egypt, The occupation of the fair 
scribe was, therefore, at an end: her in- 
tercourse with the followers of the new 
faith ceased ; and the gi-owing enthusi- 
asm of her heart gave way to more 
worldly impressions. 

"Among other earthly feelings, love 
conduced not a little to wean her 
thoughts from the true religion. While 

* Non ego praetnlerim Babylonica picta superb6 
lexta, Semiramia quse Tariautnr acu. 

Martial. 



stiU very young, she became the wife of 
a Greek adventurer, who had come to 
Egypt as a purchaser of that rich tapes- 
try,* in which the needles of Persia are 
rivalled by the looms of the Nile. Hav- 
ing taken his young bride to Memphis, 
which was still the great mart of^this 
merchandise, he there, in the midst of 
his speculations, died— leaving his wid- 
ow on the point of becoming a mother 
while, as yet, but m her nineteenth 
year. 

" For single and unprotected females, 
it has been, at all times, a favorite re- 
source, to seek for employment m the 
service of some of those great temples 
by which so large a portion of the 
wealth and power of Egypt is absorbed. 
In most of these institutions there 
exists an order of Pnestesses, which, 
though not hereditary, hke that of the 
Priests, is provided for by ample endow- 
ments, and confers that dignity and sta- 
tion, with which, in a government so 
theocratic, Rehgion is sm-e to invest 
i^ven her humlilest handmaids. From 
I je general policy of the Sacred College 
of Memphis, we may take for granted, 
that an aecomphshed female, like 
Theora, found but little difficuity in 
being elected one of the Priestesses of 
Isis ; and it was m the service of the 
subterranean shrines that her ministry 
chiefly lay. 

" Here, a month or two after her ad- 
mission, she gave birth to Alcthe, who 
first opened her eyes among the unholy 
pomps and specious miracles of this 
mysterious region. Though Theora, as 
we have seen, had been diverted by 
other feehngs from her first enthusiasm 
for the Christian faith, she had never 
wholly forgot the impression then made 
upon her. The sacred volume, which 
the pious Catechumen had given her, 
was stQl treasured with care and, 
though she seldom opened its pages, 
there was always an idea of sanctity 
associated with it in her memory, and 
often would she sit to look upon it with 
reverential pleasure, recalling the hap- 
piness she had felt when it was first 
made her own. 

" The leism-e of her new retreat, and 
the lone melancholy of widowhood, 
led her still more frequently to indulge 
in such thoughts, and to recur to those 



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iiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiniiiiiiHiiiiiiiiioiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiuMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiii^ 
>'42 MOORE'S WORKS. 




consoling truths which she had heard in 
the school of Alexandria. She now 
began to peruse eagerly the sacred vol- 
ume, drinking deep of the fountain of 
which she before but tasted, and feeling 
— what thousands of mourners, since 
her, have felt — that Christianity is the 
true and only rehgion of the sorrowful. 

" This ^tudy of her secret hours be- 
came still more dear to her, as weUfrom 
the peril with which, at that period, 
it was attended, as from the necessity 
she felt herself under of concealing 
from those around her the precious light 
that had been thus kindled in her own 
heart. Too timid to encounter the 
fierce persecution which awaited all 
who were suspected of a leaning towards 
Christianity, she continued to officiato 
in the poinps and ceremonies of the 
Temple ;— though, often, with such 
remorse of soul, that she would pause, 
in the midst of the rites, and pray in- 
wardly to God, that he would forgive 
this profanation of his Spirit. 

" In the mean time her daughter, the 
young Alethe, grew up still lovelier 
than "herself, and added, every hour, 
both to her happiness and her fears. 
"When arrived at a sufiicient age, she 
was taught, like the other children of 
the Priestesses, to take a share in the 
service and ceremonies of the shiines. 
The duty of some of these young servi- 
tors* was to iook after the flowers for the 
altar ; — of others, to take care that the 
sacred vases were filled every day with 
fresh water from the Ifile. The task of 
some was to preserve, in perfect polish, 
those silver images of the Moon which 
the priests carried in processions ; while 
others wer^, as we have seen, employed 
m feeding the consecrated animals, and 
in keeping their nhimes and scales 
bright for the admiring eyes of their 
worshippers. 

" The office allotted to Alethe — the 
most honorable of these minor muiis- 
tries — was to wait upon the sacred bii-ds 
of the Moon, to feed them daily with 
those eggs from the Ifile which they 
Joved, and provide for their use that 

* De Pauw, who differs in opinion from those 
who suppose women to be eligible to the higher 
sacerdotal offices in Egypt, thus onnmerates 
the tasks to which their superintendence was, 
he thinks, confined:— "Les femmes n'ont pu 



purest water, which alcne these delicate 
birds will touch. This employment was 
the dehght of her childish hours; and 
that ibis, which Alciphron (the Epicur- 
ean) saw her dance round in the Temple, 
was, of all the sacred flock, her especial 
favorite, and had been daily fondled and 
fed by her from infancy. 

"Music, as being one of the chief 
spells of this enchanted region, was an 
accomplishment required of all its min- 
istrants ; and the hai-p, the lyre, and the 
sacredflute, sounded nowhere so sweetly 
as through these subten-anean gardens. 
The chief object, indeed, in the educa- 
tion of the youth of the Temple, was to 
fit them, by every grace of art and 
nature, to give effect to the illusion of 
those shows and phantasms, in which 
the entire charm and secret of Initiation 
lay. 

" Among the means employed to 
support the old system of superstition, 
against the infidelity and, still more, 
the new Faith that menaced it, was an 
increased display of splendor and mar- 
vels in those mysteries for which Egypt 
has so long been celebrated. Of these 
ceremonies so many imitations had, 
under various names, multiplied 
throughout Europe, that at length the 
parent superstition ran a risk of being 
eclipsed by its progeny ; and, in order 
still to rank as the first Priesthood in the 
world, it became necessary for those of 
Egypt to remain still the best im- 
postors. 

" Accordingly, every contrivance that 
art could devise, or labor execute— 
every resource that the wonderful knowl- 
edge of the IVests, in pyrotechny, me- 
chanics, and dioptrics, could command 
— was brought into action to heighten 
the effect of their Mys ' jries, and give 
an air of enchantment to everything 
connected with them. 

"The final scene of beatification — the 
Elysium, into which the Initiate was 
received — formed, of coiu-se, the leading 
attraction of these ceremonies ; and to 
render it captivating alike to the senses 
of the man of pleasure, and the imagin- 

tout au plus dans I'ordre secondaire s'acquitter 
que de quelques emplois saus cons6quencc, 
comme de nourrir des soarab^es, des musaraig- 
nes et d'autres petitsanimauxsacrSs." — Tom. 
i. sec. 2. 




iiiiiiNiiiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii^^ 





iiiiiiiiiiyiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiaiaiyiiiiiiiiiiiiaiiiiiyiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiyriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii^^ 

THE EPICTJREAJ^. 743 



ation of the spiritualist, was the CTeat 
object to which the attention of the 
Sacred College was devoted. By the 
influence of the Priests of Memphis over 
those of the other Temples they had 
succeeded in extending their subterra- 
nean £i-outier, both to the north and 
south, so as to include, within their 
ever-lighted Paradise, some of the gar- 
dens excavated for the use of the other 
Twelve Shrines. 

" The beauty of the young Ale the, 
the touching sweetness of her voice, 
and the sensibility that breathed 
throughout her every look and move- 
ment, rendered her a powerful auxiliary 
in such appeals to the imagination. 
She had been, accordingly, in her veiy 
childhood, selected from among her fair 
companions, as the most worthy repre- 
sentative of spiritual loveliness, in those 
pictures of Elysium — those scenes of 
another world — by which not only the 
fancy, but the reason, of the excited 
Aspirants was dazzled. 

" To the innoceut child herself these 
shows were pastime. But to Theora, 
who knew too well the imposition to 
which they were subservient, this pro- 
fanation of all that she loved was a per- 
petual som-ce of horror and remorse. 
Often would she — when Alethe stood 
smiUng before her, arrayed, perhaps, as 
a spirit of the Elysian world — turn 
away, with a shudder, fi-om the happy 
child, almost fancying she saw already 
the shadows of sin descending over that 
innoceut brow, as she gazed upon it. 

" As the intellect of the young maid 
became more active and inquiring, the 
apprehensions and difficulties of the 
mother increased. Afraid to communi- 
cate her own precious secret, lest she 
should involve her child in the dangers 
that encompassed it, she yet felt it to be 
no less a cruelty than a crime to leave 
her wholly immersed in the darkness of 
Paganism. In this dilemma, the only 
resource that remained to her was to 
select, and disengage from the dross 
that surrounded them, those pure parti- 
cles of trutli which lie at the bottom of 
all religions ; — those feelings, rather than 
doctrines, of which God has never left 
his creatures destitute, and which, in all 
ages, have furnished, to those who 
sought after it, some clue to his glory. 



" The unity and perfect goodness of 
the Creator ; the fall of the human soul 
into corraption, its struggles with the 
darkness of this world, and its final re- 
demption and reascent to the source of 
all spirit ; — these natural solutions of 
the problem of our existence, these ele- 
mentary grounds of all religion and vir- 
tue, which Theora had heard illustrated 
by her Christian teacher, lay also, she 
knew, veiled under the theology of 
Egypt ; and to impress them, in their 
abstract purity, upon the mind of her 
susceptible pupil, was, in default of 
more heavenly lights, her sole ambition 
and care. 

" It was generally their habit, after 
devoting then- mornings to the service 
of the Temple, to pass their evenings 
and nights in one ol those small man- 
sions above ground, allotted, within the 
precincts of the Sacred College, to some 
of the most favored Priestesses. Here, 
out of the reach of those gross supersti- 
tious, which pursued them, at every 
step, below, she eudeavored to inform, 
as far as she could ventm-e, the mind 
of her beloved girl ; and found it lean 
as uatm-ally and instinctively to truth, 
as plants long shut up in darkness will, 
when light is let in u.pon them, incline 
themselves to its rays. 

" Frequently, as they sat together on 
the terrace at night, admiring that glo- 
rious assembly of stars, whose beauty 
first misled mankind into idolatry, she 
would explain to the young listener by 
what gradations of error it was that the 
worship, thus transferred fi-om the Crea- 
tor to the creature, sunk still lower and 
lower in the scale of being, tiU man, 
at length, presumed to deify man, aud 
by the most monstrous of inversions, 
heaven was made the mere mirror of 
earth, reflecting back all its most earthly 
featm-es. 

"Evert in the Temple itself the anx- 
ious mother would endeavor to intei-pose 
her purer lessons among the idolatrous 
ceremonies in which they were engaged. 
When the favorite ibis of Alethe took its 
station upon the shrine, and the young 
maiden was seen approaching, with all 
the gravity of worship, the very bird 
which she bad played with but an hour 
before— when the acacia-bough, which 
she herself had plucked, seemed to ae- 




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fe, 



IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHliliiiiillllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIilllUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII^ 




744 



MOOEE'S WORKS. 



quire a sudden sacredness in her eyes, 
as soon as the priest had breathed upon 
it — on all such occasions Theora, though 
with fear and trembling, would ven- 
ture to suggest to the youthful wor- 
shipper the distiuctiou that should be 
drawn between the sensible object of 
adoration, and that spiritual, unseen 
Deity, of which it was but the remem- 
brancer or type. 

" With sorrow, however, she soon 
discovered that, in thus but partially 
letting in light upon a mind far too ar- 
dent to rest satisfied with such glim- 
merings, she but bewildered the heart 
which" she meant to guide, and cut 
down the feeble hope around which its 
faith twined, without suljstituting any 
other support in its place. As the 
beauty, too, of Alethe began to attract 
all eyes, new fears crowded upon the 
mother's heart ; — fears, in which she 
was but too much justified by the char- 
acters of some of those around her. 

" In this sacred abode, as may easily 
be conceived, morahty did not always 
go hand in hand with reUgion. The hy- 
pocritical and ambitious Orcus. who 
was, at this period, High Priest of Mem- 
phis, was a mau, in every respect, qual- 
ified to preside over a system of such 
splendid fraud. He had reached that 
eifective time of life, when enough of 
the warmth and vigor of youth remains 
to give animation to the counsels of 
age. But, iu his instance, youth had 
left only the baser passions behind, 
while age but brought with it a more 
refined maturity of mischief. The ad- 
vantages of a faith appeaUng almost 
wholly to the senses, were well under- 
stood by him ; nor had he failed either 
to discover that, in order to render re- 
ligion subservient to his own interests, 
he must shape it adroitly to the inter- 
ests and passions of others. 

" The state of anxiety and remorse in 
which the mind of the hapless Theora 
was kept by the scenes, however artfully 
veiled, which she daily witnessed around 
her, l)ecame at length intolerable. No 
perils that the cause of truth could bring 
with it would be half so dreadful as this 
endurance of sinfulness and deceit. Her 
child was, as yet, piu-e and innocent ; 
but, without that sentinel of the soul. 
Religion, how long might she contiaue so ? 



" This thought at once decided her : 
all other fears vanished before it. She 
resolved instantly to lay open to Aletho 
the whole secret of her soul ; to make 
this child, who was her ouly hope on 
earth, the sharer of all her hopes in 
heaven, and then fly with her, as soon 
as possible, from this unhallovred spot, 
to the far desert — to the mountains— to 
any place, however desolate, where God 
and the consciousness of innocence 
might be with them. 

" The promptitude with which her 
young pupil caught from her the divine 
"truths was even beyond what she ex- 
pected. It was like the lighting of one 
torch at another, so prepared was 
Alethe'smind for the illumination. Am- 
plj', indeed, was the anxious mother 
j now repaid for all her misery, by this 
perfect communion of love and faith, 
and by the delight with which she saw 
her beloved child — like the young ante- 
lope, when first led by her dam to the 
well — drink thirstily by her side, at the 
source of all life and truth. 

" But such happiness was not long ti 
last. The anxieties that Theora had 
suffered began to prey upon her health. 
She felt her strength daily dechne ; and 
the thoughts of leaving, alone and un- 
guarded in the world, that treasure 
which she had just devoted to Heaven, 
gave her a feeling of despair which but 
hastened the ebb of life. Had she put 
in practice her resolution of flying from 
this place, her child might have been 
now beyond the reach of all she dreaded, 
and, in the solitude of the desert, would 
have found at least safety from wrong. 
But the very happiness she had felt in 
her new task diverted her from this pro- 
ject ; — and it was now too late, for she 
was already dying. 

" She still continued, however, to 
conceal the state of her health from the 
tender and sanguine girl, who, though 
observing the traces of disease on her 
mother's cheek, little knew that they 
were the hastening footsteps of death, 
nor even thought of the possibility of 
ever losing what was so dear to her. 
Too soon, however, the moment of sep- 
aration arrived ; and while the anguish 
and dismay of Alethe were in proportion 
to the security in which she had in- 
dulged, Theora, too, felt, with bitter re- 




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iimiiiiiiiiiiiniiniiiiiii::>i!i:iiiiiii;i;;;ii!iiiiiiiii 




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THE EPICUREAN. 



745 



gret, that she had sacrificed to her fond 
consideration much precious time, and 
that there now remained but a few hrief 
and painful moments, for the commmii- 
cation of all those wishes and instruc- 
tions on which the future destiny of the 
young oi-phan depended. 

" She had, indeed, time for little 
more than to place the sacred volume 
solemnly in her hands; to implore that 
she would, at all risks, fly from this un- 
holy place ; and, pointing in the direc- 
tion of the mountains of the Saul, to 
name, with her last breath, the vener- 
able man, to whom, under Heaven, she 
looked for the protection and salvation 
of her child. 

" The first violence of feeling to which 
Alcthe gave way was succeeded by a 
fixed and tearless grief, which rendered 
her insensible, for some time, to the 
dangers of her situation. Her sole com- 
fort consisted in visiting that monu- 
mental chapel where the beautiful re- 
mains of Theora lay. There, night 
after night, in contemplation of those 
placid features, and in prayers for the 
peace of the departed spuit, did she pass 
her lonely and — however sad they were 
— ^happiest hours. Though the mystic 
emblems that decorated that chapel 
were but ill-suited to the slumber of a 
Christian, there was one among them, 
the Cross, which, by a remarkable coin- 
cidence, is an emblem alike common to 
the Gentile and the Christian — being, to 
the former, a shadowy type of that im- 
moitalitj', of which, to the latter, it is a 
substantial and assuring pledge. 

"Nightly, upon this cross, which she 
had often seen her lost mother kiss, did 
she breathe forth a solemn and heart- 
felt vow, never to abandon the faith 
which that departed spirit had be- 
queathed to her. To such enthusiasm, 
indeed, did her heart at such moments 
rise, that, l)ut for the last injvmctions 
from those pallid lips, she would, at 
once, have avowed her peiilous secret, 
and bfcldly pronounced the words, ' I 
am a Christian,' among those benighted 
shrines ! 

" But the will of her, to whom she 
owed more than life, was to be obeyed. 
To escape from this haimt of supersti- 
tion must now, she felt, be her first 
object ; and, in planning the means of 



effecting it, her mind, day and night, 
was employed. It was with a loathing 
not to be concealed, that she now found 
herself compelled to resume her idola- 
trous services at the shrine. To some 
of the offices of Theora she succeeded, 
as is the custom, by inheritance; and 
in the performance of these tasks — sanc- 
tified as they were in her eyes by the 
pure spirit she had seen engaged in 
them — there was a sort of melancholy 
pleasm-e in which her sorrow found re- 
lief. But the part she was again forced 
to take, in the scenic shows of the Mys- 
teries, brought with it a sense of degra- 
dation and 'wrong which she could no 
longer endure. 

" Already had she formed, in her own 
mind, a plan of escape, in which her ac- 
quaintance with all the windings of this 
mystic realm gave her confidence, when 
the solemn reception of Alciphron, as 
an Initiate, took place. 

"From the first moment of the land- 
ing of that philosopher at Alexandria, 
he had become an object of suspicion 
and watchfulness to the inquisitorial 
Orcus, whom philosophy, in any shape, 
naturally alarmed, but to whom the 
sect over which the young Athenian 
presided was particularly obnoxious. 
The accomplishments of Alciphron, his 
popularity wherever he went, and the 
bold freedom with which he indulged 
his wit at the expense of religion, were 
all faithfully reported to the High Priest 
by his spies, and awakened in his mind 
no kmdly feehngs towards the stranger. 
In dealing with an iniidel, such a per- 
sonage as Orcus could know no other 
alternative but that of either convert- 
ing or destroying him ; and though his 
spite, as a man, would have been more 
gratified by the latter proceeding, his 
pride, as a priest, led him to prefer the 
triumph of the former. 

"The first descent of the Epicurean 
into the pyramid became speedily 
known, and the alarm was immediately 
given to the priests below. As soon as 
they had discovered that the young 
philosopher of Athens was the intruder, 
and that he not only still continued to 
Unger round the pyramid, but was ob- 
served to look often and wistfully to- 
wards the portal, it was concluded that 
his curiosity would impel him to try a 




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746 



iiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiMiKiiiiniiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiHJiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiuiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiH 
MOORE'S "WORKS. 




second descent; and Orcus, blessing 
the good chance which had thus brought 
the wild bird into his net, resolved not 
to suffer an opportunity so precious to 
be wasted. 

" Instantly the whole of that wonder- 
ful machinery, by which the phantasms 
and illusions of Initiation are prodiiced, 
were put in active preparation through- 
out that subterranean realm; and the 
increased stir and vigilance awakened 
among its Inmates, by this more than 
ordinary display of the resources of 
priestcraft, rendered the accompUsh- 
ment of Alethe's purpose, at such a 
moment, peculiarly difficult. "Wholly 
ignorant of the important share which 
it had been her own fortune to take m 
attracting the young philosopher down 
to this region, she but heard of him 
vaguely, as the Chief of a great Grecian 
sect, who had been led, by either curi- 
osity or accident, to expose himself to 
the first trials of Initiation ; and whom 
the priests, she could see, were endeav- 
oring to ensnare in their toils, by every 
art and lure with which their dark sci- 
ence had gifted them. 

" To her mind, the image of a philoso- 
pher, such as Alciphron had been repre- 
sented to her, came associated with ideas 
of age and reverence; and, more than 
once, the possibility of his being made 
instrumental to her deliverance flashed a 
hope across her heart in which she could 
not refrain from indulging. Often had 
she been told by Theora of the many 
Gentile sages, who had laid their wisdom 
down humbly at the foot of the Cross ; 
and though this Initiate, she feared, 
could hardly be among the number, yet 
the rumors which she had gathered from 
the servants of the Temple, of his un- 
disguised contempt for the errors of 
Heathenism, led her to hope she would 
find tolerance, if not sympathy, in her 
appeal to him. 

*' Ifor was it solely with a view to her 
own chance of deliverance that she 
thus conuected him in her thoughts with 
the plan which she meditated. The 
look of proud and self-gratulating mal- 
ice, with which the High Priest had 
mentioned this 'Infidel,' as he styled 
him, when giving her instructions in 
the scene she was to act before the phi- 
losopher in the valley, too plainly in- 



formed her of the dark destiny that 
hung over him. She knew how many 
were the hapless candidates for Initia- 
tion who had been doomed to a durance 
worse than that of the grave, for but a 
word, a whisper breathed against the 
sacred absm'dities that they witnessed; 
and it was evident to her that the ven- 
erable Greek (for such her fancy repre- 
sented Alciphron) was no less interested 
in escaping from the snares and perils 
of this region than herself. 

"Her own resolution was, at all 
events, fixed. That visionary scene, in 
which she had appeared before Alci- 
phron — little knowing how ardent were 
the heart and imagination over which 
her beauty, at that moment, exercised 
its influence— was, she solemnly re- 
solved, the very last unholy service, 
that superstition or imposture should 
ever command of her. 

" On the fallowing night the Aspirant 
was to watch'in the Great Temple of Isis. 
Such an opportunity of approaching and 
addressing him might never come again. 
Should he, from compassion for her 
situation, or a sense of the danger of his 
own, consent to lend his aid to her 
fli^ght, most gladly would she accept it — 
well assured that no danger or treachery 
she might risk could be half so odious 
and fearful as those which she left be- 
hind. Should he, on the contrary, re- 
ject the proposal, her determination was 
equally fixed — to trust to that God 
whose eye watches over the innocent, 
and go forth alone. 

" To reach the island in Lake Ma?ris 
was her first great object ; and there oc- 
cmxed fortunately, at this time, a mode 
of effecting her purpose, by which both 
the difiiculty and dangers of the attempt 
would be much diminished. The day of 
the annual visitation of the High Priest 
to the Place of "Weeping* — as that island 
in the centre of the Lake is called — was 
now fast approaching ; and Alethe knew 
that the seLf-moving car, by which the 
High Priest and one of the Hierophants 
are conveyed down to the chambers 
under the Lake, stood then waiting in 
readiness. By availing herself of this 
expedient, she would ^ain the double 
advantage both of facHitating her own 

* Vide WiTford, Asiatic Researches, vol. iii. 
p. 310. 




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THE EPICUREAN". 747 



^w-^^-^ 




flight, and retarding the speed of her 
pursuers. 

" Having paid a last visit to the tomb 
of her beloved mother, and wept there, 
long and passionately, till her heart al- 
most failed in the struggle — having 
paused, too, to give a kiss to her favor- 
ite iTais, which, although too much 
a Christian to worship, she was still 
child enough to love — she went early, 
with a trembling step, to the Sanc- 
tuary, and there hid herself in one of 
the recesses of the Shrine. Her in- 
tention was to steal out from thence to 
Alciphron, while it was yet dark, and 
before the illumination of the great 
Statue behind the Veils had begun. But 
her fears delayed her till it was almost 
too late;— ah-eady was the image light- 
ed up, and still she remained trembhng 
in her hiding-place. 

" In a few minutes more the mighty 
Veils would have been withdrawn, and 
the glories of that scene of enchantment 
laid open— when, at length, summoning 
all her courage, and taking advantage 
of a momentary absence of those em- 
ployed in preparing this splendid mock- 
ery, she stole from under the Veil, and 
found her way, through the gloom, to 
the Epicurean. There was then no time 
for explanation ; — she had but to trust 
to the i-iimple words, 'Follow, and be 
silent ;' and the implicit readiness with 
which she found them obeyed filled her 
with no less sm'prise than the philoso- 
pher himself had felt in hearing them. 

" In a second or two they were on 
their way through the subterranean 
windings, leaving the ministers of Isis to 
waste their splendors on vacancy, 
through a long series of miracles and 
visions which they now exhibited— un- 
conscious that he, whom they were tak- 
ing such pains to dazzle, was already, 
under the guidance of the young Chris- 
tian, far removed beyond the reach of 
their deceiving spells." 



CHAPTER XIY. 

Such was the singular story, of which 
this innocent girl now gave me, in her 
own touching language, the outline. 

The sun was just rising as she finished 
her narrative. Fearful of encountering 
the expression of those feelings with 



which, she could not but observe, I was 
aflfected by her recital, scarcely had she 
concluded the last sentence, when, rising 
abruptly from her seat, she hurried into 
the pavilion, leaving me with the words 
fast crowding for utterance to my lips. 

Oppressed by the various emotions 
thus sent back upon my heart, I lay 
down on the deck in a state of agitation, 
that defied even the most distant ap- 
proaches of sleep. "While every word 
she had uttered, ever}^ feeling she ex- 
pressed, but ministered new fuel to that 
tiame which consumed me, and to de- 
scribe which, passion is far too weak a 
word, there was also much of her recital 
that disheartened and alarmed me. To 
find a Christian thus under the garb of 
a Memphian Priestess, was a discovery 
that, had my heart been less deeply in- 
terested, would but have more power- 
fiillj' stimulated my imagination and 
pride. But, when I recollected the aus- 
terity of the fiiith she had embraced — 
the tender and sacred tie associated 
with it in her memory, and the devotion 
of woman's heart to objects thus conse- 
crated — her very perfections but widen- 
ed the distance between us, and all 
that most kindled my passion at the 
same time chilled my hopes. 

"Were we to be left to each other, 
as on this silent river, in such undis- 
turbed communion of thoughts and 
feelings, I knew too well, I thought, 
both her sex's nature and my own, to 
feel a doubt that love would ultimately 
triumph. But the severity of the guar- 
diansiiip to which I must resign her — 
that of some monk of the desert, some 
stem Solitary— the influence such a 
monitor would gain over her mind — and 
the horror with which, ere long, he 
might teach her to regard the reprobate 
infidel upon whom she now smiled — in 
all this prospect I saw nothing but de- 
spair. After a few short hom-s, my 
dream of happiness would be at an end, 
and such a dark chasm nuist then open 
between our fates, as woidd dissever 
them, wide as earth from heaven, asun- 
der. 

It was true, she was now wholly in 
my power. I feared no witnesses but 
those of earth, and the soUtude of the 
desert was at hand. But though I ac- 
knowledged not a heaven, I worshipped 




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^48 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



her who was, to me, its type aud substi- 
tute. If, at any moment, a single 
thought of wrong or deceit, towards one 
so sacred arose in my mind, one look 
from her innocent eyes averted the sac- 
rilege. Even passion itself felt a hoUer 
fear in her presence — like the flame 
trembling in the breeze of the sanctuary 
— and Love, pm'e Love, stood in place 
of ReUgion. 

As long as I knew not her story, I 
could indulge, at least, in dreams of the 
future. But, now— what expectation, 
what prospect remained ? My single 
chance of happiness lay in the hope, 
however delusive, of being able to di- 
vert her thoughts from the fatal project 
she meditated ; of weaning her, by per- 
suasion and argument, from that austere 
faith, which I had before hated and now 
feared ; and of attaching her, perhaps, 
alone and unlinked as she was in the 
world, to my own fortunes forever ! 

In the agitation of these thoughts, I 
had started from my resting-place, and 
continued to pace up and down, imder 
a burning sun, till, exhausted both by 
thought and feeling, I sunk down, amid 
that blaze of light, into a sleep, which 
to my fevered brain seemed a sleep of fire. 

On awaking, I found the veil of Alethe 
laid carefully over my brow ; while she, 
herself, sat near me, under the shadow 
of the sail, looking anxiously upon that 
leaf, which her mother had given her, 
and employed apparently in comparing 
its outlines with the course of the river, 
as well as with the forms of the rocky 
hills by which we were passing. She 
looked pale and troubled, aud rose ea- 
gerly to meet me, as if she had long and 
impatiently waited for my waking. 

Her heart, it was plain, had been dis- 
turbed from its security, and was begin- 
ning to take alarm at its ovra feehngs. 
But, though vaguely conscious of the 
peril to which she was exposed, her re- 
liance, as is usual in such cases, in- 
creased with her danger, and upon me, 
far more than on herself, did she seem 
to depend for saving her. To reach, as 
soon as possible, her asylum in the des- 
ert, was now the urgent object of her 
entreaties and wishes ; and the self-re- 
proach which she expressed at having, 
for a single moment, suffered her 
thoughts to be diverted from this sacred 



pm-pose, not only revealed the truth, 
that she had forgotten it, but betrayed 
even a glimmering consciousness of the 
cause. 

I Her sleep, she said, had been broken 
j by ill-omened dreams. Every moment 
I the shade of her mother had stood before 
j her, rebuking, with momiiful looks, her 
delay, and pointing, as she had done in 
death, to the eastern hills. Bursting 
into tears at this accusing recollection, 
she hastily placed the leaf, which slie 
had been examining, in my hands, and 
implored that I would ascertain, with- 
out a moment's delay, what portion (f 
om- voyage was still unperformed, and 
in what space of time we might hope to 
accomplish it. 

I had, still less than herself, taken 
note of either place or distance; and 
could we have been left to glide on in 
this dream of happiness, should never 
have thought of pausing to ask where it 
would end. But such confidence was 
far too sacred to be deceived; aud, re- 
luctantly as I naturally felt, to enter on 
an inquiry which might soon dissipate 
even my last hope, her wish was sufii- 
cieut to supersede even the selfishness 
of love, and on the instant I proceeded 
to obey her will. 

There stands on the eastern bank of 
the Nile, to the north of Antinoe, a high 
and steep rock, impendiug over the 
flood, which has borne, for ages, from 
a prodigy connected with it, the name 
of the Mountain of the Birds. Yearly, 
it is said, at a certain season and hour, 
large flocks of birds assemble in the ra- 
vine, of which this rocky mountain forms 
one of the sides, and are there observed 
to go through the mysterious ceremony 
of inserting each its beak into a particu- 
lar cleft of the rock, till the cleft closes 
upon one of then number, when all the 
rest of the bnds take wing, and leave 
the selected victim to die. 

Through the ravine, rendered famous 
by tliis chann — for such the multitude 
consider it— there ran, in ancient times, 
a canal from the Nile, to some great 
and forgotten city, now buried in the 
desert. To a short distance from the 
river this canal stiU exists, but, after 
having passed through the defile, its 
scanty waters disappear, and are wholly 
lost under the sands. 



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Mllllllllllll[^llllllllllllt1ll^:lllllll^lllllllUllllllllllmlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll1lllll|ll|||||I1ll|||||wll|^^ 

THE EPICUEEAN-. 749 



It was in the neighborhood of this 

f)lace, as I could collect from the de- 
iueatiuns on the leaf — where a flight of 
birds represented the name of the 
mountain — that the abode of the Soli- 
tary, to whom Ale the was about to 
consign herself, was situated. Little as 
I knew of the geography of Egypt, it at 
once struck me, that we had long since 
left this mountain behind ;* and, on in- 
quiring of our boatmen, I found my 
conjecture confirmed. We had, indeed, 
passed it on the preceding night ; and, 
as the wind had been, ever suice, blow- 
ing strongly from the north, and the 
sun was aheady sinking towards the 
horizon, we must be now, at least, a 
day's sail to the southward of the spot. 

This discovery, I confess, filled my 
heart with a feeling of joy which I found 
it difficult to conceal. It seemed as if 
fortune was conspiring with love in my 
behalf, and, by thus delaying the mo- 
ment of our separation, afforded me a 
chance at least of happiness. Her look 
and manner, too, when informed of our 
mistake, rather encouraged than chilled 
this secret hope. In the first moment 
of astonishment, her eyes opened upon 
me with a suddenness of splendor, under 
which I felt my own wink as though 
lightning had crossed them. But she 
again, as suddenly, let their lids fall, 
and, after a quiver of her lip, which 
showed the conflict of feeling then go- 
ing on within, crossed her arms upon 
her bosom, and looked down silently 
upon the deck ; her whole countenance 
sinking into an expression, sad, but re- 
signed, as if she now felt that fate was 
on the side of wrong, and saw Love al- 
ready steahng between her soul and 
heaven. 

I was not slow, of course, in availing 
myself of what I fancied to be the ir- 
resolution of her mind. But, still, fear- 
ful of exciting alann by any appeal to 
feelings of regard or tenderness, I but 
addressed myself to her imagination, 

* The voya.^es on the Nile are, under favor- 
able circuuistauees, performed with consider- 
able rapidity. "En cinq ou six jours," says 
Maillet, "on ponrroit ais6ment reraonter ae 
reinbouchure tlu Nil ft, ses cataractes, ou do- 
scendre des cataractes, jusqu'a la nier." The 
preat uncertainty of the navigation is proved 
by what Belzoni tells us : — " Nous ne mimes 
oette fois quo deux jours et demi pour faire 



and to that love of novelty and won- 
ders, which is ever ready to "be awaken- 
ed within the youthful breast. Ve were 
now approaching that region of mira- 
cles, Thebes. "In a day or two," said 
I, "we shall see, towering al)ove the 
waters, the colossal Avenue of Sphinxes, 
and the bright Obehsks of the Smi. We 
shall visit the plain of Memnon, and be- 
hold those mighty statues that fling 
their shadowsf at simrise over the Lib- 
yan hills. We shall hear the image of 
the Son of the Morning responding to 
the first touch of fight. From thence, 
in a few hom-s, a breeze fike this will 
transport us to those sunny islands near 
the cataracts; there, to wander, among 
the sacred palm-groves of Philfe, or sit, 
at noontide hour, in those cool alcoves,i 
which the waterfall of Syene shadows 
under its arch. Oh, who Is there that, 
with scenes of such lovefiness within 
reach, would turn coldly away to the 
bleak desert, and leave this fair world, 
with all its enchantments, shining un- 
seen and uuenjoyed? At least" — I 
added, taking tenderly her hand in 
mine — "let a few more days be stolen 
from the dreary fate to which thou hast 
devoted thyself, and then " 

She had heard but the last few words 
— the rest had been lost upon her. 
Startled by the tone of tenderness into 
which, despite of all my resolves, I had 
suffered my voice to soften, she looked 
for an instant with passionate earnest- 
ness into my face ;— then, dropping up- 
on her knees with her clasped hands 
upraised, exclaimed, — "Tempt me not, 
in the name of God I implore thee, 
tempt me not to swerve from my sacred 
dut.y. Oh ! take me instantly "to that 
desert raoimtain, and I wiU bless thee 
forever." 

This appeal, I felt, could not be re- 
sisted — even though my heart were to 
break for it. Having silently intimated 
my assent to her prayer, by a slight 
pressure of her hand as I raised her 

le trajet du Caire h, Melawi, auquel, dans 
notre second voyage, nous avioiis employe dix- 
huit jonrs." 

t "EUes ont pr6s de ringt metres (fil pied) 
dVlevation ; ct an lever du soleil, leurs ombres 
iramenses sYtendent an loin sur la chaiiio 
Liliyenne." Description Qenerale de Thkbcs, 
par MM. Jollois et DesviUiers. 
Paul Lucas. 




iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiininiiiinininiiiiiiiiraiiiiiiiniiiim 




750 



iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 

JffOOKE'S WORKS. 



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fi-om the deck, I proceeded immediately, 
as -we were still in full career for the 
south, to give orders that our sail should 
be instantly lowered, and not a moment 
lost in retracing our course. 

In giving these directions, however, 
it, for the first time, occurred to me, 
that, as I had hii-ed this yacht in the 
neighborhood of Memphis, where it was 
probable the flight of the young Priestess 
would be most vigilantly tracked, we 
should run the risk of betrapng to the 
boatmen the place of her retreat ; — and 
there was now a most favorable oppor- 
tunity for taking precautions, against 
this danger. Desiring, therefore, that 
we should be landed at a small village 
on the shore, under pretence of paying 
a visit to some shi-ine in the neighbor- 
hood, I there dismissed our barge, and 
was relieved from fear of further obser- 
vation, by seeing it again set sail, and 
resume its course fleetly up the current. 

Prom the boats of all descriptions 
that lay idle beside the bank, I now se- 
lected one, in every respect, suited to 
my purpose — being, in shape and ac- 
commodations, a miniature of our for- 
mer vessel, but, at the same time, so 
light and small as to be managed by 
myself alone, and requiring, with the 
advantage of the current, little more 
than a h'and to steer it. This boat, I 
succeeded, without much difliculty in 
purchasing, and, after a short delay, we 
were again afloat down the current ;— 
the sun just then sinking, in conscious 
glory, over his own golden shrines in 
the Libyan waste. 

That evening was calmer and more 
lovely than any that had yet smiled 
upon our voyage ; and, as we left the 
shore, a strain of sweet melody came 
soothingly over our ears. It was the 
voice of a young Nubian girl, whom we 
saw kneeling before an acacia, upon the 
bank, and singing, while her compan- 
ions stood around, the wild song of in- 
vocation, which, in her country, they 
address to that enchanted tree : — 

" Oh ! Abyssinian tree. 
We pray, we pray to thee ; 
By the glow of thy golden fruit, 
And the violet hue of thy flower, 
And the greeting mute 

* See an account of this sensitive tree, which 
bends down its branches to those who approach 



Of thy bough's salute 
To the stranger who seeks thy bower.* 

" Oh ! Abyssinian tree. 
How the traveller blesses thee, 
When the night no moon allows, 

And the sunset hour is near. 
And thou bendestthy boughs 
To kiss his brows, 

Saying, ' Come, rest thee here.' 
Oh 1 Abyssinian tree, 
Thus bow thy head to me !" 

In the burden of this song the compan- 
ions of the young N'ubiau joined ; and 
we heard the words, " Oh ! Abyssinian 
tree," dying away on the breeze, long 
after the whole group had been lost to 
our eyes. 

Whether, in the new arrangement 
which I had made for our voyage, any 
motive, besides those which I professed, 
had a share, I can scarcely, even my- 
self — so bewildered were then my feel- 
ings — determine. But no sooner had 
the current borne us away from all hu- 
man dwellings, and we were alone on 
the waters, with not a soul near, than 
I felt how closely such solitude draws 
hearts together, and how much more we 
seemed to belong to each other, than 
when there were eyes around us. 

The same feeling, but without the 
same sense of its danger, was manifest 
in every look and word of Alethe. The 
consciousness of the one great efibrt 
which she had made appeared to have 
sati.sfied her heart on the score of duty 
— while the devotedness with which she 
saw I attended to her every wish, was 
felt with all that trusting gratitude 
which, in woman, is the day-spring of 
love. She was, therefore, happy, inno- 
cently happy ; and the conflding, and 
even afl['ectionate, unreserve of her 
manner, whUe it rendered my trust 
more sacred, made it also far more dif- 
ficult. 

It was only, however, upon subjects 
unconnected with our situation or fate, 
that she yielded to such interchange of 
thought, or that her voice ventured to 
answer mine. The moment I alluded 
to the destiny that awaited us, all her 
cheerfulness fled, and she became sad- 
dened and silent. When I described to 
her the beauty of my own native land — 

it, in M. Jomard's Description of Syene and 
the Cataracts. 




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C*^ ^ 




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THE EPICUREAN-. 



751 



its founts of inspiration and fields of 
glory— her eyes sparkled ■V7ith sym- 
pathy, and sometimes even softened 
into fondness. But when I ventured to 
■whisper, that, in that glorious country, 
a life fuU of love and liberty awaited 
her ; when I proceeded to contrast the 
adoration and bliss she might command, 
with the gloomy austerities of the life to 
which \ she was hastening — it was like 
the coming of a sudden cloud over a 
summer sky. Her head sunk, as she 
listened ; — I waited in vain for an an- 
swer ; and when, half playfully re- 
proaching her for this silence. I stooped 
to take her hand, I could feel the warm 
tears fast falling over it. 

But even this— feeble as was the hope 
it held out— was stUl a gUmpse of hap- 
piness. Though it foreboded that I 
should lose her, it also whispered that 
I was loved. Like that lake, in the land 
of Roses,* whose waters are half sweet, 
half bitter, t I felt my fate to be a com- 
pound of bliss and pain-^but its very 
pain well worth all ordinary bliss. 

And thus did the hours of that night 
pass along, while every moment short- 
ened our happy dream, and the current 
seemed to flow with a swifter pace than 
any that ever yet humed to the 
sea. Not a feature of the whole scene 
but lives, at this moment, freshly in my 
memory ; — the broken starlight on the 
water ; — the rippling sound of the boat, 
as, without oar or sail, it went, like a 
thing of enchantment, down the 
stream ; — the scented fire, burning be- 
side us upon the deck, and then that 
face, on which its light fell, reveahng, 
at eveiy moment, so^me new charm — 
some blush or look, more beautiful than 
the last ! 

Often, while I sat gazing, forgetful of 
all else, in this world, our boat, left 
wholly to itself, would drive from its 
course, and bearing us away to the 
bank, get entangled in the water 
flowers, or be caught in some eddy, ere 
I perceived where we were. Once, too, 
when the rustling of my oar among the 
flowers had startled away from the 
bank some wild antelopes, that had 
stolen, at that still hour, to drink of the 
Nile, what an emblem did I think 

* The province of ArsiDOe, now Fioum. 
t Paul Lucas. 



it of the young heart then beside me — 
tasting, for the first time, of hope and 
love, and so soon, alas, to be scared from 
their sweetness forever. 



CHAPTER XT. 

The night was now far advanced — 
the bend of our course towards the left, 
and the closing in of the eastern hills 
upon the river, gave warning of our 
approach to the hermit's dwelling. 
Every minute now appeared like the 
last of existence; and I felt a sinking 
of despair at my heart, which would 
have been intolerable, had not a reso- 
lution that suddenly, and as if by in- 
spiration, occurred to me, presented a 
glimpse of hope, which, in some degi-ee, 
calmed my feelings. 

Much as I had, all my life, despised 
hypocrisy — the very sect I had em- 
braced being chiefly recommended to 
me by the war they continued to wage 
upon the cant of all others— it was, 
nevertheless, in hypocrisy that I now 
scrupled not to take refuge from that 
calamity which to me was far worse 
than either shame or death, my sepa- 
ration from Alethe. In my despair I 
adopted the humiliating plan— deeply 
humiliating as I felt it to be, even amid 
the joy with which I welcomed it— of 
oSiering myself to this hermit as a con- 
vert to his "faith, and thus becoming the 
fellow-disciple of Alethe under his care ! 

From the moment I resolved upon 
this plan my spirit felt lightened. 
Though having fully before my eyes the 
mean labyrinth of imposture into which 
it would lead me, I thought of nothing 
but the chance of our continuing still 
together. In this hope, all pride, all 
philosophy, was forgotten, and every 
thing seemed tolerable, but the prospect 
of losing her. 

Thus resolved, it was with somewhat 
less reluctant feelings that I now under- 
took, at the anxious desire of my com- 
panion, to ascertain the site of that 
well-known mountain in the neiuhlior- 
hood of which the anchoret's dwelling 
lay. "We had abeady passed one or two 
stupendous rocks, which stood, de- 
tached, like fortresses, over the river's 
brink, and which in some degree corres- 



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■Mm 



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752 



MOOKE'S "WOEKS. 



ponded with the description on the 
leaf. So little was there of life now 
stu-ring along the shores, that I had 
begun almost to despair of any assist- 
ance from inquiry, when, on looking to 
the western bank, I saw a boatman 
among the sedges, towing his small 
boat, with eome difficulty, up the cur- 
rent. Hailing him as we passed, I 
asked,—" Where stands the Mountain 
of the Birds f'*— and he had hardly 
time, as he pointed above us, to answer 
"There, " when we porceived that we 
were just (]icn entering into the shadow, 
which this nighty rock flings across the 
whole of the flood. 

In a few moments we had reached the 
mouth of .10 ravine, of which the 
Mountaia of the Birds forms one of the 
sides, and through which the scanty 
canal from the i^dle flows. At the sight 
of this awful chasm, within some of 
whose dreary recesses (if wo had rightly 
interpreted the leaf) the dwelling of t' .e 
Solitary was to be found, our voices 
sunk at 0^1 ce into .. low whisper, while 
Alethe turned round to me with f. look 
of awe and eagerness, as if doubtful 
whether I had not already disappeared 
from her side. A quick movement, how- 
ever, of Ir.r hand towards the ravine, 
told too plainly that her purpose was 
still unchanged. Immediately check- 
ing, therefore, with my oars, the career 
of our boat. I succeeded, after no small 
exertion, in turning it out of the cur- 
rent of the river, and steering into this 
bleak and stagnant canal. 

Our transition from life and bloom to 
the very depth of desolation was imme- 
diate. While the water on one side of 
the ravine lay buried in shadow, the 
white skeleton-like crags of the other 
stood aloft in the pale glare of moon- 
light. The sluggish stream through 
which we moved yielded sullenly to the 
oar, and the shriek of a few water-birds, 
which we had roused from their fast- 
nesses, was succeeded by a silence, so 
dead and awful, that our lips seemed 
afraid to disturb it by a breath ; and 
half- whispered exclamations, "flow 
dreary!" — "H^ow dismal!'' — were al- 
most the only words exchanged between 
us. 

* There has been much controversy amonp 
the Arabian writers, with respect to the site of 



We had proceeded for some time 
through this gloomy defile, when, at a 
short distance before us, among the 
rocks upon which the moonlight fell, 
we could perceive, on a ledge elevated 
but a little above the canal, a small 
hut or cave, which, from a tree or two 
planted around it, had some appear- 
ance of being the abode of c human 
being. "This, then," thought I, "is 
the home to which she is destined !"— A 
chill of despair came again over my 
heart, and the oars, as I sat gazing, lay 
motionless in my hands. 

I found Alethe, too, whose eyes had 
caught the same object, drawing closer 
to my side than she had yet ventured. 
Laying her hand agitatedly upon mine, 
"Wc must here," she said, "part for- 
ever." I turned to her as she spoke ; 
there was a tenderness, a despondency 
in her countenance, that at once sad- 
dened and inflamed my soul. " Part !" 
I exclaimed passionately — "ISTo!— the 
same God shall receive us both. Thy 
faith, Alethe, shall, fi-om this hour, be 
mine ; and I will live and die in this 
desert with thee ! ' ' 

Her sm-prise, her delight, at these 
words was like a momentaiy dehrium. 
The wild, anxious smile, with which she 
looked into my face, as if to ascertain 
whether she had indeed heard my words 
aright, bespoke a happiness too much 
for L-cason to bear. At length, the ful- 
ness of her heart found relief iu tears ; 
and, murmuring forth an incoherent 
blessing on my name, she let her head 
fall languidly and powerlessly on my 
arm. The light from our boat tire shone 
upon her face. I saw her eyes, which 
she had closed for a moment, again 
opening i;pon me with the same tender- 
ness, and — merciful Providence, how I 
remember that moment !— was on the 
point of bending down my lips towards 
hers, when, suddenly, in the air above 
us, as if coming direct from heaven, 
there burst forth a strain of choral mu- 
sic, that with its solemn sweetness filled 
the whole valley. 

Breaking away from my caress at 
these supernatural sounds, the maiden 
threw herself trembhng upon her knees, 
and, not daring to look up, exclaimed 

this mountain, for wliich see Quatremtre, torn, 
i. art. Amoun. 






UIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIflllllllllllihilllllllllllllllllllHIUIIIIillllllllllNllllllllllUlUIIIIIUJHIIIIIUIIIIIIIUIllllHI 

THE EPICUEEAIT. 75a 



wildly, "My mother, oh, my mother !" 

It was the Christian's morning hymn 
that we heard ; — the same, as I learned 
afterwards, that, on their high terrace 
at Memphis, she had been taught by 
her mother to sing to the rising sun. 

Scarcely less startled than my com- 
panion, I looked up, and saw, at the 
very summit of the rock above us, a 
light, appearing to come from a small 
opening or window, through which those 
sounds likewise, that had appeared to 
me so supernatural, issued. Tliere could 
be no doubt that we had now found — if 
not the dwelling of the anchoret— at 
least, the haunt of some of the Christian 
brotherhood of these rocks, by whose 
assistance we could not fail to find the 
place of his retreat. 

The agitation, into which Alethe had 
been thrown by the first bui'st of that 
psalmody, soon yielded to the softening 
recollections which it brought back, and 
a calm came over her brow, such as it 
had never before worn, since we met. 
She seemed to feel as if she had now 
reached her destined haven, and haUed, 
as the voice of heaven itself, those sol- 
emn sounds by which she was welcomed 
to it. 

In her tranquillity, however, I was 
very far from yet sympathizing. Full of 
impatience to learn all that awaited her 
as well as myself, I pushed our boat 
close to the base of the rock, so as to 
bi-ing it directly under that lighted win- 
dow on the summit, to explore my way 
up to which was now my immediate 
object. Having hastily received my in- 
structions from Alethe, and made her 
repeat again the name of the Christian 
whom we sought, I sprang upon the 
1)ank, and was not long in discovering 
a sort of path, or stairway, cut inidely 
out of the rock, and leading, as I found, 
by easy windings, up the steep. 

After ascending for some time, I ar- 
rived at a level space or ledge, which 
the hand of labor had succeeded in con- 
verting into a garden,* and which was 
planted, here and there, with fig-trees 
and palms. Around it, too, I could per- 
ceive, through the glimmering light, a 
number of small caves or grottoes, into 

* The monks of Mount Sinai (Shaio says) 
have covered over near four acres of the naked 
rocks with fruitful gardens and orchards. 



some of which, human beings might find 
an entrance ; while others appeared of 
no larger dimensions than those tombs 
of the Sacred Birds which are seen 
ranged around Lake Mceris. 

I was still, I found, but half-way up 
the ascent, nor was there visible any 
fm-ther means of continuing my com-se, 
as the mountain from hence rose, almost 
perpendicularly, Mke a wall. A.t length, 
however, on exploring more closely, I 
discovered behind the shade ( '< a fig- 
tree a large ladder of wood, resting firmly 
against the rock, and afibrding an easy 
and safe ascent up the steep. 

Having ascertained thus far, I again 
descended to the boat for Alethe, whom 
I found trembhng ah-eady at her short 
solitude; and, having led her up the 
stairway to this quiet garden, left her 
lodged there securely, amid its holy 
silence, while I pursued 7uy way up- 
ward to the light upon the rock. 

At the top of the long ladder I found 
myself on another ledge or platform, 
somewhat smaller than the first, but 
planted in the same manner, with trees, 
and, as I could perceive by the mingled 
light of morning and the moon, embel- 
lished with flowers. I was now near 
the summit ;— there remained but an- 
other short ascent, and, as a ladder 
against the rock supplied, as before, the 
means of scaling it, I was in a few 
minutes at the opening from which the 
light issued. 

I had ascended gently, as well from a 
feeling of awe at the whole scene, as 
from an unwillingness to disturb rudely 
the rites on which I intnided. My ap- 
proach, therefore, being unheard, an op- 
portunity was, for some moments, 
afiVirded me of observing the group 
within, before my appearance at the 
window was discovered. 

In the middle of the apartment, which 
seemed to have been once a Pagan ora- 
tory, there was collected an assembly of 
about seven or eight persons, some male, 
some female, kneeling in silence round 
a small altar ; — while, among them, as if 
presiding over their solemn ceremony, 
stood an aged man, who, at the moment 
of my arrival, was presenting to one of 
the female worshippers an alabaster cup, 
which she applied, with profound rever- 
ence, to her lips. The venerable counte- 



754 



MOORE'S WOEKS. 



nance of the minister, as he pronounced 
a short prayer over her head, wore an 
expression of profound feeling that 
showed how wholly he was absorbed in 
that rite ; and when she had drunk of 
the cup — which I saw had engraven on 
its side the image of a head,* with a 
glory round it — the holy man bent down 
and kissed her forehead, t 

Alter this parting salutation, the 
whole gi-oup rose silently fi'om their 
knees ; and it M-as then, for the first 
time, that, by a cry of terror from one of 
the women, the appearance of a stran- 
ger at the window was discovered. The 
whole assembly seemed startled and 
alarmed, except him, that superior per- 
son, who, advancing fi-om the altar, 
with an onmoved look, raised the latch 
of the door adjoining to the window, 
and admitted me. 

There was, in this old man's features, 
a mixture of elevation and sweetness, 
of simplicity and energy, which com- 
manded ut once attachment and hom- 
age ; and half hoping, half fearing, to 
find in him the destined guardian of 
Alethe, I looked anxiously in his face, 
as I entered, and pronounced the name 
" Melauius I" — " Melanius is my name, 
young stranger," he answered ; " and 
whether in friendship or in enmity thou 
comt'st, Melanius blesses thee." Thus 
saying, he made a sign with his right 
hand above my head, while, with invol- 
untary respect, I bowed beneath the 
benediction. 

"Let this volume," I replied, "an- 
swer for the peacefulness of my mission'' 
— at the same time, placing in his hands 
the copy of the Scriptures which had 
been his own gift to the mother of Alethe, 
and which her child now brought as the 
credential of her claims on his protec- 
tion. At the sight of this sacred pledge, 
which he instantly recognised, the so- 
lemnity that had at first marked his re- 
ception of me softened into tenderness. 
Thoughts of other times appeared to 
pass through his mind ; and as, with a 



* There was Bsunlly, Tertvllian tells us, the 
image of Christ on the communion-cups. 

t •' We are rather disposed to infer, says the 
late BUhop of Lincoln, in his very sensible 
■work on Tertullian, "that, at the conclusion of 
all tlieir meetiufrs for the purpose of devotion, 
the early Christians were accustomed to give 



sigh of recollection, he took the book 
from my hands, some words on the 
outer leaf caught his eye. They were 
few— but contained, most probably, the 
last wishes of the dying Theora ; for, as 
he read them over eagerly, 1 saw tears 
in his aged eyes. "The trust," he said, 
with a taltering voice, " is precious and 
sacred, and God will enable, I hope, his 
seiwant to guard it faithfully." 

During this short dialogue, the other 
persons of the assembly had departed 
— being, as I afterwards learned, breth- 
ren fi-om the neighboring bank of the 
Nile, who came thus secretly before 
daybreak, t to join in worshipping then- 
God. Fearful lest their descent down 
the rock might alann Alethe, I hunied 
briefly over the few words of explana- 
tion that remained, and leaving the ven- 
erable Christian to follow at his leism-e, 
hastened anxiously down to rejoin the 
young maiden. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Melanius was one the first of thoso 
zealous Christians of Egyj^t, who, fol- 
lowing the recent example of the hermit, 
Paul, bade farewell to all the comforts 
of social existence, and betook them- 
selves to a life of contemplation in the 
desert. Less selfish, however, in his 
piety, than most of these ascetics, Me- 
lanius forgot not the world in leaving 
it. He knew that man was not born to 
live wholly for himself; that his rela- 
tion to human kind was that of the fink 
to the chain, and that even his solitude 
should be turned to the advantage of 
others. In flying, therefore, from the 
din and disturbance of life, he sought 
not to place himself beyond the reach 
of its sympathies, but selected a retreat 
where he could combine all the advan- 
tages of solitude with those opportuni- 
ties of being useful to his fellow-men, 
which a neighborhood to their populous 
haunts would afford. 

the kiss of peace, in token of the brotherly love 
subsisting between them." 

t It was among the accusations of CcUibs 
against the Christians, that they held their 
assemblies privately, aud contrary to law ; and 
one of the speakers, in the curious work of 
Miniicius Felix, calls the Christians "latebrosa 
etlucifugaxnatio." 



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THE EPICUKEAN-. 





755 



That taste for the gloom of subterra- 
nean recesses, which the race of Misraim 
inherit from their Ethiopian ancestors, 
had. by hollowing out all Egypt into 
caverns and crypts, supplied these Chris- 
tian anchorets with an ample choice of 
retreats. Accordingly, some found a 
shelter in the grottoes of Elethya ; — 
others, among the royal tombs of the 
Theba'id. In the middle of the Seven 
Yalleys,* where the sun rarely shines, 
a few have fixed their dim and melan- 
choly retreat ; while others have sought 
the "neighborhood of the red Lakes of 
j^itria,t and there, like those Pagan sol- 
itaries of old, who fixed their dwelling 
among the palm-trees near the Dead 
Sea, pass their whole lives in musing 
amidst the sterihty of nature, and seem 
to find, in her desolation, peace. 

It was on oue of the mountains of the 
Said, to the east of the river, that Me- 
lanius, as we have seen, chose his place 
of seclusion — having all the life and fer- 
tility of the Nile on one side, and the 
lone, dismal baiTenness of the desert <m 
the other. Half way down this moun- 
tain, where it impends over the ravine, 
he found a series of caves or grottoes 
dug out of the rock, which had, in other 
times, ministered to some purpose of 
mystery, but wnose use had long been 
forgotten, and their recesses abandoned. 

To this place, after the banishment 
of his great master, Origen, Melanius, 
with a few faithful followers, retired, 
and there, by the example of his inno- 
cent life, as well as by his fervid elo- 
quence, succeeded in winning crowds of 
con verts to his faith. Placed, as he was, 
in the neighborhood of the rich city, An- 
tinoe.t though he mingled not with its 
multitude, his name and his fame were 
ever among them, and, to all who sought 
after instruction or consolation, the cell ! 
of the hermit was always open. 

Notwithstanihng theVigid abstinence 
of his own habits, he was yet careful to | 
provide for the comforts of others. Con- i 
tent with a rude pallet of straw, himself, 

* See Macrizy's account of those valleys, 
given by Quatremi^re, torn. i. p. 450. 

f For a siTikinfi description of this region, see 
"liameseg," a work which, though in general 
too technical and elaborate, shows, in many 
passages, to what picturesque effects the 
scenery and mythology of Egypt may bo made 
subservient. 



he had always for the stranger a less 
homely resting-place. From his grotto, 
the wayfarmg and the indigent never 
went unrefreshed ; and, with the aid of 
some of his brethren, he had formed gar- 
dens along the ledges of the mountain, 
which gave an air of life and cheerful- 
ness to his rocky dwelling, and supplied 
him with the chief necessaries of such a 
climate— fruit and shade. 

Though the acquaintance he had 
formed with the mother of Aletho, du- 
ring the short period of her attendance 
at the school of Origen, was soon inter- 
rupted, and never afterwards renewed, 
the interest which he had then taken in 
her fate was far too Uvely to be forgot- 
ten. He had seen the zeal with which 
her young heart welcomed instruction ; 
and the thought that so promising a can- 
didate for heaven should have relapsed 
into idolatry, came often, with disqmet- 
ing apprehension, over his mind. 

It was, therefore, with trae pleasure, 
that, but a year or two before Theora's 
death, he had learned by a private com- 
munication from her, transmitted 
through a Christian enibalmer of Mem- 
phis, that " not only had her own heart 
taken root in the faith, but that a new 
bud had flowered with the same divine 
hope ; and that, ere long, he might see 
them both transplanted to the desert." 

The coming, therefore, of Alethe \\as 
far less a surprise to him, than h(!r 
coming thus alone was a shock and a 
sorrow ; and the silence of their first 
meeting showed how painfully both re- 
membered that the tie which had brought 
them together was no longer of this 
world— that the hand, which should 
have been then joined with theu's, was 
mouldering in the tomb. I now saw, 
that even religion like his was not proof 
against the sadness of mortality. For, 
as the old man put aside the ringlets 
from her forehead, and contemplated in 
that ch^ar countenance the reflecticm of 
what her mother had l)een, there min- 
gled a moumfulness with his piety, as 



t From the position assigned to Antinoi! in 
this work, we should conclude that it extcniicd 
much farther to the north, than the few ruins 
of it that remain would seem to indicate, and 
that the distance between the city and the 
Mountain of the Birds was considerably less 
than what it appears to be at present. 



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756 MOORE'S WORKS. 




he said, " Heaven rest her soul !" which 
showed how Httlo even the certainty of 
a heaven for those we love can reconcile 
us to the pain of having lost them on 
earth. 

The full light of day had now risen 
npon the desert, and our'host, reminded, 
hy the faint looks of Alethe, of the 
many anxious hours we had passed 
without sleep, proposed that we should 
seek, in the chambers of the rock, such 
rest as a hermit's dwelhng could offer. 
Pointing to one of the largest of these 
openings, as he addi-essed me— " Thou 
wilt find,'' he said, "in that grotto a 
bed of fresh doum leaves, and may the 
consciousness of having protected the 
orphan sweeten thy sleep !" 

I felt how dearly this prize had been 
earned, and abeady almost repented of 
having deserved it. There was a sad- 
ness in the countenance of Alethe, as I 
took leave of her, to which the forebod- 
ings of my own heart but too faithfully 
responded ; nor could I help fearing, as 
her hand parted lingeringly from mine, 
that I had, by this sacrifice, placed her 
beyond my reach forever. 

Having hghted for me a lamp, which, 
in these recesses, even at noon, is neces- 
sary, the holy man led me to the en- 
trance of the grotto. And here, I blush 
to say, my career of hypocrisy began. 
With the sole view of obtaining another 
glance at Alethe, I turned humbly to 
solicit the benediction of the Christian, 
and, having conveyed to her, while 
bending reverently down, as much of 
the deep feeling of my soul as looks 
could express, I then, with a despond- 
ing spirit, hui-ried into the cavern. 

A short passage led me to the cham 
her within — the walls of which I found 
covered, like those of the grottoes of 
Lycopolis, with paintings, which, though 
executed long ages ago, looked as fresh 
as if their colors were but laid on yester- 
day. They were, all of them, represen- 
tations of rural and domestic scenes; 
and, in the greater number the melan- 
choly imaginati(m of the artist had called 
in, as usual, the presence of Death, to 
throw his shadow over the picture. 

My attention was particularly drawn 
to one series of subjects, throughout the 
whole of which the same group— con- 
sisting of a youth, a maiden, and two 



aged persons, who appeared to be the 
father and mother of the girl -were rep- 
resented in all the details of their daily 
life. The looks and attitudes of the 
young people denoted that they were 
lovers ; and, sometimes, they were seen 
sitting under a canopy of flowers, with 
their eyes fixed on each other's faces, as 
though they could never lool; away ; 
sometimes, they appeared walking along 
the banks of the jSiile,— 

on one oi those sweet niglits 

When Isis, the pure star of lovers,* liglits 
Her bridal crescent o'er the holy stream — 
Wbeu wandering youths and maidens watch 

her beam. 
And number o'er the nights she hath to run, 
Ere she again embrace her bridegroom suu.t 

Through all these scenes of endear- 
ment the two elder persons stood by ; — 
their calm countenances touched with 
a share of that bhss, in whose perfect 
light the young lovers were basking. 
Thus far, all was happiness ;— but the 
sad lesson of mortality was yet to come. 
In the last picture of the series, one of 
the figures was missing. It was that of 
the young maiden, who had disappeared 
from among them. On the brink of a 
dark lake stood the three who remained ; 
while a boat, just departing for the City 
of the Dead, told too plainly the end of 
their dream of happiness. 

This memorial of a sorrow of other 
times— of a sorrow, ancient as death it- 
self — was not wanting to deepen the 
melancholy of my mind, or to add to 
the weight of the many bodiugs that 
pressed upon it. 

After a night, as it seemed, of anxious 
and unsleeping thought, I rose from my 
bed and retmned to the garden. I 
found the Christian alone — seated, im- 
der the shade of one of his trees, at a 
small table, on which there lay a volume 
unrolled, while a beautiful antelope was 
sleeping at his feet. Struck by the con- 
trast which he presented 'to those 
haughty priests, whom I had seen sur- 
rounded by the pomp and gorgeousness 
of temples, " Is this, then," thought I, 
" the faith before which the world now 
trembles— its temple the desert, its 
treasury a book, and its High Priest the 
solitary dweller of the rock V 

* Tide Plutarch, de Isid. 
t " Conjunctio solis cum luna, quod est veluti 
utriusque counubium." Jablonski. 



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THE EPICUREAi^-. 



757 



He had prepared for me a simple, but 
hospitable repast, of which fruits from 
his owu garden, the white bread of 
Olyra, and the juice of the honey-cane, 
formea the most costly luxuries. His 
manner to me was even more cordial 
and fatherly than before ; but the ab- 
sence of Alethe, and, still more, the 
ominous reserve, with which he not 
only, himself, refrained fi-om all men- 
tion of her name, but eluded the few in- 
quiries, by which I sought to lead to it, 
seemed to confirm all the apprehensions 
I had felt in parting from her. 

She had acquainted him, it was evi- 
dent, with the whole history of our 
flight. My reputation as a philosopher 
— my desire to become a Christian — all 
was alreadv known to the zealous an- 
choret, and the subject of my conver- 
sion was the very first on which he en- 
tered. Oh, pride of philosophy, bow 
wert thou then humbled, and with what 
shame did I stand in the presence of 
that venerable man, not daring to let 
my eyes encounter his, while, with un- 
hesitating ti-ust in the sincerity of my 
intention, he welcomed me to a partici- 
pation of his holy hope, and imprinted 
the Kiss of Charity on my infidel brow ! 

Embarrassed as I could not but feel 
by the humiliating consciousness of hy- 
pocrisy, I was even still more perplexed 
by my almost total ignorance of the real 
tenets of the faith to which I professed 
myself a convert. Abashed and con- 
fused, and with a heart sick at its own 
deceit, I listened to the animated and 
eloquent gratulations of the Christian, 
as though they were words in a dream, 
without any link or meaning ; nor could 
disguise but by the mockery of a rever- 
ent bow, at every pause, the total want 
of self-possession, and even of speech, 
under which I labored. 

A few minutes more of such trial, and 
I must have avowed my imposture. 
But the holy man perceived my embar- 
rassment ; — and, whether mistaking it 
for awe, or knowing it to be ignorance, 
relieved me from my perplexity by, at 
once, changing the theme. Having 
gently awakened his antelope from its 
sleep, "You have doubtless," he said, 
"heard of my brother-anchoret, Paul, 
who, from his cave in the marble moun- 
tains, near the Red Sea, sends hourly 



the blessed ' sacrifice of thanksgiving ' to 
heaven. Of Jiis walks, they tell me, a 
lion is the companion ,* but, for me," he 
added with a playful and significant 
smile, ' ' who try my powers of taming 
but on the gentler animals, this feeble 
child of the desert is a far fitter play- 
mate." Then, taking his staff, and put- 
ting the time-worn volume which he 
had been perusing into a large goat-skin 
pouch, that hung by his side, "I wUl 
now," said he, "conduct thee over my 
rocky kingdom, that thou mayest see in 
what drear and barren places that 
'sweet fi-uit of the spirit,' Peace, may 
be gathered." 

To speak of peace to a heart throb- 
bing, as mine did at that moment, was 
like talking of some distant harbor to 
the mariner sinking at sea. In vain did 
I look around for some sign of Alethe ; — 
in vain make an efibrt even to utter her 
name. Consciousness of my own de- 
ceit, as well as a fear of awakening in 
the mind of Melanius any suspicion that 
might tend to frustrate my only hope, 
threw a fetter over my spirit, and 
checked my tongue. In humble silence, 
therefore, I followed ; while the cheer- 
ful old man, with slow, but firm stei), as- 
cended the rock by the same ladders 
which I had mounted on the preceding 
night. 

During the time when the Decian 
Persecution was raging, many Christians, 
as he told me, of the neighborhood had 
taken refuge under his protection, in 
these grottoes; and the small chapel 
upon the summit, where I had found 
his flock at prayer, was, in those awful 
times of suflering, their usual place of 
retreat, where, by drawing up these lad- 
ders, they were enabled to secure them- 
selves from pursuit. 

The view, from the top of the rock, ex- 
tending on either side, embraced the 
two extremes of fertility and desolation; 
nor could the Epicurean and the An- 
choret, who now stood gazing from that 
height, be at any loss to indulge then- 
respective tastes, between the living 
luxuriance of the world on one side, and 
the dead, pulseless repose of the desert 
on the other. When we turned to the 
river, what a picture of animation pre- 

* M. Chdteaubriand has introduced Paul 
and hiB lion into the Martyrs, liv. li. 




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758 MOORE'S WORKS. 




sented itself! Near ns to the south, 
were the graceful colonnades of Antinoe, 
its proud, populous streets, and tri- 
umphal mouumeuts. On the opposite 
shore, rich plains, all teeming with cul- 
tivation to the water's edge, seemed to 
offer up, as from verdant altars, their 
fruits to the sun; while, beneath us, 
the XUe, 

the glorious stream, 

That late between its banks was seen to glide — 
With shrines and marble cities, on each side, 
Glittering, like jewels strung along a chain — 
Had now sent forth its waters, and o'er plain 
And valley, like a giant from his bed 
Rising with outstretch'd limbs superbly spread. 
From this scene, on one side of the 
mountain, we had hut to turn round 
our eyes to the other, and it was as 
if N'ature herself had become suddenly 
extinct ;— a wide waste of sands, bleak 
and interminable, wearying out the sun 
with its sameness of desolation ; — black, 
bumt-up rocks, that stood as barriers, 
at which life stopped ;^while the only 
signs of animation, past or present, 
were the footprints, here and there, of 
an antelope or ostrich, or the bones of 
dead camels, as they lay whitening at a 
distance, marking out the track of the 
caravans over the waste. 

After listening, -nhile he contrasted, 
in a few eloquent words, the two regions 
of life and death on whose confines we 
stood, I again descended with my guide 
to the garden that we had left. Prom 
thence, tm-ning into a path along the 
mountain-side, he led me to another 
row of grottoes, facing the desert, which 
had l^een once, he said, the abode of 
those brethren in Christ, who had fled 
with him to this solitude from the 
crowded world — but which death had, 
within a few short months, rendered 
tenautless. A cross of red stone, and a 
few faded trees, were the only traces 
these solitaries had left behind. 

A silence of some minutes succeeded, 
while we descended to the edge of the 
canal ; and I saw opposite, among the 
rocks, that solitary cave which had so 
chilled me with its aspect on the preced- 
ing night. Beside the bank we found 
one of those rustic boats, which the 
Egyptians construct of planks of ^vild 
thorn, bound rudely together with bands 
of papjTUS. Placing ourselves in this 
boat, and rather impelling than rowing 



it across, we made our way through the 
foul and shallow flood, and landed 
du-ectly under the site of the cave. 

This dwelling was situated, as I have 
already mentioned, on a ledge of the 
rock ; and, being provided with a sort of 
window or aperture to admit the Ught 
of heaven, was accounted, I found, far 
more cheerful than the grottoes on the 
other side of the ravine. But there was 
a dreariness in the whole region around, 
to which light only lent additional hor- 
ror. The dead whiteness of the rocks, 
as they stood, like ghosts, in the sun- 
shine ; — that melancholy pool, half lost 
in the sands ; — all gave to my mind the 
idea of a wasting world. To dwell in a 
place so desolate seemed to me a living 
death ; and when the Christian, as wo 
entered the cave, said, "Here is to be 
thy home,'' prepared as I had been for 
the worst, all my resolution gave way ; 
— every feeling of disappointed passion 
and humbled pride, which had been 
gathering round my heart for the last 
few hours, found a vent at once, and I 
burst into tears. 

Accustomed to human weakness, and 
perhaps guessing at some of the sources 
of mine, the good Hermit, without ap- 
pearing to take any notice of this emo- 
tion, proceeded to expatiate, with a 
cheerful air, on, what he called, the com- 
forts of my dwelling. Sheltered I'rom 
the dry, burning wind of the south, my 
porch would inhale, he said, the fresh 
breeze of the Dog-star. Fruits from his 
own mountain-garden should furnish 
my repast. The well of the neighbor- 
ing rock would supply my beverage; 
and, "here," he continued — lowering 
his voice into a more solemn tone, as 
he placed upon the table the volume 
which he had brought — "here, my son, 
is that ' well of living waters,' in which 
alone thou wilt find lasting refreshment 
or peace !" Thus saying, he descended 
the rock to his boat ; and, after a few 
plashes of his oar had died upon my ear, 
the solitude and silence that reigned 
around me was complete. 



CHAPTER XVII. 
WnAT a fate was mine ! — but a few 
weeks since, presiding over that gay 
Festival of the Garden, with all the lux- 




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THE EPICUREAN. 759 



uries of existence tributary in my train; 
and now — self-humbled into a solitary 
outcast — the hypocritical pupil of a 
Christian anchoret — without even the 
excuse of religious fanaticism, or any 
other madness, but that of love, wild 
love, to extenuate my faU ! Were there 
a hope that, by this humihating waste 
of existence, I might pm-chase now and 
then a momentary glimpse of Alethe, 
even the depths of the desert, with such 
a chance, would be welcome. But to 
live — and live thus— without her, was 
a misery which I neither foresaw nor 
could endure. 

Hating even to look upon the den to 
which I was doomed, I hunied out 
into the air and fouud my way, along 
the rocks, to the desert. The sun was 
going down, with that blood-red hue, 
which he so often wears, in this climate, 
at his setting. I saw the sands, stretch- 
ing out, like a sea, to the horizon, as if 
their waste extended to the very verge 
jf the world— and, in the bitterness of 
my feelings, rejoiced to see so large a 
portion of creation rescued, even by this 
barren Uberty, from the encroaching 
grasp of man. The thought seemed to 
i<elieve my wounded pride, and, as I 
wandered over the dim and boundless 
solitude, to be thus free, even amidst 
blight and desolation, appeared to me 
a blessing. 

The only living thing I saw was a rest- 
less swallow, whose wings were of the 
same hue with the gray sands over 
which he fluttered.* " WTiy (thought 
I) may not the mind, like tMs bird, par- 
take of the color of the desert, and sym- 
pathize in its austerity, its freedom, 
and its cakn ?" — thus vainly endeavor- 
ing, between despondence and defiance, 
to encounter with some degree of forti- 
tude what yet my heart sickened to con- 
template. But the effort was unavail- 
ing. Overcome by that vast solitude, 
whose repose was not the slumber of 
of peace, but rather the sullen and 
burning silence of hate, I felt my spirit 

* " Je vis dans le d6sert des hirondelles d'un 
gris clair comme le sable sur lequel elles vo- 
ient." — Denon. 

t In alludinff to Whiston's idea of a comet 
having' caused the deluge, Jlf. Girard, having 
remarked that the word Typhon means a 
deluge, adds, " On ne peut entendre par le 
reins du regno de Typhon qui celui pendant 



give way, and even love itself yielded to 
despair. 

Taking my seat on a fragment of a 
rock, and covering my eyes with my 
hands, I made an effort to shut out the 
overwhelming prospect. But aU in 
vain — it was still before me, with every 
additional horror that fancy could sug- 
gest ; and when, again looking forth, I 
beheld the last red ray of the sim, 
shooting across the melancholy and life- 
less waste, it appeared to me like the 
light of that comet which once desolat- 
ed this world,! and thus luridly shone 
out over the ruin that it had made ! 

Appalled by my own gloomy imagin- 
ations, I turned towards the ravine; 
and, notwithstanding the disgust with 
I had fled from my dwelling, was not 
ill pleased to find my way, over the 
rocks, to it again. On approaching the 
cave, to my astonishment, I saw a 
light within. At such a moment, any 
vestige of life was welcome, and I 
hailed the unexpected appearance with 
pleasm-e. On entering, however, I 
found the chamber all as lonely as I 
had left it. The light I had seen came 
from a lamp that burned brightly on 
the table ; beside it was unfolded the 
volume which Melanius had brought, 
and upon the open leaves— oh, joy and 
surprise — lay the well-known cross of 
Alethe ! 

What hand, but her own, could have 
prepared this reception for me? — The 
very thought sent a hope into my heart, 
before which aU despondency fled. 
Even the gloom of the desert was for- 
gotten, and my rude cave at once 
brightened into a bower. She had here 
reminded me, by this sacred memorial, 
of the vow which I had pledged to her 
under the Hermit's rock ; and I now 
scrupled not to reiterate the same dar- 
ing promise, though conscious that 
through hypocrisy alone I could fulfil 
it. 

Eager to prepare myself for my task 
of imposture, I sat down to the volume. 



lequel le deluge inonda la terre, terns pendan' 
lequel on ddt observer la com6te qui Tocoa 
sionna, et dont I'apparition fut, non seulemeni 
pour les peuples de I'Egypte, et de I'Ethiopie, 
mais encoro pour tons peuples le presage fu 
neste de leur destruction presque totale."— 
Description de la Vallee de V Egarement. 




760 



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MOORE'S WORKS 



ir~^^ 



-^S^ 




•which I now found to be the Hebrew 
Scriptures; and the first sentence, on 
which my eyes fell, was — "The Lord 
hath commanded the blessing, even 
Life for evermore !" Startled by these 
words, ia which it appeared to me as if 
the Spirit of my dream had again pro- 
nounced his assuring prediction,* I 
raised my eyes from the page, and re- 
peated the sentence over and over, as if 
to try whether in these sounds there lay 
any charm or spell, to reawaken that 
faded illusion in my soul. But, no^ 
the rank frauds of the Memphian priest- 
hood had dispelled all my trust in the 
promises of religion. My heai't had 
again relapsed into its gloom of skepti- 
cism, and, to the word of "Life," the 
only answer it sent back was, "Death!" 

Being impatient, however, to possess 
myself of the elements of a faith, upon 
which — whatever it might promise for 
hereafter— I felt that all my hapi)iness 
here depended, I turned over the pages 
with an earnestness and avidity, such 
as never even the most favorite of my 
studies had awakened in me. Though, 
like all who seek but the smface of 
learning, I flew desultorily over the 
leaves, lighting only on the more prom- 
inent and shining points, I yet found 
myself, even in tins undisciplined career, 
arrested, at every page, by the awful, 
the supernatural subhmity, the alter- 
nate melancholy and grandeur of the 
images that crov\ded upon me. 

I had, till now, known the Hebrew 
theology but through the platonizing re- 
finement of Philo ; — as, in like manner, 
for my knowledge of the Christian doc- 
trine I was indebted to my brother Epi 
cureans, Lueian and Celsus. Little, 
therefore, was my mind prepared for 
the simple majesty, the high tone of in- 
spiration — the poetry, in short, of heav- 
en that breathed throughout these ora- 
cles. Could admnation have kindled 
faith, I should, that night, have been a 
believer; so elevated, so awed, was my 
imagination by that wonderful book- 
its warnings of wo, its announcements 
of glory, and its unrivalled strains of 
adoration and sorrow. 

* "Many people." said Origen, "have been 
brought over to Christianity by the Spirit of 
God s'ivinf^ a sudden turn to their minds, and 
oflFeriiig visions to them either by day or night." 
Ou this Jortin remarks :— " "Why should it be 



Hour after hour, with the same eager 
and desultory curiosity, did I turn over 
the leaves;— and when, at length, I lay 
down to rest, my fancy was still haunt- 
ed by the impressions it had received. 
I went again through the various scenes, 
of whicli I had read ; again called up, in 
sleep, the bright images that had passed 
before me; and when awakened at 
early dawu by the solemn Hymn from 
the chapel, imagined that I was still 
listening to the sound of the winds,_ 
sighing mournfully through the harps of 
Israel on the willows. 

Starting from my bed, I hurried out 
upon the rock, with a hope that, among 
the tones of that morning choir, I might 
be able to distinguish the sweet voice of 
Alethe. But the strain had ceased ; 
— I caught only the last notes of the 
Hymn, as, echoing up that lohely val- 
ley, they died away into the silence of 
the desert. 

With the first ghmpse of Ught I was 
again eagerly at my study, and, not- 
withstanding the frequent distraction 
both of my thoughts and looks towards 
the distant, half- seen grottoes of the 
Anchoret, continued my task with uu- 
abating perseverance throughout the 
day. Still alive, however, only to the 
eloquence, the poetry of what I studied, 
of its claims to authority, as a history, I 
never once paused to consider. My 
fancy alone being interested by it, to 
fancy alone I referred all that it con- 
tained; and, passing rapidly from an- 
nals to prophec3% from narration to 
song, regarded the whole but as a tissue 
of oriental allegories, in which the deep 
melancholy of Egyptian associations 
was interwoven with the rich and sen- 
sual imagery of the East. 

Towards sunset I saw the venerable 
Hermit on his way, across the canal, to 
my cave. Though he was accompanied 
only by his gracefid antelope, which 
came snutling the wild air of the desert, 
as if scenting its home, I felt his visit, 
even thus, to be a most welcome relief. 
It was the hour, he said, of his evening 
ramole up the mountain — of his accus- 
tomed visit to those cisterns of the rock, 
thought improbable that Pagans of good dis- 
positions, but not free from prejudices, should 
have been called by divine admonitions, by 
dreams or visions, which might be a support ts 
I Christianity in those days of distress ?" 



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THE EPICUEEAK 



761 



from which he drew nightly his most 
precious beverajre. "While he spoke, I 
observed in his hand one of those earth- 
en cups,* in which it is the custom of 
the inhabitants of the wilderness to col- 
lect the fresh dew among the rocks. 
Having proposed that I should accom- 
pany him in his walk, he proceeded to 
lead me, in the direction of the desert, 
up the side of the mountain that rose 
above my dwelling, and which formed 
the southern wall or screen of the defilo. 

o^Tear the summit we found a seat, 
where the old man paused to rest. It 
commanded a full view over the desert, 
and was by the side of one of those hol- 
lows in tiie rock, those natural reser- 
voirs, in which are treasured the dews of 
night for the refreshment of the dwell- 
ers in the wilderness. Having learned 
from me how far I had advanced in my 
study — "In yonder light," said he, 
pointing to a small cloud in the east, 
which had been formed on the horizon 
by the haze of the desert, and was now 
faintly reflecting the splendors of the 
sunset — "in the midst of that light 
stands Mount Sinai, of whose glory thou 
hast read ; upon whose summit was the 
scene of one of those awful revelations, 
in which the Almighty has renewed 
from time to time his communication 
with Man, and kept ahve the remem- 
brance of his own Providence in this 
world.'' 

After a pause, as if absorbed in the 
immensity of the subject, the holy man 
continued his sublime theme. Look- 
ing back to the earliest annals of time, 
he showed how constantly every relapse 
of the human race into idolatry has been 
followed by some manifestation of Di- 
vine power, chastening the strong and 
pi:oud by punishment, and winning 
back the humble by love. It was to 
preserve, he said, unextinguished upon 
earth, that great and vital truth — the 
Creation of the world by one Supreme 
Being —that God chose, from among 
the nations, an humble and enslaved 

* Palladius, who lived some time in Egypt, 
describes the monk Ptolemreus, who inhabited 
the desert of Scete, ns collecting in earthen 
cups the abundant dew from the rocks." — 
Bihliothec. Pat. torn. xiii. 

t The brief sketch here given of the Jewish 
dispensation agrees very much with the view 
taken of it by Dr. Sumner, in the first chapters 



race— that he brought them out of their 
captivity "on eagles' wings," and, still 
surrounding every step of" their course 
with miracles, has placed them before 
the eyes of all succeeding generations, 
as the depositaries of his will and the 
ever-during memorials of his power, t 

Passing, then, in review the long train 
of inspired interpreters, whose pens 
and whose tongues were made the 
echoes of the Divine voice,! he traced 
throughout the events of successive ages, 
the gradual unfolding of the dark 
scheme of Providence — darkness with- 
out, but all Ught and glory within. The 
ghmpses of a coming redemption, visi- 
ble even through the wrath of Hea- 
ven ; — the long series of prophecy 
through which this hope runs, burning 
and ahve, like a spark along a chain ; — 
the slow and merciful preparation of 
the hearts of mankind for the great trial 
of their faith and obedience that was at 
hand, not only by miracles that appealed 
to the living, but by prophecies 
launched into the future to carry con- 
viction to the yet unborn ; — " through 
all these glorious and benelicent grada- 
tions we may track,'' said he, " the 
manifest footsteps of a Creator, advanc- 
ing to his gi-and, ultimate end, the sal- 
vation of his creatm-es." 

After some hours devoted to these holy 
instnictions, we returned to the ravine, 
and Melanius left me at my cave ; pray- 
ing, as be parted from me — with a be- 
nevolence which I but ill, alas ! de- 
served — that my soul might, under 
these lessons, be "as a watered gar- 
den," and, erelong, "bear fruits unto 
life eternal." 

Next morning, I was again at my 
study, and even more eager in the 
awakening task than before. With the 
commentary of the Hermit freshly in 
my memory, I again read through, with 
attention, the Book of the Law. But 
in vain did I seek the promise of immor- 
tahty in its pages. $ " It tells me," 
said' I, " of a God coming down to 

of his eloquent work, the "Kecords of the 
Creation." 

J In tlie original, the discourses of the Her- 
mit are given much more at length. 

§ " It is imposstble to deny." says Dr. Sum- 
ner, " that the sanctions of the Mosaic Law 
are altogether temporal. ... It is, indeed, 
one of the facts that can only be explained by 




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762 



MOORE'S WORKS. 



earth, but of the ascent of Man to hea- 
ven it speaks not. The rewards, the 
punishments it announces, lie all on this 
side of the grave ; nor did even the 
Omnipotent offer to his own chosen ser- 
vants a hope beyond the impassable 
limits of this world. "Where, then, is 
the salvation of which the Christian 
spoke ? or, if Death be at the root of the 
faith, can Life spring out of it V 

Again, in the bitterness of disappoint- 
ment, did I mock at my own willing 
self-delusion— again rail at the arts of 
that traitress, F'ancy, ever ready, like 
the Delilah of this wondrous book, to 
steal upon the slumbers of Reason, and 
deliver him up, shorn and powerless, to 
his foes. If deception, thought I, be 
necessary, at least let me not practise 
it on myself; — in the desperate alterna- 
tive before me, let me rather be even 
hypocrite than dupe. 

These self-accusing reflections., cheer- 
less as they rendered my task, did not 
abate, for a single moment, my indus- 
try in pursuing it. I read on and on, 
with a sort of sullen apathy, neither 
charmed by style, nor transported by 
imagery— the fatal bUght in my heart 
having communicated itself to my im- 
agination and taste. The curses and the 
blessings, the glory and the ruin, which 
the historian recorded and the prophet 
had predicted, seemed all of this world 
—all temporal and earthly. That mor- 
tality, of which the fountain-head had 
tasted, tinged the whole stream ; and 
when I read the words, "all are of the 
dust, and all turn to dust again,"* a 
feeling, like the wind of the desert, 
came witheringly over me. Love, 
Beauty, Glory, every thing most bright 
and worshipped iipon earth, appeared 
to be sinking before my eyes, under 
this di'eadful doom, into one general 
mass of corruption and silence. 

Possessed by the image of desolation 
I had thus called up, I laid my head 
acknowledging that he really acts under a 
Divine commission, proraiilgatmg a temporary 
law for a peculiar purpose," — a mui'h more 
candid and sensible way of treating this very 
difficult point, than by cither endeavoring, like 
Warburton, to escape from it into a paradox, 
or, still worse, contriving, like Dr. Graves, to 
increase its difficulty by explanation.— Vide 
" On the Pentateuch. See also Home's Intro- 
duction, &c., vol. i. p. 2-36. 

* WhUe Voltaire, Volney, &o.. refer to the 



upon the book, in a paroxysm of de. 
spaii-. Death in all his most ghastly vari- 
eties, passed before me; and I had con- 
tinued thus for some time, as imder the 
influence of a fearful vision, when the 
touch of ahand upon my shoulder roused 
me. Looking up, I saw the Anchoret 
standing by my side ;— his countenance 
beaming with that subhme tranquilMty, 
which a hope, beyond this earth, alone 
can bestow. How I did envy him ! 

"We again took our way to the seat 
upon the mountain — the gloom within 
my own mind making everything 
around me more gloomy. Forgetting 
my hypocrisy— my feelings, I proceeded 
at once to make an avowal to him of all 
the doubts and fears which my study of 
the morning had awakened. 

" Thou art yet, my son," he answered, 
"but on the threshold of our faith. 
Thou hast seen but the first rudiments 
of the Divine plan ; — its full and consum- 
mate perfection hath not yet opened 
upon thy mind. However glorious that 
manifestation of Divinity on Mount 
Sinai, it was but the foreranner of an- 
other, still more glorious, which, in the 
fulness of time, was to burst upon the 
world ; when all, that before had seem- 
ed dim and incomplete, was to be per- 
fected, and the promises, shadowed out 



le pr 
of 1 



by the ' spirit of prophecy, ' realized ; — 
when the seal ot silence, under which 
the Future had so long lain, was to be 
broken, and the glad tidings of life and 
immortality proclaimed to the world !" 

Observing my features brighten at 
these words, the pious man continued. 
Anticipating some of the holy know- 
ledge that was in store for me, he traced, 
through all its wonders and mercies, 
the gi-eat work of Redemption, dwelling 
in detail upon every miraculous circum- 
stance connected with it— the exalted 
nature of the Being, by whose ministry 
it was accomplished, the noblest and 
first created of the Sons of God,t inferior 
Ecclesiastes, as abounding with tenets of ma- 
terialism and Epicurism, M. Des Vceus and 
others find in It strong proofs of belief in a 
future state. The chief difficulty lies in the 
chapter from which this text is quoted; and 
the mode of construction by which some writers 
attempt to cet rid of it— namely, by putting 
these texts into the mouth of a foolish reasoncr 
—appears foi-ced and gratuitous.— Vide Dr. 
Hale^s Analysis. 

t This opinion of the Hermit may be sup- 



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THE EPICUREAN. 763 



only, to the one, self-existent Father ; — 
the mysterious incarnation of this heav- 
enly messenger ; — the miracles that au- 
thenticated his divine mission ; — the ex- 
ample of obedience to God and love to 
man, which he set, as a shining light, 
before the world forever; — and, lastly 
and chiefly, his death and resurrection, 
by which the covenant of mercy was 
sealed, and " life and immortality 
brought to light.'' 

" Such," continued the Hermit, " was 
the Mediator, promised through all 
time, to ' make reconciliation for iniqui- 
ty,' to change death into life, and bring 
•healing on his wings' to a darkened 
world. Such was the last crowning dis- 
pensation of that God of benevolence, in 
whose hands sin and death are but in- 
struments of everlasting good, and who, 
through apparent evil and temporary re- 
tribution, bringing all things ' out of 
darkness into his marvellous light,' pro- 
ceeds watchfully and unchangingly to 
the great, final object of his providence 
—the restoration of the whole human 
race to purity and happiness !"* 

"Withamind astonished, if not touched, 

posed to have been derived from his master, 
Origen ; but it is not easy to ascertain the ex- 
act doctrine of Origen on this subject. In 
the Treatise on Prayer attributed to him, he 
asserts tliat (iod the Father alone should be 
invoked — which, says Bayle, is to "enchSrir 
sur les Heresies des Sociniens." Notwith- 
standing this, however, and some other indi- 
cations of, what was afterwards called, Arian- 
lsm,(such as the opinion of the divinity being 
received by communication, which Milncr 
asserts to have been held by this Father.) 
Origen was one of the authorities quoted by 
Athanasius in support of his high doctrines of 
co-eternity and co-essentiality. What Priestley 
says is, perhaps, the best solution of these 
inconsistencies : — " Origen, as well as Clemens 
Alexandrinus, has been thought to favor the 
Arian principles ; but he did it only in words, 
and not in ideas." — Early Opinions, &c. 
Whatever uncertainty, however, there may ex- 
ist with respect to the opinion of Origen him- 
self on this subject, there is no doubt that the 
doctrines of liis immediate followers were, at 
least, Anti-Athanasian. "So many Bishojis 
of Africa," says Priestley, "were, at this 
period (between the year 255 and 258) Unita- 
rians, that Atlianasius says, ' The Son of God ' 
—meaning his divinity— ' was scarcely any 
longer preaclicd in the churches.'" 

* This benevolent doctrine — which not only 
goes far to solve the great problem of moral 
and physical evil, but which would, if received 
more generally, tend to soften the spirit of 
uncharitableness, so fatally prevalent among 
Christian sects— was maintained by that great 



by these discourses, I returned to my 
cave, and found the lamp, as before, 
ready lighted to receive me. The vol- 
ume which I had been hitherto studying, 
was replaced by another, which lay open 
upon the table, with a branch of fresh 
palm between its leaves. Though I 
could not doubt to whose gentle and 
guardian hand I was indebted for this 
invisible watchfulness over my studies, 
there was yet a something in it, so like 
spiritual interposition, that it struck me 
with awe ; — and never more than at this 
moment, when, on approaching the vol- 
ume, I saw, as the fight gUstened over 
its silver letters, t that it was the very- 
Book of Life of which the Hermit had 
spoken ! 

The midnight hymn of the Christians 
had sounded through the valley, before 
I had yet raised my eyes from that sa- 
cred volume ; and the second hour of 
the sun found me again over its pages. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

In this mode of existence I had now 
me days; — my mornings de- 



light of the early Church, Origen, and Ihas not 
wanted supporters among more modern Theo- 
logians. That Tillotson was inclined to the 
opinion appears from his sermon preached be- 
fore the queen. Paley is supposed to have 
held the same amiable doctrine ; and Nev>-ton 
(the author of the work on the Prophecies) is 
also among the supporters of it. For a full 
account of the arguments in favor of this opin- 
ion, derived both from reason and the express 
language of Scripture, see Dr. Southwood 
Smith's very interesting work, "On the Divine 
Government." See also Magee on Atonement, 
where the doctrine of the advocates of Uni- 
versal Restoration is thus briefly, and, I believe, 
fairly explained :— " Beginning with the exist- 
ence of an infinitely powerful, wise, and good 
I?eing, as the first and fundamental principle of 
rational religion, they pronounce the essence 
of this Being to be love, and from tliis infer, as 
a demonstrable consequence, that none of the 
creatures formed by sucli a Being will ever be 

made eternally miserable Since God 

(they say) would act unjustly in inflicting 
eternal misery for temporary crimes, the 8ufl"er- 
ings of the wicked can be but remedial, and 
will terminate in a complete purification from 
moral disorder, and in their ultimate restora- 
tion to virtue and happiness. 

t The Codex Cottonianns of the New Testa- 
ment is written in silver letters on a purplo 
ground. The Codex Cottonianus of the Sep- 
tnagint version of the Old Testament is sup- 
posed to be the identical copy that belonged to 
Origen. 



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764 



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MOOEE'S "^OEKS. 




voted to reading, my nights to listening, 
under the wide canopy of heaven, to 
the holy eloquence of Melanius. The 
perseverance with which I inquired, and 
the quickness with which I learned, soon 
succeeded in deceiving my benevolent 
instructor, who mistook curiosity for 
zeal, and knowledge for belief. Alas ! 
cold, and barren, and earthly was that 
knowledge — the word without the spirit, 
the shape without the life. Even when, 
as a relief from hypocrisy, I persuaded 
myself that I believed, 'it was but a 
brief delusion, a faith, whose hope 
crumbled at the touch— like the friut of 
the desert-shrub,* shining and empty ! 

But, though my soul was still dark, 
the good Hermit saw not into its depths. 
The very facility of my belief, which 
might have suggested some doubt of its 
sincerity, was but regarded, by his inno- 
cent zeal, as a more signal triumph of 
the tnith. His own ingenuousness led 
him to a ready trust in others ; and the 
examples of such conversions as that 
of the philosopher, Justin, who, during 
a walk by the sea-shore, received the 
light into Ijis soul, had prepared him for 
illumiuations of the spirit, even more 
rapid than mine. 

During all this time, I neither saw nor 
heard of Alethe ;— norcould my patience 
have endured through so long a priva- 
tion, had not those mute vestiges of her 
presence, that welcomed me every night 
on my return, made me feel that I was 
still living under her gentle influence, 
and that her sympathy hung round every 
step of my progress. Once, too, when 
I ventured to speak her name to Mela- 
nius, though he answered not my inqui- 
ry, there was a smile, I thought of prom- 
ise upon his countenance, which love, 
far more alive than faith, was ready to 
interpret as it desired. 

At length — it was on the sixth or sev- 
enth evening of my solitude, when I lay 
resting at the door of my cave, after the 
study of the day— I was startled by hear- 
ing my name called loudly from the op- 
posite rocks ; and looking up, saw, upon 
the cliff near the deserted grottoes, Me- 
lanius and— oh ! I could not doubt— my 
Alethe by his side ! 

Though I had never, since the first 
night of my return from the desert, 

* Vide Hamilton's JEgyptiaca. 



ceased to flatter myself with the fancy 
that I was still living in her presence, 
the actual sight of her cmce more made 
me feel for what a long age we had been 
separated. She was clothed all iu white, 
and, as she stood in the last remains ol 
the sunshine, appeared to my too pro- 
phetic fancy like a parting spirit, whose 
last footsteps on earth that pm-e glory 
encircled. 

"With a delight only to be imagined, 
I saw them descend the rocks, and, 
placing themselves in the boat, proceed 
directly towards my cave. To disguise 
from Melanius the mutual dehght with 
which we again met was impossilde ; — 
nor did Alethe even attempt to make a 
secret of her joy. Though blushing at 
her own happiness, as little could her 
frank nature conceal it, as the cleai- 
waters of Ethiopia can hide then- gold. 
Every look, every word, bespoke a ful- 
ness of affection, to which, doubtful as 
I was of our tenure of happiness, I knew 
not how to respond. 

I was not long, however, left ignorant 
of the bright fate that awaited me ; but, 
as we wandered or rested among the 
rocks, learned everything that had been 
arranged since our parting. She had 
made the Hermit, I found, acquainted 
with all that had passed between us ; 
had told him, without reserve, Q\eT,-j 
incident of our voyage— the avowals, 
the demonstrations of affection on one 
side, and the deep sentiment that grati- 
tude had awakened on the other. Tt)o 
wise to regard affections so natural with 
severity — knowing that they were of 
heaven, and but made evil by man— the 
good Hermit had heard of our attach- 
ment with pleasure ; and, fully satisfied 
as to tlie honor and purity of my views, 
by the fidelity with which I had deliv- 
ered my trust into his hands, saw, in 
my afl'ection lor the young orphan, but 
a providential resource against that 
friendless solitude in which his death 
must soon leave her. 

As, listening eagerly, I collected these 
particulars from their discourse, I could 
hardly trust my ears. It seemed a hap- 
piness too great to be true, to be real ; 
nor can words convey an idea of the joy, 
the shame, the wonder with which I lis- 
tened, while the holy man himself de- 
clared that he awaited but the moment, 




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THE EPICUREAN?". 



765 



when he should find me worthy of be- 
coming a member of the Christian 
Church, to give me also the hand of 
Alethe in that sacred union, which 
alone sanctities love, and makes the 
faith, which it pledges, holy. It was 
but yesterday, he added, that his young 
charge, herself, alter a preparation of 
prayer and repentance, such as even 
her piu-e spirit required. Had been ad- 
mitted, by the sacred ordinance of bap- 
tism, into the bosom of the laith ; — and 
the white garment she wore, and the 
ring of gold on her finger,* " were sym- 
bols," he added, " of that New Life in- 
to which she had been initiated." 

I raised my eyes to hers as ho spoke, 
but withdrew them again, dazzled and 
confused. TSven her beauty, to my im- 
agination, seemed to have undergone 
some brightening change ; and the con- 
trast between that open and happy 
countenance, and the unblest brow of 
the infidel that stood before her, abash- 
ed me into a sense of un worthiness, and 
almost checked my rapture. 

To that night, however, I look back, 
as an epoch in my existence. It proved 
that sorrow is not the only awakener 
of devotion, but that joy may sometimes 
quicken the holy spark into life. Ee- 
tuming to my cave, with a heart fuU, 
even to oppression, of its happiness, I 
could find no other relief to my over- 
charged feelings, than that of throwing 
myself on my knees, and uttering, for 
the first time in my life, a heartfelt 
prayer, that if, indeed, there were a Be- 
ing"^ who watched over mankind, he 
would send down one ray of his truth 
into my darkened soul, and make it 
worthy of the blessings, both here and 
hereafter, proffered to it ! 

My days now rolled on in a perfect 
dream of happiness. Every hour of the 
morning was welcomed as bringing 
nearer and nearer the blest time of suu- 
sot, when the Hermit and Alethe never 
failed to visit my now charmed cave, 
where her smile left, at each parting, a 



* See, for the custom among the early 
Christians of wearinj^ white for a few days 
after baptism, Ambros. de M>/st.— With respect 
to the ring, the Bishop of Lincoln says, in his 
work on Tertullian, "The natural inference 
from those wonls (Tcrt. de Pudicitid) appears 
to be, that a ring used to be given in baptism; 



light that lasted till her return. Then, 
oiu- rambles, together, by starlight, over 
the mountain ; our pauses, from time 
to time, to contemplate the wonders of 
the bright heaven above us; om- re- 
pose by the cistern of the rock; and our 
silent listening, through hours that 
seemed minutes, to the holy eloqiaence 
of our teacher; — all, all was happiness 
of the most heartfelt kind, and such as 
even the doubts, the cold lingering 
doubts, that still hung, like a mist, 
around my heart, could neither cloud 
nor chill. 

As soon as the moonlight nights re- 
turned, we used to ventm-e into the des- 
ert ; and those sands, which had lately 
looked so desolate, in my eyes, now as- 
sumed even a cheerful and smiling as- 
pect. To the light, innocent heart of 
Alethe, every thing was a source of en- 
joyment. Tor her, even the desert had 
its jewels and flowers; and, sometimes, 
her delight was to search among the 
sands for those beautiful pebbles of jas- 
pert that abound in them;— sometimes 
her eyes would sparkle with pleasure 
on finding, perhaps, a stunted marigold, 
or one of those bitter, scarlet flowers,{ 
that lend their dry mockery of ornament 
to the desert. In all these pm-suits and 
pleasures the good Hermit took a share 
— mingling occasionally with them the 
reflections of a benevolent piety, that 
lent its own cheerful hue to all the 
works of creation, and saw the consol- 
ing truth, " God is Love," written legi- 
bly everywhere. 

Such was, for a few weeks, my bliss- 
ful life. Oh, mornings of hope ! oh, 
nights of happiness ! with what melan- 
choly pleasm-e do I retrace your flight, 
and how reluctantly pass to the sad 
events that followed ! 

During this time, in compliance with 
the wishes of Melanius, who seemed un- 
willing that I should become wholly es- 
tranged from the world, I used occa- 
sionally to pay a visit to the neighbor- 



but I have found no other trace Jof such a 
custom." 

t Vide Clarke. 

I " Lcs MescmbryanthemuTn nodiflorum- et 
Zygophyllum coccineum, plantes grasses des 
deserts, rejetfies, S, cause de leur acrct6, par les 
chameaux, les cbevres, ot les gazelles." — M. 
Dallle upon the Flants of Egypt. 



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iiinimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiffliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiliiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiii'Viss' 

'i iHiiiiiiiiiiitiiuiiu'iiiiiiiiitiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii)""- 

766 MOORE'S WOEKS. 




ing city, Autinoe,* which, being the 
capital of the Thebaid, is the centre of [ 
all the luxury of Upper Egypt. But j 
here, so changed was my every feeling 
by the all-absorbing passion which now 
possessed me, that I sauntered along, 
wholly uninterested by either the scenes 
or the people that surrounded me, and, 
sighing tV)r that rocky solitude where 
m^y Alethe breathed, felt this to be the 
wilderness, and that the world. 

Even the thoughts of my own native 
Athens, that at every step -n-ere called 
up, by the light Grecian architecture of 
this imperial city, did not awaken one 
single regret in my heart — one wish to 
exchange even an "hour of my desert for 
the best luxuries and honors that await- 
ed me in the Garden. I saw the arches 
of triumph ; — I walked under the superb 
portico, which encircles the whole city 
with its marble shade ;— I stood on the 
Circus of the Sun, by whose rose-colored 
pillars the mysterious movements of the 
Nile are measured; — on all these proud 
monuments of glory and art, as well as 
on the gay multitude that enlivened 
them, I looked with an unheeding eye. 
If they awakened in me any thought, it 
was the mom-nful idea, that, one day, 
like Thel)o^s and Heliopolis, this pa- 
geant would pass away, leaviug nothing 
behind but a few mouldering ruins — like 
sea-shells found where the ocean has 
been— to tell that the great tide of Life 
was ouce there ! 

But, though indifferent thus to all 
that had formerly attracted me, there 
were subjects, once ahen to my heart, 
on which it was now most tremblingly 
alive; and some rumors which had 
reached me, in one of my ^'isits to the 
city, of an expected change in the 
policy of the Emperor towards the 
Christians, tilled my mind with appre- 
hensions as new as they were dreadful 
to me. 

The toleration and even favor which 
the Christians enjoyed, during the first 
four years of the reign of Valerian, had 
removed from them all fear of a renewal 
of those horrors, which they had experi- 
enced under the rule of his predecessor, 
Decius. Of late, however, some less 
friendly dispositions had manifested 
themselves. The bigots of the com-t, 

* Vide Savary and QuatreirUre. 



taking alarm at the rapid spread of the 
new faith, had succeeded in tilling the 
mind of the monarch with that rehgious 
jealousy, which is the ever-ready parent 
of cruelty and injustice. Among these 
counsellors of evil was Macrianus, the 
Praetorian Prefect, who was, hy birth, 
an Egyptian, and had long made him- 
self notorious — so akin is superstition to 
intolerance— by his addiction to the 
dark practices of demon-worship and 
magic. 

From this minister, who was now 
high in the favor of Valerian, the new 
measures of severity against the Chris- 
tians were expected to emanate. All 
tongues, m all quarters, were busy with 
the news. In the streets, in the public 
gardens, on the steps of the temples, I 
saw, everywhere, groups of inquirers 
collected, and heard the name of Macri- 
anus upon every tongue. It was dread- 
ful, too, to observe, in the countenances 
of those who spoke, the variety of feel- 
ing with which the ramor was discussed, 
according as they feared or desired its 
truth— according as they were likely to 
be among the torturers or the victims. 

Alarmed, though still ignorant of the 
whole extent of the danger, I hurried 
back to the ravine, and, going at once 
to the grotto of Melanius, detailed to 
him every particular of the intelligence 
I had collected. He listened to me 
with a composure, which I mistook, 
alas ! for confidence in his own security ; 
and, naming the hour for our evening 
walk, retired into his grotto. 

At the accustomed time, accompanied 
by Alethe, he came to my cave. It was 
evident that he had not communicated 
to her the inteUigence which I had 
brought, for never hath brow worn such 
happiness as that which now played 
around hers : — it was, alas ! not of this 
earth. Melanius, himself, though com- 
posed, was thoughtful ; and the solem- 
nity, almost approaching to melancholy, 
witli which he placed the hand of Alethe 
in mine — in the performance, too, of a 
ceremony that ought to have filled my 
heart with joy — saddened and alarmed 
me. This ceremony was our betroth- 
ment, the act of phghting our faith to 
each other, which we now solemnized 
on the rock before the door of my cave, 
in the face of that calm, sunset heaven, 



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THE EPICUREAN. 



whose one star stood as our -witness. 
After a blessing from the Hermit upon 
om- spousal pledge, I placed the ling— 
the earnest of our future union — on her 
finger; and, in the blush, with which 
she surrendered to me her whole heart 
at that instant, forgot every thing but 
my happiness, and felt secure even 
against fate ! 

We took our accustomed walk, that 
evening, over the rocks and on the 
desert. So bright was the moon— more 
like the daylight, indeed, of other climes 
— that we could plainly see the tracks 
of the wild antelopes in the sand ; and it 
was not without a sUght tremble of 
feeling in his voice, as if some melan- 
choly analogy occurred to him as he 
spoke, that the good Hermit said, " I 
have obsei-ved, in the course of my 
walks,* that wherever the track of that 
gentle animal appears, there is, almost 
always, found the foot-print of a beast 
of prey near it." He regained, however, 
his usual cheerfulness before we parted, 
and fixed the following evening for an 
excursion, on the other side of the 
ravine, to a point, looking, he said, 
"towards that northern region of the 
desei't, where the hosts of the Lord en- 
camped in their departure out of bond- 
age." 

Though, when Alethe was present, all 
my fears even for herself were forgotten 
in that perpetual element of happiness, 
which encircled her like the air that she 
breathed, no sooner was I alone, than 
vague terrors and bodings crowded up- 
on me. In vain did I endeavor to reas- 
on away my fears, by dwelling only on 
the most cheering circumstances— on 
the reverence with which Melanius 
was regarded, even by the Pagans, and 
the inviolate security with which he 
had lived through the most peiilous peri- 
ods, not only safe himself, but affording 
sanctuary in the depths of his grottoes 
to others. ■ Though somewhat calmed 
by these considerations, yet, when at 
length I sunk off to sleep, dark, horri- 
ble dreams took possession of my mind. 
Scenes of death and of torment passed 

* " Je remarqiiai, avec une reflexion triste, 
qu'un animal de proio aocompagne presque 
toujours les pas de ce joli et frele individu." 

t " These Christians who sacrificed to idols 
to save themselves were called by various 



confusedly before me ; and, when I 
awoke, it was with the fearful impres- 
sion that all these horrors were real. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

At length, the day dawned— that 
dreadful day ! Impatient to be relieved 
from my suspense, I threw myself into 
my boat— the same in which we had 
performed our happy voyage— and, as 
fast as oars could speed me, humed 
away to the city. I found the suburbs 
silent and solitary, but, as I approached 
the Forum, loud yells, like those of bar- 
barians in combat, struck on my ear, 
and, when I entered it — great God, what 
a spectacle presented itself ! The im- 
perial edict against the Christians had 
arrived during the night, and already the 
wild fury of bigotry was let loose. 

Under a canopy, in the middle of the 
Forum, was the tribunal of the Gover- 
nor. Two statues — one of Apollo, the 
other of Osiris — stood at the bottom of 
the steps that led up to his judgment- 
seat. Before these idols were shrines, 
to which the devoted Christians were 
dragged from all quarters by the sol- 
diers and mob, and there compelled to 
recant, by throwing incense into the 
flame, or, on their refusal, hurried away 
to torture and death. It was an appall- 
ing scene ; — the consternation, the cries 
of some of the victims— the pale, silent 
resolution of others ; —the fierce shouts 
of laughter that broke from the multi- 
tude, when the dropping of the frankin- 
cense on the altar proclaimed some de- 
nier of Christ ;t and the fieud-like tri- 
umph with which the courageous Con- 
fessors, who avowed their faith, were 
led away to the flames ;— never could 
I have conceived such an assemblage of 
horrors ! 

Though I gazed but for a few min- 
utes, in those minutes I felt and fancied 
enough for years. Already did the 
form of Alethe appear to flit before me 
through that tumult;— I heard them 
shout her name ; her shriek fell on my 
ear ; and the very thought so palsied me 

names, Thurificati, Sacriflcati, Mittentes. Ne- 
gatores, ' &c. Baronius mentions a bishop of 
this period, (253,) Marcellinus, who, yielding to 
the threats of the Gentiles, threw incense upoa 
the altar.— Vide Amob, contra Qent. lib. vii. 



z^Mm 



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763 



MOOKE'S T^OEKS. 



with terror, that I stood fixed and statue- 
like on the spot. 

Recollecting, however, the fearful 
preciousness of every moment, and 
that — perhaps, at this very instant — 
some emissaries of blood might be on 
their way to the Grottoes, I rushed wild- 
ly out of the Forum, and made my way 
to the quay. 

The streets were now crowded ; but 
I ran headlong through the multitude, 
and was already under the portico lead- 
ing down to the river — already saw the 
boat that was to bear me to Alethe — 
when a Centurion stood sternly in my 
path, and I was surrounded and arrest- 
ed by soldiers ! It was in vain that I 
implored, that I struggled with them as 
for life, assuring them that I was 
a stranger — that I was an Athen- 
ian — that I was — iwt a Christian. 
The precipitation of my flight was suf- 
ficient evidence against me, and unre- 
lentingly, and by force, they bore me 
away to the quarters of their Chief. 

It was enonph to drive me at once to 
madness ! Two hours, two frightful 
hours, was I kept waiting the arrival of 
the Triltune of their Legion* — my brain 
burning with a thousand fears and im- 
aginations, which every passing minute 
made but more likely to be realized. 
All I could collect, too, from the con- 
versations of those around me, but add- 
ed to the agonizing apprehensions with 
which I was racked. Troops, it was 
said, had been sent in all directions 
through the neighborhood, to bring in 
the relicllious Christians, and make 
them l)ow before the Gods of the Em- 
pire. With horror, too, I heard of 
Orcus — Orcus, the Bigh Pi-iest of Mem- 
phis — as one of the principal instiga- 
tors of this sanguinary edict, and as here 
present in Antinoe, animating and di- 
recting its execution. 

In this state of torture I remained till 
the aiiival of the Tribune. Absorbed 
in my own thoughts, I hadnot perceived 
his entrance ; — itUl, hearing a voice, in 
a tone of friendly sui-prise, exclaim, 
" Alciphron !" I looked up, and in this 
legionary Chief recognized a young Ro- 
man of rank, who had held a military 
command, the year before, at Athens, 
and was one of tUe most distinguished 

* A rank, similar to tliat of Colonel. 



visitors of the Garden. It was no time, 
however, for courtesies: — he was pro- 
ceeding with all cordiality to greet me, 
but, having heard him order my instant 
release, I could wait for no more. Ac- 
knowledging his kindness but by a gi-asp 
of the hand, I flew off, like one frantic, 
through the streets, and ia a few min- 
utes, was (m the river. 

My sole hope had been to reach the 
Grottoes before any of the detached par- 
ties should aiTive, and, by a timely 
flight across the desert, rescue, at least, 
Alethe from their fury. The ill-fated 
delay that had occurred rendered this 
hope almost desperate ; but the tran- 
quillity I found everywhere as I pro- 
ceeded down the river, and my fond 
confidence in the sacredness of tlie Her- 
mit's retreat, kept my heart from sinking 
altogether under its ten-ors. 

Between the current and my oars, the 
boat flew, with the speed of the wind, 
along the waters, and I was already 
near the rocks of the ravine, when I 
saw, tm-ning out of the canal into the 
river, a barge crowded with people, and 
glittering with arms ! How did I ever 
suiwive the shock of that sight ? The 
oars dropped, as if struck out of my 
hands, into the water, and I sat, help- 
lessly gazing, as that terrific vision ap- 
proached. In a few minutes, the cur- 
rent brought us together ;— and I saw, 
on tho deck of the barge, Alethe herself 
and the Hermit surrounded by soldiers ! 

We were already passing each other, 
when, with a desperate effort, I sprang 
from my boat and lighted upon the edge 
of their vessel. I knew not what I did, 
for despair was my only prompter. 
Snatching at the sword of one of the sol- 
diers, as I stood tottering on the edge, 
I had succeeded in wresting it out of 
his hands, when, at the same moment, 
I received a thrust of a lance from one 
of his comrades, and fell backward into 
the river. I can just remember rising 
again and making a grasp at the side of 
the vessel ; — but the shock, and the 
faintaess from my wound, deprived me 
of all consciousness, and a shiiek from 
Alethe, as I sank, is all I can recollect 
of what followed. 

"Would I had then died !— Yet, no. 
Almighty Being— I should have died in 
darkness, and I have lived to know Thee ! 




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•Vv} 




tA/V" 



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THE EPICUREAN-. 




769 



On returning to my senses, I found 
myself reclined on a coucb, in a splen- 
ilid apartment, the whole appearance of 
which being Grecian, I, for a moment, 
forgot all that had passed, and imagined 
myself iu my own home at Athens. But 
too soon the whole dreatlful certainty 
flashed upon me ; and, starting wildly 
— disabled as I was— from my couchj I 
called loudly, and with the shriek of a 
maniac, upon -Alethe. 

I was in tho house, T then, found, of 
my friend and disciple, the young Tri- 
bune, who had made the Governor ac- 
quainted with my name and condition, 
and had received me under his roof, 
when brought, bleeding and insensible, 
to Anttnoe. Prom him I now learned 
at once — for I could not wait for details 
— the sum of aU that had happened in 
that dreadful interval. Melauius was 
no more —Ale the still alive, but in prison ! 

" Take me to her" — I had but time 
to say — "take me to her instantly, and 
let me die by her side" — when, nature 
again failing under such shocks, I re- 
lapsed into insensibility. In this state 
I continued for near an hour, and, on 
recovering, found the Tribune by my 
side. The horrors, he said, of the Fo- 
rum were, for that day, over, — but what 
the morrow might bring, he shuddered 
to contemplate. His nature, it was 
plain, revolted from the inhuman duties 
in which he was engaged. Touched by 
the agonies he saw me suffer, he, in 
some degree, relieved them, by promis- 
ing that I should, at nightfall, be con- 
veyed to the prison, and, if possible, 
through his influence, gain access to 
Alethe. She might yet, he added, be 
saved, could I succeed in persuading 
her to comply with the terms of the 
edict, and make sacrifice to the Gods. — 
" Otherwise," said he, " there is no 
hope ; — the vindictive Orcus, who has 
resisted even this short respite of mercy, 
will, to-morrow, inexorably demand his 
prey." 

He then related to me, at my own re- 
quest — though every word was torture 
—all the harrowing details of the pro- 
ceeding before the Tribunal. " I have 
seen courage," said he, "in its noblest 

* The merit of the confession " Christianus 
sum," or " Christiana sura," was considerably 
enhanced by the clearness and distinctnes* 



forms, in the field ; but the calm intre- 
pidity with which that aged hermit en- 
dm-ed torments — which it was hardly 
less torment to witness— surpassed all 
that I could have conceived of human 
fortitude!" 

My poor Alethe, too— in describing to 
me her conduct, the brave man wept 
like a chUd. Overwhelmed, he said, at 
first by her apprehensions for my safety, 
she had given way to a full burst of 
womanly weakness. But no sooner was 
she brought before the Tribunal, and 
the declaration of her faith was de- 
manded of her, than a spmt almost su- 
pematui al seemed to animate her whole 
form. ''She raised her eyes," said he, 
" calmly, but with fervor, to heaven, 
while a blush was the only sign of mor- 
tal feeling on her features : — and the 
clear, sweet, and untrembling voice, 
with which she pronounced her own 
doom, in the words, ' I am a Christian!'* 
sent a thrill of admiration and pity 
throughout the multitude. Her youth, 
her loveliness, affected all hearts, and a 
cry of ' Save the young maiden !' was 
heard in all directions." 

The implacable Orcus, however, would 
not hear of mercy. Eesenting, as it ap- 
peared, with all his deadliest rancor, not 
only her own escape from his toils, but 
the aid with which she had, so fatally to 
his views, assisted mine, he demanded 
loudly and in the name of the iusulted 
sanctuary of Isis, her instant death. It 
was but by the firm intervention of the 
Governor, who shared the general sym- 
pathy in her fate, that the delay of an- 
other day was granted to give a chance 
to the young maiden of yet recalling her 
confession, and thus aifording some pre- 
text for saving her. 

Even in yielding, with evident reluct- 
ance, to this respite, tho inhuman Priest 
would yet accompany it with some 
mark of his vengeance. "Whether for 
the pleasure (observed the Tribune) of 
mingling mockery with his craelty, or 
as a warning to her of the doom she 
must ultimately expect, he gave orders 
that there should be tied round her 
brow one of those chaplets of coral, t 

with which it was pronounced. Eusebius 
mentions the martyr Vetius as making it 

couronnes de grain de corail, 



\afJ.irpoTaTTn <j) 

t Une "d 




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(T^^- 




770 



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MOORE'S WOEKS. 



with ■w'hich it is the custom of young 
Christian maidens to an-ay themselves 
on the day of their martyrdom; — " and, 
thus fearfully adorned," said he, "she 
Avas led away, amidst the gaze of the 
pitying multitude, to prison.'' 

With these harrowing details the 
short interval till nightfall— every min- 
ute of which seemed an age — was occu- 
pied. As soon as it grew dark, I was 
placed upon a litter — my wound, though 
not dangerous, requiring such a con- 
veyance — and, under the guidance of 
my friend, I was conducted to the pris- 
on. Through his interest with the 
guard, we were without difficulty ad- 
mitted, and I was borne into the cham- 
ber where the maiden lay immured. 
Even the veteran guardian of the place 
seemed touched with compassion for his 
prisoner, and supposing her to be 
asleep, had the litter placed gently near 
her. She was half reclining, with her 
face hid beneath her hands, upon a 
couch— at the foot of which stood an 
idol, over whose hideous features a lamp 
of naphtha, that hung from the ceiling, 
shed a wild and ghastly glare. On a 
table before the image was a censer, 
with a small vessel of incense beside it 
— one grain of which, thrown volunta- 
rily into the flame, would, even now, 
save that precious life. So strange, so 
fearful was the whole scene, that I 
almost doubted its reality. Alethe ! 
my own, happy Alethe ! can it, I 
thought, he thou that I look upon ? 

She now slowly, and with difficulty, 
raised her head from the couch, on ob- 
serving which, the kind Tribune with- 
drew, and we were left alone. There 
was a paleness, as of death, over her 
features; and those eyes which, when 
last I saw them, were but too bright, 
too happy, for this world, looked dim 
and sunken. In raising herself up, she 
put her hand, as if from pain, to her 
forehead, whose marble hue but ap- 
peared more death-like from those red 
bands that lay so awfully across it. 

After wandering for a minute vaguely, 
her eyes at length rested upon me — 
and, with a sluiek, half terror, half joy, 
she sprung from the couch, and sunk 
upon her knees by my side. She had 

dont les vierges raartyres ornoieiit leura chevoux 
eii allant a In mort."" — Les Martyrs. 



believed me dead; and, even now, 
scarcely trusted her senses. " My hus- 
band ! my love!" she exclaimed; "oh, 
if thou comest to call me from this 
world, behold I am ready !" In saying 
thus, she pointed wildly to that ominous 
wreath, and then dropped her head 
down upon my knee, as if an arrow had 
pierced it. 

"Alethe!" I cried — terrified to the 
very soul l)y that mysterious pang — 
and, as if the sound of my voice had re- 
animated her, she looked up, with a 
faint smile, in my face. Her thoughts, 
which had evidently been wandering, 
became collected ; and in her joy at my 
safety, her sorrow at my sullering, she 
forgot entirely the fate that impended 
over hersell'. Love, innocent love, alone 
occupied all her thoughts; and the 
warmth, the affection, the devotedness, 
with which she spoke — oh how, at any 
other moment, I would have blessed, 
have lingered upon eveiy word ! 

But the time flew fast— that dreadful 
morrow was approaching. Already I 
saw her writhing in the hands of the 
torturer — the flames, the racks, the 
wheels, were before my eyes ! Half 
frantic with the fear that her resolution 
was fixed, I flung myself frcm the litter 
in an agony of weeping, and supplicated 
her, by the love she bore me, by the 
happiness that awaited us, by her own 
merciful God, who was too good to re- 
quire such a sacrifice — b^y all that th-e 
most passionate anxiety could dictate, I 
implored that she would avert from us 
the doom that was coming, and — but 
for once— comply with the vain cere- 
mony demanded of her. 

Shrinking from me, as I spoke — but 
with a look more of sorrow than re- 
proach — "WTiat, thou, too !" she said 
mournfully — "thou, into whose inmost 
spirit I had fondlj^ hoped the same light 
had entered as into my own ! No, 
never be thou leagued with them who 
would tempt me to ' make shipwreck of 
my faith !' Thou, who couldst alone bind 
me to life, use not, I entreat thee, thy 
power ; but let me die, as Ho I serve 
hath commanded — die fuc the Truth. 
Remember the holy lessons we heai'd 
together on those nights, those happy 
nights, when both the present and fu- 
ture smiled upon us — when even the 



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IIIIUIUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIHllllllllllllllllllHtTmiilllllllUllllltllllllllllllllllllllllllUlllllllllllllllllllllllllllUlllllIU^ 

THE EPICUREAif, 




771 



gift of eternal life came more welcome 
to my soul, from the glad conviction 
that thou wert to be a sharer in its 
blessings ; — shall I forfeit now that di- 
vine privilege? shall I deny the true 
God, whom we then learned to love ? 

" No, my own betrothed," she con- 
tinued — pointing to the two rings on her 
finger — " behold these pledges — they 
are bo ji iacred. I should have been as 
true to thee as I am now to heaven, — 
nor in that life to which I am hastening 
shall our love be forgotten. Should the 
baptism of fire, through which I shall 
pass to-morrow, make me worthy to be 
heard before the throne of Grace, I will 
intercede for thy soul — I will pray that 
it may yet share %vith mine that ' in- 
heritance, immortal and undefiled,' 
which Mercy offers, and that thou — and 
my dear mother — and I " 

She here dropped her voice ; the mo- 
mentary animation, with which devo- 
tion and affection had inspired her, van- 
ished ;— and there came a darkness over 
all her features, a livid darkness — like the 
approach of death — that made me shud- 
der through every limb. Seizing my 
hand convulsively, and looking at me 
with a fearful eagerness, as if anxious 
to hear some consoHng assurance from 
my own lips — "Believe me," she con- 
tinued, "not all the torments they are 
preparing for me — not even this deep, 
bujning pain in my brow, to which they 
will hardly find an equal— could be half 
so dreadful to me as the thought that I 
leave thee, without " 

Here her voice again failed ; her head 
sunk upon my arm, and — merciful God, 
let me forget what I then felt— I saw 
that she was dying! Whether I ut- 
tered any cry, 1 know not; — but the 
Tribune came rushing into the cham- 
ber, and, looking on the maiden, said, 
with a face full of horror, " It is but 
too true !" 

He then told me in alow voice, what 
he had just learned from the guardian of 
the prison, that the band round the 
young Christian's brow* was — oh horri- 
ble ! — a compound of the most deadly 

* "Wo find poisonous crowns mentioned by 
Pliny, under the desiffuatiou of "coronas 
ferales." Paschallus, too, gives the following 
account of these " deadly garlands," as he calls 
them: — "Sed mirum est tam salutare inven- 
tiim humanam nequitiam reperisse, quomodo ad 



poison — the hellish invention of Orcus, 
to satiate his vengeance, and make the 
fate of his poor victim secure. My first 
movement was to untie that fatal 
wreath — but it would not come away — 
it would not come away ! 

Eoused by the pain, she again looked 
in my face ; but, unable to speak, took 
hastily from her bosom the small silver 
cross which she had brought with her 
from my cave. Having pressed it to her 
own lips, she held it anxiously to mine, 
and, seeing me kiss the holy symbol 
with fervor, looked happy, and smiled. 
The agony of death seemed to have 
passed away ; — there came suddenly 
over her features a heavenly light, some 
share of which I felt descending into 
my own soul, and, in a few minutes 
more, she expired in my arms. 



Here ends the Manuscript; but, on the outer 
cover is found, in the handwriting of a much 
later period, the following Notice, extracted, 
as it appears, from some Egyptian martyr- 
ology:— 

" Alciphron— an Epicurean philos- 
opher, converted to Christianity, A. D. 
257, by a young Egyptian maiden, who 
sufi'ered martyrdom iu that year. Im- 
mediately upon her death he betook 
himself to the desert, and lived a life, it 
is said, of much holiness and penitence. 
Dmiug the persecution under Dioclesian, 
his sufferings for the faith were most 
exemplary ; and being at length, at an 
advanced age, condemned to hard labor, 
for refusing to comply with an Imperial 
edict, he died at the Brass Mines of Pal- 
estme, a. d. 297.— 

"As Alciphjon held the opinions 
maintained since by Arius, his memory 
has not been spared by Athauasian 
writers, who, among other charges, ac- 
cuse him of having been addicted to the 
superstitions of Egypt. For this calum- 
ny, however, there appears to be no 
better foundation than a circumstance, 
recorded by one of his brother monks, 
that there was found, after his death, a 
small metal mirror, like those used iu 
the ceremonies of Isis, suspended around 
his neck." 

nefarios usus traducent. Nempe, repertae sunt 
ncfundte coronffl baruin, qiias dixi, tarn salu- 
brinra per nomen quidem et epeciem imltatri- 
ces, at ro et otfectu ferales, atque adeo capitis, 
cui imponuntur, interfectrices."— X»e Coronis- 



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72 MOOEE'S WORKS. 




ALCIPHRON 



A FRAGMENT. 



LETTEE I. 



"Well may you Tronder at my flight 

From those fair Gardens, in whose 
bowers 
Lingers whate'er of wise and bright, 
Of Beauty's smile or Wisdom's light, 

Is left to grace this world of oiu's. 
Well may my comrades, as they roam, 

On such sweet eves as this, inquire 
Why I have left that happy home 

Where all is found that all desire, 

And Time hath wings that never tu'e ; 
Where bliss, in all the countless shapes, 

That Fancy's self to bliss hath given, 
Comes clustering round, like road-side 
grapes 

That woo the traveller's lip, at even; 
Where Wisdom flings not joy away — 
As Pallas in the stream, they say, 
Once flung her flute — but smiling owns 
That woman's lip can send forth tones 
Worth all the music of these spheres 
50 many dream of, but none hears ; 
Where Yiilue's self puts on so well 

Her sister Pleasure's smile, that, loath 
M^rom either nymph apart to dwell, 

We finish by embracing both. 

Yes, such the place of bliss, I own, 
From all whose charms I just have 

flown ; 
And even while thus to thee I write. 

And by the ^file's dark flood recline, 
Fondly, in thought, I wing my flight 
Back to those groves and gardens bright, 
And often think, by this sweet light. 

How lovelily they all must shine ; 
Can see that graceful temple throw 

Bovm the green slope its lengthen'd 
shade, 
While, on the marble steps below. 

There sits some fair Athenian maid. 



Over some favorite volume bending; 

And, by her side, a youthful sage 
Holds back the ringlets that, descending, 

Would else o'ershadow all the page. 
But hence such thoughts ! — nor let me 

grieve 
O'er scenes of joy that I but leave, 
As the bu-d quits awhile its nest 
To come again with hvelier zest. 
And now to tell thee — what I fear 
Thou'lt gravely smile at — why I'm here. 
Though through my life's short, sunny 
dream, 

I've floated without pain or care. 
Like a light leaf, down pleasure's stream, 

Caught in each sparkling eddy there; 
Though never Mirth awaked a strain 
That my heart echoed not again ; 
Yet have I felt, when even most gay. 

Sad thoughts — I knew not whence or 

Suddenly o'er my spuit fly, [why — 
Like clouds, that, ere we've time to say 

" How bright the sky is !" shade the 

sky. 

Sometimes so vague, so undefined. 

Were these strange dark'niugs of my 

mind - [beam'd — 

While naught but joy around me 

So causelessly they've come and 
flown, 
That not of life or earth they seem'd. 

But shadows from some world un- 
known. 
More oft, however, 'twas the thought 

How soon that scene, with all its play 

Of life and gladness, must decay — 
Those lips I press'd, the hands I caught — 
Myself — the crowd that mirth had 
brought 

Around me — swept like weeds away ! 

This thought it was that came to shed 
O'er rapture's hour its worst alloys ; 
And, close as shade with sunshine, wed 



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ALCIPHEOIT. 



773 



Its sadness with my happiest joys. 
Oh, but for this disheart'uing voice, 

Stealing amid our mirth to say 
That all, in which we most rejoice, 

Ere night may be the earth-worm's 
But for this bitter— only this— [prey; 
Full as the world is brimm'd with bliss, 
And capable as feels my soul 
Of draining to its dregs the whole, 
I should turn earth to heav'n, and be, 
If bliss made Gods, a Deity ! 

Thou know'st that night— the very last 
That 'mong my Garden friends I 

pass'd — 
"When the School held its feast of mu-th 
To celebrate our founder's birth, 
And all that He in dreams but saw 

When he set Pleasure on the throne 
Of this bright world, and wrote her law 

In human hearts, was felt and 
known — 
Not in unreal dreams, but true 
Substantial joy as pulse e'er knew— 
By hearts and bosoms, that each felt 
Itself the realm where Pleasure dwelt. 

That night, when all our mirth was o'er. 

The minstrels silent, and the feet 
Of the young maidens heai-d no more— 

So stilly was the time, so sweet, 
And such a calm came o'er that scene, 
Where life and revel late had been— 
Lone as the quiet of some bay, 
From which the sea hath ebb'd away— 
That still I linger'd, lost in thought, 

Gazing upon the stars of night, 
Sad and mtent, as if I sought 

Some mournful secret in their light ; 
And ask'd them, 'mid that silence, why 
Man, glorious man, alone must die, 
"While they. less wonderful than he, 
Shine on thi'ough all eternity. 

That night— thou haply may'st forget 

Its loveliness -but 'twas a night 
To make earth's meanest slave regret 

Leaving a world so soft and bright. 
On one side, in the dark blue sky. 
Lonely and radiant, was the eye 
Of Jove himself, while, on the other, 

'Mong stars that came out one by 

one, [mother 

The young moon — like the Roman 

Among her living jewels— shone. 
" Oh that from yonder orbs," I thought, 

" Pure and eternal as they are, 



" There could to earth some power be 

brought, 
" Some charm, with their own essence 
fraught, 
" To make man deathless as a star ; 
" And open to his vast desires 

" A com'se, as boundless and subUnie 
"As that which waits those comet-fires, 
"That burn and roam throughout all 
time ! '' 

"WTiile thoughts like these absorb'd my 
mind. 

That weariness which earthly bliss. 
However sweet, stiU leaves behind. 

As if to show how earthly 'tis, 
Came lulling o'er me, and I laid 

My limbs at that fair statue's base — 
That miracle, which Art hath made 

Of all the choice of Nature's grace — 
To which so oft I've knelt and sworn. 

That, could a living maid hke her 
Unto this wondering world be born, 

I would, myself, turn worshipper. 

Sleep came then o'er me— and I seem'd 

To be transported far away 
To a bleak desert plam, where gleam'd 

One single, melancholy ray, 
Throughout that darkness dimly shed 

From a small taper in the hand 
Of one, who, pale as are the dead. 

Before me took his spectral stand. 
And said, while, awfully, a srnile 

Came o'er the wanness of his cheek — 
" Go, and beside the sacred Nile 

"You'll find 'th Eternal Life you 
seek." 
Soon as he spoke these words, the hue 
Of death o'er all his features grew. 
Like the pale morning, when o'er night 
She gains the victory, full of light ; 
"VVhile the small torch he held became 
A glory in his hand, whose flame 
Brighten'd the desert suddenly. 

Even to the far horizon's fine — 
Along whose level I could see 

Gardens and groves, that seem'd to 
shine, 
As if then o'er them freshly play'd 
A venial rainbow's rich cascade* 
And music floated everywhere, 
Circling, as 'twere itself the air. 
And spirits, on whose wings the hue 
Of heaven stiU linger'd, round me flew. 
Till from aU sides such splendors broke, 
That, with the excess of light, I woke I 




Such was my dream ;— and, I confess, 

Though none of all our creedless 
School 
E'er coun'd, believed, or reverenced less 

The fables of the priest-led fool, 
Who tells us of a soul, a mind, 
Separate and piu-e, within us shrined, 
Which is to live— ah, hope too bright ! — 
Forever in yon fields of light ; 
Who fondly thinks the guardian eyes 

Of Gods are on him— as if, blest 
And blooming in their own blue skies, 
Th' eternal Gods were not too wise 

To let weak man disturb their rest ! — 
Though thinking of such creeds as thou 

And all our Garden sages think, 
Yet is there something, I allow, 

In dreams like this — a sort of link 
With worlds unseen, which, from the hour 

I first could lisp my thoughts till now, 
Hath mastered me with spell-like power. 

And who can tell, as we're combined 
Of various atoms — some refined. 
Like those that scintillate and play 
In the fix'd stars— some, gross as they 
That frown in clouds or sleep in clay — 
Who can be sure, but 'tis the best 

And brightest atoms of our frame, 

Those most akin to stellar flame, 
That shine out thus, when we're at 

rest ; — 
Ev'n as the stars themselves, whose light 
Comes out but in the silent night. 
Or is it that there lurks, indeed, 
Some truth in Man's prevailing creed, 
And that our Guardians, from on high, 

Come, in that pause from toil and sin. 
To put the senses' curtain by. 

And on the wakeful soul look in ! 

Vain thought ! — but yet, howe'er it be, 
Dreams, more than once, have proved 
Oracles, truer far than Oak, [to me 

Or Dove, or Tripod, ever spoke. 
And 'twas the words —thou'lt hear and 
smile — [speak — 

The words that phantom seem'd to 
" Go, and beside the sacred Nile 

"You'll find the Eternal Life you 
seek — ^'• 
S'hat, haunting me by night, by day, 

At length, as with the unseen hand 
Of Pate itself, urged me away 

From Athens to this Holy Land ; 
Where, mong the secrets, still untaught, 

The myst'ries that, as yet, nor sun 



Nor eye hath reach'd— oh, 
thought ! — 
May sleep this everlasting one. 

Farewell — when to our Garden friends 
Thou talk'st of the wild dream that sends 
The gayest of their school thus far, 
Wandering beneath Cauopus' star. 
Tell them that, wander where he will. 

Or, howsoe'er they now condemn 
His vague and vain pursuit, he still 

Is worthy of the School and them ; — 
Still, all their own — nor e'er forgets. 

Ev'n while his heart and soul pursue 
Th' Eternal Light which never sets. 

The many meteor joys that do, 
But seeks them, hails them with delight. 
Where'er they meet his longing sight. 
And, if his life must wane away. 
Like other lives, at least the day, 
The hour it lasts shall, hke a fire 
With incense fed, in sweets expire. 

LETTER IL 

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

Memphis. 
'Tis true, alas — the myst'ries and the lore 
I came to study on this wondrous shore, 
Are all forgotten in the new delights, 
The strange, wild joys that fill my days 

and nights. 
Instead of dark, dull oracles that speak 
From subterranean temples, those 7 seek 
Come from the breathing shrines where 

Beauty lives, [gives. 

And Love, her priest, the soft responses 
Instead of honoring Isis in those rites 
At Coptos held, I hail her, when she 

fights [stream— 

Her first young crescent on the holy 
When wandering youths and maidens 

watch her beam, [run, 

And number o'er the nights she hath to 
Ere she again embrace her bridegroom 

sun, [lends 

While o'er some mystic leaf, that dimly 
A clue into past times, the student 

bends, [to tread 

And by its glimmering guidance learns 
Back throua-h the shadowy knowledge 

of the Ueacx^ 
The only skill, alas, /yet can clain. 
Lies in deciphering some new loveo 

one's name — [place. 

Some gentle missive, hinting time and 
In language, soft as Memphian reed can 

trace. 



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WIIIUIIIIUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIllllllllllllliiill>lllllllllllll>IUHIuniHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIh 

ALCIPHROK 775 



And where — oh where's the heart that 

could withstand [bom land, 

Th' unuumber'd witcheries of this sun- 
Where first young Pleasure's banner was 

unfurl'd, [world ! 

And Love hath temples ancient as the 
"Where mystery, like the veil by Beauty 

worn, [adorn; 

Hides but to win, and shades but to 
Where that luxurious melancholy, bom 
Of passion and of genius, sheds a gloom 
Maliing joy holy ; — where the bower and 

tomb [from Death 

Stand side by side, and Pleasure leams 
The instant value of each moment's 

breath. 

Couldst thou but see how like a poet's 

dream [ous stream, 

This lovely land now looks !— the glori- 
That late, between its banks, was seen 

to glide [side 

'Mong shrines and marble cities, on each 
Glitt'ring like jewels strung along a 

chain, [plain 

Hath now sent forth its waters, and o'er 
And valley, like a giant from his bed 
Rising with outstretch'd limbs, hath 

grandly spread ; [as clear 

While far as sight can reach, beneath 
And blue a heaven as ever bless'd our 

sphere, [phyry domes. 

Gardens and pillar'd streets, and por- 
And high-built temples, lit to be the 

homes [hour 

Of mighty Gods, and pyramids, whose 
Outlasts all time, above the waters tower ! 

Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy, 

that make 
One theatre of this vast, peopled lake. 
Where all that Love, Rehgion, Com- 
merce gives 
Of life aud motion, ever moves and lives. 
Here, up the steps of temples from the 

wave 
Ascending, in procession slow and grave. 
Priests in white garments go, with sa- 
cred wands [hands ; 
And silver cymbals gleaming in their 
While there, rich barks — fresh from those 

sunny tracts 
Far off beyond the sounding cataracts — 
Glide, with their precious lading to the 

sea, 
Plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros ivory, 

* Cleopatra. 



Gems from the Isle of Meroe, and those 

grains [rains. 

Of gold, wash'd down by Abyssinian 
Here, where the waters wind into a bay 
Shadowy and cool, some pilgrims, on 

their way 
To Sais or Bubastus, among beds 
Of lotus flowers, that close above their 

heads, [bower, 

Push their light barks, and there, as in a 
Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour; 
Oft dipping in the Nile, when faint with 

heat, [most sweet — 

That leaf, from which its waters drink 
While haply, not far oif, beneath a bank 
Of blossoming acacias, many a prank 
Is play'd in the cool current by a train 
Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she,* 

whose chain [cast. 

Around two conquerors of the world was 
But, for a third too feeble, broke at last. 

For oh, believe not them, who dare to 

brand, [land. 

As poor in charms, the women of this 
Though darken'd by that sun, whose 

spirit flows 
Through every vein, and tinges as it goes, 
'Tis but th' embrowning of the fruit that 

tells [dwells — 

How rich within the soul of ripeness 
The hue thefr own dark sanctuaries 

wear, [glimpses there. 

Announcing heaven in half-caught 
And never yet did tell-tale looks set free 
The secret of young hearts more ten- 
derly, [languid fall 
Such eyes !— long, shadowy, with that 
Of the fringed hds, which may be seen 

in all [rays— 

Who live beneath the sun's too ardent 
Lending such looks as, on their marriage 

days, [ groom's gaze ; 

Young maids cast down before a bride- 
Then for thefr grace — mark but the 

nymph -like shapes [grapes 

Of the young village girls, when caiTjnng 
From green Anthylla, or hght m-ns of 

flowers— [hours, 

Not our own Sculpture, in her happiest 
E'er imaged forth, even at the touch of 

himt 
Whose touch was life, more luxury of 

limb; [like these. 

Then, canst thou wonder if, 'mid scenes 
I should forget all graver mysteries, 

I Apellcs. 




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MOORE'S WOEKS. 



All lore but Love's, all secrets but that 
best [blest ! 

In heaven or earth, the art of being 
Yet are there times— though brief, I 
own, their stay, [selves away — 
Like Summer clouds that shine them- 
Moments of gloom, when even these 

pleasures pall 
Upon my sadd'ning heart, and I recall 
That Garden dream — that promise of a 
power — [life's hour. 

Oh, were there such ! — to lengthen out 
On, on, as through a vista, far away 
Opening before us into endless day ! 
And chiefly o'er my spuit did this 
thought [brought 

Come on thcat evening — bright as ever 
Light's golden farewell to the world — 

when first 
Th' eternal pyramids of Memphis burst 
Awfully on my sight— standing sublime 
'Twixt earth and heaven, the watch- 
towers of Time, [hath pass'd 
From whose lone summit, when bis reign 
From earth forever, he will look his last ! 

There hung a calm and solemn sunshine 
rouud [sound 

Those mighty monuments, a hushing 

In the still air that circled them, which 
stole 

Like music of past times into my soul. 

I thought what myriads of the wise, aud 
brave, 

And beautiful, had sunk into the gi'ave, 

Since earth first saw these wonders — 
and I said, 

"Are things eternal only for the Dead ? 

"Hath man no loftier hope than this, 
which dooms 

" His only lasting trophies to be tombs ? 

"But 'tis not so — earth, heaven, all na- 
ture shows [close 

" He may become immortal — may \m- 

"The wings within him wrapt, and 
proudly rise, ' [ skies ! 

" Redeem'd from earth, a creature of the 

"And who can say, among the written 

spells [shrines and cells 

"From Hermes' hand, that, In these 

"Have, from the Flood, lay hid, there 

may not be 
"Some secret clue to immortality, — 
"Some amulet, whose spell can keep 
life's fire 

* See Notes on the Epicurean. 



" Awake within us, never to expire ! 
"'Tis known that, on the Emerald 

Table,* hid 
' ' For ages in yon loftiest pyramid, 
" The Thrice-Greatt did himself engrave, 

of old, [less gold. 

"The chymic mystery that gives end- 
" And why may not this mightier secret 

dwell [who can teU 

""Within the same dark chambers? 
" But that those kings, who, by the 

written skUl [gold at will, 

"Of th' Emerald Table, call'd forth 
" And quarries upon qiiarrics heap'd 

aud huii'd, [stand the world — 
' ' To build them domes that might out- 
"Who knows but that the heavenlier 

art, which shares [theu's — 

" The life of Gods with man, was also 
" That they themselves, triumphant o'er 

the power [hour; 

' ' Of fate and death, are living at this 
' ' And these, the giant homes they still 

possess, 
"l^ot tombs, but everlasting palaces, 
"Within whose depths, hid from the 

world above, [they love, 

" Even now they wander, with the few 
"Thi-ough subten-anean gardens, by a 

light [dawn nor night ! 

"Unknown on earth, which hath nor 
" Else, why those deathless structures ? 

why the grand [land ? 

" And hidden haUs, that undermine this 
" Why else hath none of eai-tii e'er 

dared to go [realm below, 

"Through the dark windings of that 
" Nor aught from heav'n itself, except 

the God [rinths trod ¥' 

" Of Silence, through those endless laby- 
Thus did I dream— wild, wandering 

di-eams, I own. 
But such as haunt me ever, if alone, 
Or in that pause, 'twixt joy and joy I be. 
Like a ship hush'd between two waves 

at sea, [the sound 

Then do these spirit whisperiugs, hke 
Of the Dark Future, come appalling 

round ; [me then, 

Nor can I break the trance that holds 
Till high o'er Pleasure's surge I mount 

again ! 

Even now for new adventure, new de- 
light, [night, 

My h^art is on the wing ;— this veiy 
f The Hermes Trismegistus. 




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ALCIPHRON". 777 



The Temple on that Island, half-way 

o'er [shore, 

From Memphis' gardens to the eastern 
Sends up its annual rite* to her, whose 

beams [and dreams ; 

Bring the sweet time of night-flowers 
The nymph, who dips her m-u in silent 

lakes, [takes ; — 

And tiu-ns to silvery dew each drop it 
Oh, not our Dian of the North,who chains 
In vestal ice the current of young veins, 
But she who haunts the gay Bubastianf 

grove, [heaven above. 

And owns she sees, from her bright 
Nothing on earth to match that heaven 

but Love. [to-night ! — 

Think, then, what bliss will be abroad 
Besides those sparkling nymphs, who 

meet the sight 
Day after day, familiar as the sun, 
Coy buds of beauty, yet unbreathed 

upon. 
And all the hidden loveliness, that lies, 
Shut up, as are the beams of sleeping 

eyes, [shall be 

"Within these twilight shrines— to-night 
Let loose, like birds, for this festivity ! 

And mark, 'tis nigh ; already the sun 

bids 
His evening farewell to the Pyramids, 
As he hath done, age after age, till they 
Alone on earth seem ancient as his ray; 
While their great shadows, stretching 

from the light. 
Look like the first colossal steps of JSTight, 
Stretching across the valley to invade 
The distant hills of poi-phyry with their 

shade. 
Around, as signals of the setting beam. 
Gay, gilded lags on every house-top 
gleam : [rich swell 

While, hark '.—from all the temples a 
Of music to the Moon — farewell — fare- 
well. 



LETTER IIL 

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

Memphis. 
There is some star— or it may be 

That moon we saw so near last night — 
Which comes athwart my destiny 

Forever, "with misleading light. 
If for a moment, pure and wise [fall 

And calm I feel, there qiuck doth 

* The great Festival of the Moon. 

t Bubustis, or Isis, was the Diana of the 
Egyptian mythology. 



A spark from some disturbing eyes, 
That through my heart, soul, being flies. 

And makes a wildfire of it all, 
I've seen— oh, Cleon, that this earth 
Should e'er have giv'n such beauty 
birth !— [pass'd 

That man— but, hold — hear all that 
Since yestenught, from first to last. 

The rising of the Moon, calm, slow, 

And beautiful, as if she came 
Fresh from the Elysian bowers below. 

Was, with a loud and sweet acclaim, 
Welcomed from every breezy height, 
Where clouds stood waiting for her light. 
And wellmight they who vie w'd the scene 

Then lit up all around them, say. 
That never yet had Nature been 

Caught sleeping in a lovelier ray, 
Or rivall'd her own noontide face. 
With purer show of moonlight grace. 

Memphis— still grand, though not the 
same 

Unrivall'd Memphis, that could seize 
From ancient Thebes the crown of Fame, 

And wear it bright thi-ough centuries — 
Now, in the moonshine, that came down 
Like a last smile upon that crown,— 
Memphis, still grand, among her lakes, 

Her pyramids and shrines of fire, 
Eose, like a vision, that half breaks 
On one who, dreaming still, awakes, 

To music from some midnight choir : 
While to the west— where gradual sinks 

In Lhe red sands, from Libya roll'd. 
Some mighty column, or fair sphynx, 

That stood in kingly com-ts of old— 
It seem'd, as, 'mid the pomps that shone 
Thus gaj'ly round him. Time look'd on. 
Waiting till all, now bright and bless'd, 
Shoitld sink beneath him like the rest. 

No sooner had the setting sun 
Proclaim'd the festal rite begun, 
And, 'mid their idol's fullest beams. 

The Eg}'ptian world was all afloat, 
Than I, who live upon these streams. 

Like a young Nile-bhd, tum'd my 
boat 
To the fair island, on whose shores, 
Thi-ough leafy palms and sycamores, 
Already shone the moving lights 
Of pilgrims hastening to the rites. 
While, far around, like niby sparks 
Upon the water, lighted barks. 
Of every form and kind— from those 

That down Syene's cataract shoots, 



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MiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin^ 
778 HOOEE'S WOEKS. 



To the grand, gilded barge, that rows 

To tambour's beat and breath of flutes, 
And wears at night, in words of flame, 
On the rich prow, its master's name ;— 
All were alive, and made this sea 

Of cities busy as a hUl 
Of summer ants, caught suddenly 
In the overflowing of a rill. 

Landed upon the isle, I soon 

Through marble alleys and small 
groves 

Of that mysterious palm she loves, 
Eeach'd the fair Temple of the Moon; 
And there — as slowly thi-ough the last 
Dim-lighted vestibule I pass'd— 
Between the poiT^hyry pillars, twined 

"With palm and ivy, I could see 
A baud of youthful maidens wind, 

In measured walk, half danciagly, 
Eound a small shrine, on which was 
placed [white 

That bird,* whose plumes of black and 
"Wear in their hue, by Nature traced, 

A type of the moon's shadow'd light. 

In drapery, like woven snow. [below 
These nymphs were clad : and each, 
The rounded bosom, loosely wore 

A dark blue zone, or bandelet, 
"With little silver stars all o'er, 

As are the skies at midnight, set, 
"While in their tresses, braided through. 

Sparkled that flower of Egypt's lakes, 
The silvery lotus, in whose hue 

As much delight the young Moon 
As doth the Day-God to behold [takes, 
The lofty bean-flower's buds of gold. 
And, as they gracefully went round 

The worshipp'd bird, some to the beat 
Of castenets, some to the sound 

Of the shriU sistrum timed thek feet ; 
"While others, at each step they took, 
A tinkling chain of silver shook. 

They seem'd all fair — but there was one 
On whom the light had not yet shone, 
Or shoue but partly — so downcast 
She held her brow as slow she pass'd. 
And yet to me, there seem'd to dwell 

A charm aljout that unseen face — 
A something in the shade that fell 

Over that brow's imagined grace, 
"Which won me more than all the best 
Outshining beauties of the rest. 
And her alone my eyes could see, 
Enchain'd by this sweet mystery; 



And her alone I watch'd, as round 
She glided o'er that marble ground. 
Stirring not more th' unconscious air 
Than ii a Spirit were moving there, 
Till suddenly, wide open flew 
The Temple's folding gates, and threw 
A splendor from within, a flood 
Of glory where these maidens stood, 
"While, with that light— as if the same 
Eich source gave bu'th to both— there 
A swell of harmony, as grand [came 
As e'er was born of voice and hand. 
Filling the gorgeous aisles around 
"With luxmy of light and sound. 

Then was it, by the flash that blazed 

Full o'er her featm-es — oh 'twas then. 
As startingly her eyes she raised. 

But quick let fall then- lids again, 
I saw — not Psyche's self, when first 

Upon the threshold of the skies 
She paused, whUe heaven's glory burst 

Newly upon her downcast eyes, 
Could look more beautiful, or blush 

"With holier shame, than did this maid, 
"Whom now I saw, in aU that gush 

Of splendor from the aisles, display'd. 
Never— though well thou kuow'st how 
much 

I've felt the sway of Beauty's star — 
Never did her bright influence touch 

My soul into its depths so far ; 
And had that vision linger' d there 

One minute more, I should have flown, 
Forgetful ivho I was and where. 

And, at her feet in worship thrown, 

Proffei-'d my soul through Hfe her own. 

But, scarcely had that burst of light 
And music broke on ear aud sight, 
Than up the aisle the bhd took wing. 

As if on heavenly mission sent, 
"While after him, with graceful spring, 

Like some unearthly creatures, meant 

To live in that mix'd element [went; 

Of light aud song, the young maids 
And she, who in my heart had thrown 
A spark to bum for life, was flown. 

In vain I tried to follow ;— bands 

Of reverend chanters fllled the aisle: 
"Where'er I sought to pass, their wands 

Motion'd me back, whUe many a file 
Of sacred nymphs— but ah, not they 
"Whom my eyes look'd for — throng'd the 

way. 
Perplex' d, impatient, 'mid this crowd 
Of faces, lights— the o'erwhebniug cloud 




iiBiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiHiiliffliHraiiiniiiinnmniiiniHiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiliiiiiiin 

lllllllllllllllllllllllllilliMlllllllllllllllHIIIIIHIIIlJtallllllllllllllllHIIIIIIIlllHIIHIIIllllllllHlllllllllHIIlH 

ALCIPHRON". 779 





Of incense round me, and my blood 
Full of its new-born fire— I stood, 
Ifor moved, nor breathed, but when I 
caught 

A glimpse of some blue, spangled zone, 
Or wreath of lotus, which, I thought, 

Like those she wore at distance shone. 

But no, 'twas vain— hour after horn-, 
TiU my heart's throbbing turn'd to 
pain, 
And my strain'd eyesight lost its power, 

I sought her thus, but all in vain. 
At length, hot — wilder'd— in despair, 
I rush'd into the cool jiight-au-, [look 
And, hurrying, (though with many a 
Back to the busy Temple,) took 
My way along the moonlight shore. 
And sprang into my boat once more. 

There is a Lake, that to the north 
Of Memphis stretches grandly forth. 
Upon wkose silent shore the Dead 

Have a proud City of their own,* 
"With shn.ios and pyramids o'erspread— 
Where many an ancient kingly head 

Slumbers, immortalized in stone ; 
And where, through marble grots be- 
neath. 

The lifeless, ranged like sacred things, 
Nor wanting aught of life but breath. 

Lie in their painted coverings. 
And on each new successive race. 

That visit their dim haunts below, 
Look with the same unwithering face, 

They wore three thousand years ago. 
There, Silence, thoughtful God, who 

loves 
The neighborhood of death, in groves 
Of Asphodel lies hid, and weaves 
His hushing spell among the leaves— 
Nor ever noise disturbs the air, [sound 
Save the low, humming, moumful 
Of priests, within their shrines, at prayer 

For the fresh Dead entomb'd around. 

'Twas tow'rd this place of death— in 
mood [dark- 

Made up of thoughts, half bright, half 

I now across the shining flood [bark. 
Unconscious tum'd my light-wing'd 

The form of that young maid, in all 
Its beauty, was before me still ; 

And oft I thought, if thus to call 
Her image to my mind at will, 

If but the memory of that one 

* Necropolis, or the City of the Dead, to the 
touth of Memphis. 



Bright look of hers, forever gone, 
"Was to my heart worth all the rest 
Of woman-kind, beheld, possess'd — 
What would it be, if wholly mine, 
"Within these arms, as in a shirne, 
Hallow'd by Love, I saw her shine-- 
An idol, worshipped by the light 
Of her own beauties, day and night— 
If 'twas a blessing but to see 
And lose again, what would this be ? 

In thoughts like these— but often cross'd 
By darker threads — my mind was lost, 
Tin, near that City of the Dead, 
"Waked from my trance, I saw o'er- 
As if by some enchanter bid [head — 

Suddenly from the wave to rise- 
Pyramid over pyramid 

"Tower in succession to the skies ; 
"While one, aspiring, as if soon [aU ; 

'Twould touch the heavens, rose o'er 
And, on its summit, the white moon 

Rested, as on a pedestal ! 

The silence of the lonely tombs [heard 
And temples round, where naught was 
But the high palm-tree's tufted plumes. 
Shaken, at times, by breeze or bird, 
Form'-d a deep contrast to the scene 
Of revel, where I late had been ; 
To those gay sounds, that still came o'er. 
Faintly, from many a distant shore. 
And th' unnumber'd lights, that shone 
Far o'er the flood, from Memphis on 
To the Moon's Isle and Babylon. 
My oars were lifted, and my boat 

Lay rock'd upon the rippling stream ; 
"While my vague thoughts, alike afloat. 

Drifted through many an idle dream, 
"With all of which, wild and unfix'd 
As was their aim, that vision mix'd, 
That bright nymph of the Temple- 
now, 
"With the same innocence of brow 
She wore within the lighted fane— 
ISTow kindling, through each pulse and 

vein, 
"With passion of such deep-felt fire 
As Gods might glory to inspire ;— 
And now— oh Darkness of the tomb, 

That must eclipse even hghtliko hers! 
Cold, dead, and black'ning, 'mid the 

Of those eternal sepulchres, [gloom 

Scarce had I tum'd my eyes away 
From that dark death-place, at the 
thought, 
"When by the sound of dashing spray 



780 



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— 1«/\^ 

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MOORE'S 'W^ORKS. 




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From a light oar my ear -was caught, 
While past me, through the moonlight, 

A little gilded bark that bore [sail'd 
Two female figures, closely veil'd 

And mantled, towards that funeral 
shore. 
They lauded— and the boat again 
Put off across the watery plain. 

Shall I confess — to tlice I may — 

That never yet hath come the chance 
Of a new music, anew ray [glance. 

From woman's voice, from woman's 
Which— let it find me how it might. 

In joy or grief— I did not bless, 
And wander after, as a light 

Leading to undreamt happiness. 
And chiedy now, when hopes so vain 
Were stimng in my heart and brain, 
When Fancy had allured my soul 

Into a chase, as vague and far 
As would be his, who lix'd his goal 

In the horizon, or some star — 
Any bewilderment, that brought 
More near to earth my high-flown 

thought — 
The faintest glimpse of joy, less pure. 
Less high and heaveuly, but more sure, 
Came welcome — and was then to me 
What the first flowery isle must be 
To vagi'ant birds blown out to sea. 

Quick to the shore I urged my bark, 

Aud,by the bursts (;f moonlight, shed 
Between the lofty tombs, could mark 

Those figures, as with hasty tread 
They glided on- till in the shade 

Oi' a small pyramid, which through 
Some boughs of palm its peak display'd, 

They vanish' d instant from my view. 

I huiTied to the spot— no trace 
Of life was in that lonely place ; 
And, had the creed I hold by taught 
Of other worlds, I might have thought 
Some mocking spirits had from thence 
Come in this guise to cheat my sense. 

At length, exploring darkly round 
The Pyramid's smooth sides, I found 
An iron portal — opeuing high [prayer 

'Twist peak and base — and, with a 
To the bliss-loving Moon, whose eye 

Alone beheld me, sprung in there. 
Downward the nan-ow stairway led 
Through many a duct obscure and dread, 

A labyrinth for mystery made, 
With wanderings onward, backward, 
round, 



And gathering still, where'er it wound, 
But deeper density of shade. 

Scarce had I ask'd myself, " Can aught 

"That man delights in sojourn 
here f— 
When, suddenly, far off, I caught 

A glimpse of light, remote, but clear — 
Whose welcome glimmer seem'd to pour 

From some alcove or cell, that ended 
The long, steep, marble corridor. 

Through which I now, all hope, de- 
scended. 
Never did Spailan to his bride 
With warier foot at midnight glide. 
It seem'd as echo's self were dead 
In this dark place, so mute my tread. 
Reaching, at length, that light, I saw— 

Oh listen to the scene, now raised 
Before my eyes — then guess the awe. 

The still, rapt awe with which I gazed. 
'Twas a small chapel, lined around 
With the fair, spanghng marble, found 
In many a niiu'd shrine that stands 
Half seen above the Libyan sands. 
The walls were richly sculptured o'er. 
And charactei-^d with that dark lore. 
Of times before the Flood, whose key 
Was lost in th' " [Jniversal Sea."— 
While on the roof was pictured bright 

The Theban beetle, as he shines. 

When the Kile's mighty flow declines. 
And forth the creature springs to light, 
With life regenerate in his wings : — 
Emblem of Vain imaginings ! 
Of a new world, when this is gone, 
In which the spirit stiU lives on ! 

Direct beneath this type, reclined 
On a black granite altar, lay 

A female form, in crystal shrined, 
And looking fresh as if the ray 
Of soul had fled but yesterday. 

While in relief, of silv'ry hue. 
Graved on the altar's front were seen 

A branch of lotus, broken in two, 
As that fau- creature's life had been. 

And a small bird that from its spray 

Was winging, like her soul, away. 

Butbrief the glimpse I now could spare, 
To the wild, mystic wonders round ; 
For there was yet one wonder there, 

That held me as by witch'ry bound. 
The lamp, that through the chamber 
Its vivid beam, was at the head [shed 
Of her who on that altar slept ; 
And near it stood when I first, came— 




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ALCIPHEOK 781 




Bendiug her brow, as if she kept 

Sad -watch upon its silent flame— 
A female form, as yet so placed 

Between the lamp's strong glow and 
That I but saw, in outline traced, [me, 

The shadow of her symmetry. 
Yet did my heart — I scarce knew why — 
Even at that shadow'd shape beat high, 
Not was it long, ere full in sight 
The figure turu'd ; and by the light 
That touch'd her features, as she bent 
Over the crystal monument, 
I saw 'twas she — the same — the same — 

That lately stood before me, bright'- 
mng 
The holy spot, where she but came 

And went again, like summer light- 
ning ! 
Upon the crystal, o'er the breast 
Of her who took that silent rest, 
There was a cross of silver lying — 

Another type of that blest home, 
"Which hope, and pride, and fear of dying 

Build for us in a world to come : — 
This silver cross the maiden raised 
To her pure lips :— then, having gazed 
Some minutes on that tranquil face, 
Sleeping in all death's momTiful grace, 
Upward she tum'd her brow serene, 

As if, intent on heaven, those eyes 
Saw then nor roof nor cloud between 

Their own pure orbits and the skies ; 
And, though her lips no motion made. 

And that fix'd loolc was all her speech, 
I saw that the rapt spirit pray'd 

Deeper within than words could reach. 

Strange power of Innocence, to turn 

To its own hue whate'er comes near, 
And make even vagrant Passion bum 

With purer warmth within its sphere ! 
She who, but one short hour before. 
Had come, like sudden wildfire, o'er 
My heart and brain — whom gladly, even 

From that bright Temple, in the face 
Of those proud ministers of heaven, 

I would have borne, in wild embrace, 
And risk'd all punishment, divine 
And human, but to make her mine ; — 
She, she was now before me, thrown 

By fate itself into my arms — 
There standing, beautiful, alone, 

With naught to guard her, but her 
charms. 
Yet did I, then — did even a breath 

Prom my paxch'd lips, too parch'd to 
move, 



Disturb a scene where thus, beneath 
Earth's silent covering. Youth and Death 

Held converse through undying love I 
l^To— smile and taimt me as thou wilt^ 

Though but to gaze thus was delight, 
Yet seem'd it like a wrong, a guilt. 

To win by stealth so pure a sight : 
And rather than a -look profane 

Should then have met those thought- 
ful e^^es, 
Or voice or whisper broke the chain 

That link'd her spirit with the skies, 
I would have gladly, in that place. 
From which I watch'd her heavenward 

face, 
Let my heart break, without one beat 
That could disturb a prayer so sweet. 
Gently, as if on every tread. 

My life, my more than life, depended, 
Back through the corridor that led 

To this bless'd scene I now ascended, 
And with slow seeking, and some pain, 
And many a winding tried in vain. 
Emerged to upper air again. 

The sun had freshly risen, and down 

The marble hills of Araby, 
Scattered, as from a conqueroi-'s crown, 

His beams into that living sea. 
There seem'd a glory in his light, 

Newly put on— as if for pride 
Of the high homage paid this night 

To his own Isis, his young bride, 
Now fading feminine away 
In her proud Lord's superior ray. 

My mind's first impulse was to fly 

At once from this entangling net — 
New scenes to range, new loves to try. 
Or, in miith, wiue^ and luxury 

Of every sense, that night forget. 
But vain the eflbrt— spell-boimd still, 
I linger'd, without power or wiU 

To tirrn my eyes from that dark door 
"Which now enclosed her 'mong the dead. 

Oft fancying, through the boughs, that 
o'er 
The sunny pile their flickering shed, 
'Twas her light form again I saw 

Starting to earth— still pure and bright, 
But wakening, as I hoped, less awe, 

Thus seen by morning's natural light, 

Than in that strange, dim cell at 
night. 

But no, alas— she ne'er retum'd : 

Nor yet— though still I watch— nor yet, 




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782 



IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIHIIIinillllllllllllllllllllllllllllHIlilllllllllUIIHnilllllllllhllllllllllllllHIlllllllllllllllllllllllllllU^ 

MOORE'S WORKS. 




Though the red sun for hours hath 
bum'd, 

And now, in his mid course, hath met 
The peak of that eternal pile 

He pauses still at noon to bless, 
Standing beneath his downward smile, 

Like a great Spirit, shadowless ! — 
For yet she comes — -while here, alone, 

Saunt'ring through this death-peopled 
place, 
"VThere no heart beats except my own, 
Or 'neath a palm-tree's shelter thrown, 

By turns I watch, and rest, and trace 
These lines, that are to waft to thee 
My last night's wondrous history. 
Dost thou remember, in that Isle 

Of our own Sea, where thou and I 
Linger' d so long, so happy a while, 

Tdl all the summer flowers went by — 
How gay it was, when sunset brought 

To the cool Well our favorite maids — 
Some we had won, and some we sought— 

To dance within the fragrant shades. 
And, till the stars went down attime 
Their Fountain Hymns* to the young 
moon? 

That time, too — oh, 'tis like a dream — 

When from Scamander's holy tide 
i sprung as Genius of the Stream, 

And bore away that blooming bride. 
Who thither canie, to yield her charms 

(As Phrygian maids are wont, ere 
wed) 
Into the cold Scamander's arms. 

But met, and welcomed mine, in- 
stead — 
Wondering, as on my neck she fell, 
How river-gods could love so well ! 
Who would have thought that he, who 
roved 

Like the first bees of summer then, 
Rifling each sweet, nor ever loved 

But the free hearts, that loved again. 
Readily as the reed replies 
To the least breath that round it sighs — 
Is the same dreamer who, last night. 
Stood awed and breathless at the sight 
Of one Egyptian gnl ; and now _ 
Wanders among these tombs, with brow 
Pale, watchftil, sad, as though he just, 
Himself, had risen from out their dust ? 

Yet so it is — and the same thirst 
For something high and pure, above 
* These songs of the "Well, as they were 

called by the ancients, are still common in the 

Greek isles. 



This withering world, which, from the 
first. 
Made me drink deep of woman's love- 
As the one joy, to heaven most near 
Of all our hearts can meet with here — 
Still bums me up, still keeps awake 
A fever naught but death can slake. 

Farewell ; whatever may befaU — 

Or bright, or dark — thou'lt know it all. 

LETTER IT. 



Rejoice, my friend, rejoice : — the youth- 
ful Chief [belief, 
Of that light Sect which mocks at all 
And, gay and godless, makes the present 

hour 
Its only heaven^ is now within our power. 
Smooth, impious school ! — not all the 

weapons aim'd [was framed, 
At priestly creeds, since first a creed 
E'er struck so deep ao that sly dart they 

wield, [ing flowers conceal'd. 
The Bacchant's pointed spear in laugh- 
And oh, 'twere victory to this heart, as 

sweet [feet 

As any thou canst boast — even when the 
Of thy proud war- steed wade through 

Christian blood, [hood. 

To wrap this scofier in Faith's blinding 
And bring him, tamed and prostrate, to 

implore 
The vilest gods even Egypt's saints adore. 
What !— do these sages think, to them 

alone [known? 

The key of this world's happiness is 
That none but they, who make such 

proud parade [maid. 

Of Pleasure's smiling favors, win the 
Or that Religion keeps no secret place, 
jSTo niche, in her dark fanes, for Love to 

grace ? [zest that's given 

Fools ! — did they know how keen the 
To earthly joy, when seasou'd weU with 

heaven ; [hue 

How Piety's grave mask improves the 
Of Pleasure's laughing features, half 

seen through, [reach 

And how the Priest, set aptly within 
Of two rich worlds, trafiics for bMss with 

each, [th' ancient tie 

Would they not, Decius — thou, whom 
'Twixt Sword and Altar makes om- best 

ally— [craft, for ours ? 

Would they not change their creed, their 




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ALCIPHEON-. 



783 



Leave the gross daylight joys that, in 
their bowers. [blown flowers, 
Languish with too' much sun, like o'er- 
For the veil'd loves, the blisses undis- 
play'd [shade ? 

That slyly lurk within the Temple's 
And, 'stead of haunting the trim Gar- 
den's school — 
"WTiere cold Philosophy usurps a rule, 
Like the pale moon's, o'er Passion's 
heaving tide, [dom's pride- 

Till Pleasure's self is chill'd by Wis- 
Be taught by us, quit shadows for the 
true, [sue. 

Substantial joys we sager Priests pm-- 
Who, far too wise to theorize on bliss, 
Or Pleasure's substance for its shade to 
miss, Ithis :~ 

Preach other worlds, but Jive for only 
Thanks to the well-paid Mystery round 
us fluug, [that hung 

"WTiich, like its type, the golden cloud 
O'er Jupiter's love-couch its shade be- 
nign, 
Eound human firailty wraps a veil divine. 

Still less should they presume, weak 

wits, that they 
Alone despise the craft of us who pray ; — 
Still less their creedless vanity deceive 
With the fond thought, that we who 

pray believe. 
Believe ! — Apis forbid— forbid it, aU 
Te monster Gods, before whose shrines 

we fall — 
Deities, framed in jest, as if to try 
How far gross Man can vulgarize the 

sky ; [bines 

How far the same low fancy that com- 
Into a drove of brutes yon zodiac's 

signs, [place 

And turns that Heaven itself into a 
Of sainted sin and deified disgrace. 
Can bring Olympus even to shame more 

deep, [holds cheap, 

Stock it with things that earth itself 
Pish, flesh, and fowl, the lutchen's sa- 
cred brood, [food— 
Which Egypt keeps for worship, not for 
All, worthy idols of a Faith that sees 
In dogs, cats, owls, and apes, divinities ! 

Believe ! — oh, Decius, thou, who feel'st 
no care [share. 

For things divine, beyond the soldiei-'s 

"Who takes on trust the faith for which 
he bleeds, [needs— 

A good, fierce God to swear by, all he 



Little canst thou, whose creed around 

thee hangs [the pangs 

Loose as thy summer war-cloak, guess 
Of loathing and self-scorn with which a 

heart, [part- 

Stubborn as mine is, acts the zealot's 
The deep and dire disgust with which I 

^rade [trade- 

Through the foul juggling of this holy 
This mud profound of mystery, where 

the feet, 
At every step, sink deeper in deceit. 
Oh ! many a time, when, 'mid the Tem- 
ple's blaze. 
O'er prostrate fools the sacred cist I raise. 
Did I not keep still proudly in my rD'nd 
The power this priestcraft gives me o'er 

mankind — 
A lever, of more might, in skilful hand, 
To move this world, than Archimede 

e'er plann'd— [feel 

I should, in vengeance of the shame I 
A.t my own mockery, crush the slaves 

that kneel [breed 

Besotted round ; and— like that kindred 
Of reverend, well-di-essed crocodiles 

they feed. 
At famed Arsinoe* — make my keepers 

bless, [Holiness. 

"With their last throb, my sharp-fang'd 

Say, is it to be borne, that scoffers, vain 
Of their own freedom from the altar's 
chain, [blood hast sold. 

Should mock thus all that thou thy 
And I my truth, pride, freedom, to up- 
hold ? [Christian sect, 
It must not be:— think'st thou that 
Whose followers, quick as broken waves, 

erect 
Their crests anew and swell into a tide. 
That threats to sweep away our shrines 
of pride — [spells, even they 

Think'st thou, with all their wondrous 
Wovdd triumph thus, had not the con- 
stant play [ way ? — 
Of Wit's resistless archery clear'd their 
That mocking sphit, worst of all the 
foes, [knows. 
Our solemn fraud, our mystic mummery 
Whose wounding flash thus ever 'mong 

the signs 
Of a fast-falling creed, prelusive shines, 

* For the trinkets -with which the sacred 
Crocodiles were ornamented, see tlie Epicu- 
rean, chap. X. 



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:84 



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MOOEE'S WOEKS. 



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Threat'niBg such change as do the aw- 
ful I'reaks [breaks. 
Of summer lightning, ere the tempest 

But, to m" point— a youth of this vain 

school, [cool 

Put one, \v'Qom Doubt itself hath fail'd to 
Down to that freezing point where 

Priests despair [there — 

Of any sparli from th' altar catching 
Hath, some nights since— it was, me- 

thinks, the night [nual rite— 
That follow'd the full Moon's great an- 
Through the dark, winding ducts, '' it 

downward stray [his way, 

To these earth-bidden temples, track'd 
Just at that hour when, round the 

Shrine, and me, [loug'st to see, 
The choir of blooming nymphs thou 
Sing then* last night-hymn in the Sanc- 
tuary. 
The ciangor of the marvellous Gate, that 

stands [but hands 

At the T\''ell's lowest depth— which none 
Of TL2v,-f untaught adventurers, from 

above, [to move— 

Who Know not the safe path, e'er dare 
(jave signal that a foot profane -nas 

nigh : — [morning's sky, 

'Twas the Greek youth, who, tiy that 
Had l.een observed, curiously wand'i-ing 

round [ground. 

.Itio mighty fanes of oux sepulchral 

Instant, th' Initiate's Trials were pre- 
pared, — [dared. 
The Fire, Air, "Water ; all that Orpheus 
That Plato, that the bright-hair'd Sa- 
mian* pass'd, [at last? 
"With trembling hope, to come to — wJiat, 
Go, ask the dupes of Priestcraft i ques- 
tion him [dim, 
"Who, 'mid terriiic sounds and spectres 
Walks at Eleusis; ask of those, who 

brave 

I'ne dazzhng miracles of Mithra's Cave, 

With its seven starry gates ; ask all who 

keep [they weep 

Those ten-ible night-mysteries, where 

And howl sad dirges to the answering 

breeze, [ties-- 

O'er their dead Gods, their mortal Dei- 

Amphii)ious, hybrid things, that died as 

nien, [gods, again; — 

Drovru'd, hang'd, empaled, to rise, as 

* Fj-l'icigoras. 



Ask them., what mighty secret Im-ks be- 
low 
This seven-fold mystery — can they teU 

thee ? ISro ; 
Gravely they keep that only secret, well 
And fairly kept — that they have none to 
tell ; [humbled pride 

And, duped themselves, console their 
By duping thenceforth aU mankind be- 
side. 

And such th' advance in fraud since Or- 
pheus' time — [lime — 
That earliest master of our craft sub- 
So many minor Mysteries, imps of fraud, 
From the great Oi-phic Egg have wing'd 
abroad, [boast, 
That, still t' uphold our Temple's ancient 
And seem most holy, we must cheat the 
most ; [round 
"Work the best miracles, wi-ap nonsense 
In pomp and darkness, till it seems pro- 
found ; [kind, 
Play on the hopes, the terrors of man- 
With changeful skill j and make the hu- 
man mind 
Like our own Sanctuary, where no ray. 
But by the Priest's permission, wins its 

way — 
"Where through the gloom at? wave our 

wizard-rods. 
Monsters, at will, are conjured into Gods; 
While Eeason, like a grave-faced mum- 
my, stands, [bauds. 
With her arms swathed in hieroglyphic 
But chiefly in that skUl with which we 
use [views, 
Man's wildest passions for Eeligion's 
Yoking them to her car like fiery steeds, 
Lies the main art in which oiu* cralt 
succeeds. [whose toil 
And oh! be blest, ye men of yore. 
Hath, for her use, scooped out from 

Egypt's soil 
This hidden Paradise, this mine of fanes. 
Gardens, and palaces, where Pleasure 

reigns 
In a rich, sunless empire of her own, 
With all earth's luxuries lighting up her 
throne; — [mines 

A realm for t>ivstery made, which uuder- 
The Nile itself, and, 'neath the Twelve 

Great Shrines 
That keep Initiation's holy rite, 
Spieads its long labyrinths ot unearthly 
hght, [that run 

A light that knows no change— its l^caKS 




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ALCIPHROK 



785 



Too deep for day, its gardens without 

sun, 
"Where soul and sense, by turns, are 

charm'd, surprised. 
And all that bard or prophet e'er devised 
For man's Elysium, priests have realized. 

Here, at this moment — all his trials past, 
And heart and nerve unshrinking to the 

last— 
Our new Initiate roves — as yet left free 
To wander through this realm of mys- 
tery ; 
Feeding on such illusions as prepare 
The soul, like mist o'er waterfalls, to 
wear [ing will, 

All shapes and hues, at Fancy's vary- 
Through every shifting aspect, vapor 
still ; — [shown, 

Vague glimpses of the Future, vistas 
By scenic skill, into that world un- 
known, 
"Which saints and sinners claim alike 

their own ; 
And all those other witching, wildering 
arts, [hearts, 

Illusions, terrors, that make human 



Ay, even the wildest and the hardiest, 

quaU 
To any goblin throned behind a veil. 

Yes — such the spells shall haunt his 
eye, his ear, [atmosphere ; 

Mix with his night-dreams, form his 
Till, if our Sage be not tamed down, at 
length, [strength. 

His wit, his wisdom, shorn of aU their 
Like Phrygian priests, in honor of the 

shrine — 
If he become not absolutely mine, 
Body and soul, and, like the tame de- 
coy [ploy, 
"Which wary hunters of wild doves em- 
Draw converts also, lure bis brother 
wits [ flits, 
To the dark ca^e where his own spirit 
And give us, if not saints, good hyno 

crites^ 
If I eflfect not this, then be it said 
The ancient spirit of our craft hath fled. 
Gone with that serpent-god the Cross 

hath chased 
To hiss its soul out in the Theban waste 




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